In 2016, our agency received a devastating referral involving a 2‑month‑old baby who had been nearly fatally assaulted by his father. He was already being rushed to the children’s hospital PICU when the call came in. Doctors performed an MRI, a CT scan, and a full skeletal survey. The results were heartbreaking: a subdural hemorrhage in his brain, bilateral retinal hemorrhages, and a fracture to his left tibia. There was no explanation from the abusers. In the days that followed, we were preparing ourselves for the worst. Paperwork was completed so his organs could be donated. Then something incredible happened. After he was removed from life support, he continued to breathe on his own. He kept fighting. From that moment on, he was placed in protective custody, and we have stood by his side ever since—loving him, praying for him, and asking our Heavenly Father to guide and protect him.
Our story truly began when we felt called to adopt from the foster care system. At the time, my husband was active‑duty military, and I was a stay‑at‑home mom to our two biological children. We knew we had more love to give. One day, child welfare services called with a possible placement. We answered with excitement, as we always did, but this time that excitement quickly turned into fear and uncertainty. On August 17, 2016, we learned the referral was for a 2‑month‑old baby who had been brutally abused by his biological father.
He had suffered a non‑accidental traumatic brain injury. The abuse was so severe that he lost consciousness and suffered a stroke. We sat beside him, praying constantly. All we could hear was a shallow, painful cry from his tiny body. Nurses and specialists came in and out of the room, their eyes filled with sadness. I couldn’t stop crying. I begged God, “Please let him live. Give us the wisdom to understand what happened to him.”
Doctors explained their next steps, but all I wanted to know was who could do this—and why. The investigation was ongoing. As days passed, my husband and I took turns staying at the hospital. I spent the days there, and he took the night shift. We held him, massaged his little hands, and whispered words of love.
“You are so strong, little man. We love you so much,” we told him, never leaving his side.
After several long weeks, we were finally able to bring him home as a medically fragile foster child. Our days were filled with medications, feeding schedules, and countless doctor appointments. Doctors worried his brain was not healing and warned us about seizures and future complications. Our family embraced him immediately. Because of the heavy medication, he slept most of the time while his brain struggled to heal from such unimaginable trauma.
The investigation eventually put one biological parent in jail, while the other faced no immediate consequences. At every court hearing, we were there, representing the child who was now blind, diagnosed with cerebral palsy, and incredibly fragile. Sitting in those courtrooms, seeing the people responsible for his injuries, my heart broke over and over again. They had taken so much from him—his sight, his voice, his sense of safety—yet they sat there as if nothing had happened.
Months passed, and slowly, our little boy began to show progress. The bleeding in his eyes stopped. He became more alert. He started moving his left hand and kicking his left leg. Because of the stroke, he is hemiplegic, but therapy became a constant part of our lives. We did everything the doctors recommended, searched for the best therapists, and immersed ourselves in every opportunity that could help him. Our entire life began to revolve around his care and healing.
Then the day came that we never thought would arrive: termination of parental rights. We officially became his adoptive parents. That day, he became our son forever. It was a moment of pure joy and celebration for our entire family. Yet it was also bittersweet, because we finally learned the full truth of what had been done to him.
They had suffocated him. They had thrown him to the ground by his feet multiple times. They admitted feeling a “reward” while watching him lie lifeless. Hearing this shattered me. Sitting in the courtroom felt terrifying and cold. For a long time, investigators said the maximum sentence might only be six years, since shaken baby syndrome lacks clear legal sentencing guidelines. I was devastated by how vague child abuse laws can be. Then the judge spoke.
“Twenty‑five years with no parole.”
He was sentenced per injury. I whispered a prayer of gratitude, thanking God that some form of justice was served, even though our son was given a lifetime of challenges. The other parent was never charged and continues life without consequences.
Today, our little boy is thriving and fills our hearts with joy. He has global brain damage, yet doctors are constantly amazed by what he is able to do. He is a true warrior. He is funny, loves Finding Dory, and absolutely adores Blake Shelton. When he isn’t feeling well, we play his favorite Blake Shelton songs, and he smiles.
He is living proof that love conquers all. He is a miracle. Despite a long road of suffering, he continues to grow and flourish. Our love for him is immeasurable, and it is an honor to be his parents and part of his journey. We work every day to make his life as happy and comfortable as possible. Though he will live with lifelong disabilities, he is doing beautifully. We cling to the hope found in Isaiah 35:5–6, trusting in God’s healing promises. He is our son for all eternity, and nothing can change that.
We share his story because it may save another baby’s life. It may inspire others to open their hearts to medically fragile children. And it gives a voice to children and families walking similar paths. Please, never shake a baby. If you feel overwhelmed or have thoughts of harming someone, seek help. Talk to someone you trust. There is always another way.
