This one’s for you, Laura Lee

Just as a driver’s license comes at age 16, and the right to legally purchase alcohol comes at 21, I’ve always known mammograms come at age 40. Less exciting than a car or cocktail, but a rite of passage all the same. Maybe all women know mammograms are recommended at 40 (for some, even younger), but I’ve been acutely aware because my grandmother survived breast cancer twice and my friend, Laura Lee Cantrell, lost her life to breast cancer two and a half years ago.

When I first met Laura Lee in 2006, everyone referred to her as the baby whisperer. I found that ironic, considering she was the loudest person in every room, never shying from the “f” word, pronounced with a twang, courtesy of her Big Stone Gap, VA roots. Laura Lee was a straightforward, fiery redhead, a force to be reckoned with, wielding a Budweiser in hand and a sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue. Baby whisperer they said, but I didn’t see it. I didn’t find her particularly warm or comforting, so I silently, politely disagreed.

Five years after I met Laura Lee I had my first baby, and my perception of her began to shift. She seemed to like me more with a baby, and she liked my baby more than she liked me. She reached out for him expectantly when I walked through the door. When he cried, she shooed me and soothed him. When I had questions about his care, she knew the answers. She wasn’t a nurse or a nanny, but she had three children of her own, and I quickly came to see her as an expert. Her knowledge was vast, as was her love for children. So, she IS the baby whisperer, I acquiesced.

Over the next decade or so, like ivy on a trellis, Laura Lee grew on me. I found it impossible not to succumb to her authentic mix of humor, heart, and hijinks. Her blunt and wild was a stark contrast to my conservative and self-conscious. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t admire, maybe even envy, her brazen, uninhibited nature. And I wasn’t alone, as was evident by her wide circles of friends. Laura Lee had a gravitational pull, whether it be her flair for creative cussing, or the way she coddled babies, something dynamic drew us into her orbit.

In 2018, Laura Lee found a painful, pea-sized lump in her right breast, which led her to get a mammogram. Within a couple weeks, she was diagnosed with 100 percent triple-negative breast cancer. This type of cancer is not hereditary, grows quickly, and is likely to grow back. Laura Lee immediately began chemotherapy and radiation, followed by a double mastectomy.

The news of Laura Lee’s diagnosis seemed impossible. Cancer can victimize anyone, meek or bold, but it felt shocking that someone so tough could befall such a terrifying diagnosis. Though she probably felt a slew of emotions, she, as always, kept them close to her chest and trudged forward with a take-care-of-business attitude. Unwilling to watch her hair fall out slowly, she asked her neighbor to come over and shave her head. She didn’t bother with wigs, a ball cap sufficed. And she didn’t shy away from the camera, but sent smiling selfies to friends, her bald head gleaming.

I recall her telling me about chemo. She’d describe how sick some of the patients were, suffering from nausea and an array of other symptoms. Laura Lee said she felt fine physically but was sick for them. Pray for them, she’d tell me. I pictured her in the clinic, soothing the other patients, just as she’d soothed babies over the years. Though I wasn’t there to witness, it sounds on point: the baby whisperer as the patient whisperer.

By the time her youngest child, daughter Lexie, graduated high school in 2019, Laura Lee’s hair was growing back, and she was feeling well. Her treatment was over, other than a daily maintenance drug.

Unfortunately, Laura Lee’s health took a turn that November. A persistent cough led her to the doctor where they found spots on her lungs. Over the next month, many tests and scans were done, and Laura Lee learned her cancer had returned. She didn’t want to mar the holidays with fuss or worry, so she and her husband John kept the news to themselves for weeks. Laura Lee enjoyed Christmas with her children and on January 2, 2020, she told them, as well as close family and friends, that the cancer was back.

She was never overly emotional when she discussed her cancer, rather matter of fact, but tears would fill her eyes when she watched loved ones cry. I’m sad because you’re sad, she’d say.

Laura Lee struggled a lot over the following weeks. Doctors found the cancer had spread throughout her body and she was admitted into the hospital on January 21. Her friends sent her pictures of themselves, drinking a Budweiser in her honor, hoping to make her smile. This Bud’s for you, Laura Lee, they wrote. My husband and I even sent her a photo of our little boys with the beers, as I knew that would make her laugh. So sweet, she replied, her final text to me.

She struggled to breathe and was in and out of a sedated sleep those last couple days. Conversations were minimal because her oxygen was low. Though she’d been asleep most of the day on January 30, when Laura Lee’s mother walked into her hospital room, Laura Lee opened her eyes, extended her arms, and hugged her mom one last time. Laura Lee, only 53 years old, passed away shortly after.

Laura Lee had a traditional Catholic service. Friends stood at the altar afterward and shared their favorite Laura Lee stories. Her next-door neighbor Sarah said Laura Lee was an everyday presence in her children’s lives. Laura Lee is the one who defied Sarah’s whole food approach and introduced the kids to Twinkies. It was Laura Lee who Sarah went to when her babies wouldn’t stop crying. Give me that baby, give me a bottle, and go away, Laura Lee would demand, and within minutes, those babies were fast asleep on her chest. It was Laura Lee who ran to Sarah’s house when she went into labor in the middle of the night, who called in late to work the next day so she could stay with Sarah’s older children.

When Candice, another neighbor of Laura Lee’s, was panicked over her sick dog, she didn’t consider calling Laura Lee, who notoriously hated dogs. Candice tried two other neighbors, and both were unavailable. One of them, however, called Laura Lee to tell her about the dog. Laura Lee was at Candice’s door minutes later. The dog was gravely ill. The two women lifted it and placed it into Candice’s car. While doing so, the dog went to the bathroom on Laura Lee and all over the kitchen floor. Candice apologized as she handed towels to Laura Lee. Laura Lee told her not to worry, just get that dog to the vet, she said. Later that evening, after her dog was euthanized, Candice, whose family was out of town, returned to her quiet home. When she opened the door, she saw Laura Lee. The mess had been cleaned, the towels had been washed, and there sat Laura Lee with fresh baked brownies and two beers.

Much as she loved to snuggle babies, Laura Lee was not a hugger. I am, so I always made note to refrain from embracing when I greeted her. She did make an exception one day and I’ll never forget it. In 2017, months after my oldest son passed away, Laura Lee made a beeline for me, enveloping me in a brief, but tight hug. I was hugged often, but only hers caught me off guard. The meaning of it surpassed words.

When I was at my annual appointment this July, just weeks after my 40th birthday, my gynecologist said it was time to schedule a mammogram. I nodded affirmatively. She begged me to not procrastinate, as many women do. I said she need not worry.

I did have some nerves the morning of my appointment. I thought about how uncomfortable I’d feel standing topless in front of a stranger. I wondered how painful the mammogram would be and how long I’d wait for results. I filled out paperwork and tapped my foot to the Taylor Swift song playing in the waiting room. As I attempted to drown out my jitters, the loud, foul-mouthed voice of Laura Lee came to mind. I pictured her, sipping a Budweiser, telling me to get this shit done. A nurse with a clipboard stepped out and called my name.

As I headed back for my very first mammogram, I smiled and thought this one’s for you, baby whisperer.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. To learn more visit www.komen.org

In honor of Laura Lee’s affinity for cussing, please also visit www.letsfcancer.com

 

 

 

 

Jordyn Moore: Be Kind to Everyone

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jordyn Moore’s parents were discouraged by the limited options their daughter, who has special needs, would have after high school graduation. So, they created a new option — actually, they created a business. The Summer Shirt Project, known for its trademarked phrase “Be Kind to Everyone,” was meant to last a few months. Instead, it exploded into a booming T-shirt business, with Jordyn front and center.

Hearing her talk is a miracle

When Jordyn was 2, her mom, Jackie Moore, was caught off guard when the pediatrician questioned her about Jordyn’s speech and hearing at a routine check-up. As a former school social worker who had sat in many meetings for special needs children, Jackie recognized the line of questions. She’d heard them before.
Do you think she has autism? Jackie asked the doctor nervously.

When the doctor told her there were red flags, Moore fell apart. Not the wait-and-see type, she immediately contacted a doctor at the University of Missouri who was researching autism in young patients. The Moores met him a week later and received an official diagnosis: Their little girl had autism.

Jackie and husband Ben immediately took action and started Jordyn in speech therapy. At the time, the only way she could communicate was by crying. If she cried less than 45 minutes in the rocking chair, that was a good start to the day, recalls Jackie.

The autism also affected Jordyn’s ability to gesture. She couldn’t point when she wanted something or raise her arms when she wanted to be picked up. She would take her mother’s hand and lead her to things she wanted and stand beside it.

As the years passed, Jordyn remained non-verbal. Jackie and Ben taught her basic signs and head nodding to help her communicate. Though strangers might not understand, since the signs were not technically American Sign Language, family and friends became fluent in Jordyn’s modified language.

When Jordyn was 5, the Moore family moved from Columbia, Missouri, to Cumming where there were more resources for children with autism. Jordyn attended the Summit Autism Center for two years and worked with a therapist who specialized in autism and apraxia of speech, a brain disorder that affects movement of the tongue, lips and jaw.

“Within months of working with the therapist, Jordyn began gaining sounds, then the therapist taught her how to combine sounds,” said Jackie. “She learned to speak one sound at a time.”

It was a joyous breakthrough.

“We often get asked what’s wrong with her voice because it’s very deep,” said Jackie. “There’s nothing wrong with her voice. It was a struggle to gain that voice. Listening to her talk is a miracle.”

What comes next?

At age 7, Jordyn transferred to public school in Forsyth County where she received special services in a moderate to mild disabilities (MIMO) classroom, and she remained in the school system until she graduated high school in May 2021.

When Jordyn was 17, the end of high school was looming, and her parents grew fearful about what would come next for Jordyn.

“We knew, based on her struggles, that getting a job was probably an unrealistic goal,” said Jackie. “The topic began to keep us up at night and every conversation went there.”

While out on a date, the couple decided to change their focus. They stopped thinking about what was not available and started thinking about what they could create for their daughter.

In summer 2018, Jackie and Ben launched an experiment they called the Summer Shirt Project. They created and trademarked a colorful T-shirt design that read “Be Kind to Everyone.” Their goal was to sell 40 shirts and teach Jordyn how to package them.

“I was so nervous the night I put it on my personal Facebook page,” said Jackie. “I called my mom and asked her if she’d please comment on my post and request a shirt, just for momentum. When I made the post, I explained we were taking pre-orders and that this would be a project for Jordyn to work on all summer. Then I held my breath.”

Within minutes, people Jackie didn’t know were replying and sharing the post. The hope to sell 40 shirts in their first order was superseded by the sales of 1,000 shirts. The Moores were astounded.

“We imagined we’d create a different project for Jordyn every summer,” laughed Jackie. “Never in a million years did we imagine we’d get something like this right off the bat.”

The Moores took the money from the first batch of sales and rolled it over to purchase more inventory and build the business. They haven’t slowed down since.

She believed she could, so she did

In March 2021, when the business outgrew their basement, the Moores purchased a 3,000-square-foot warehouse. Jordyn graduated high school a couple months later and began working for the company full-time. Early this year, the family upgraded to a 12,000-square-foot warehouse, where they employ nine people, including one other person who has autism, and Ben left his real estate development career to run the Summer Shirt Project full-time. Product is sold direct to consumer from its website and ships nationwide.

“The shirt shop,” as Jordyn calls it, is in Cumming, a short drive from the Moores’ home. The space is bright and cheerful, with light streaming in through giant glass service doors and a banner above them that reads, “She believed she could, so she did.” Across the way, a rainbow of folded shirts boasts positive messages: Be Kind to Everyone. Never Give Up. Have a Good Day.

Jordyn thrives on routine and is eager to get to the shirt shop every workday. She lays out her outfit the night before and tells her mom to hurry up in the mornings. She typically works eight hours a day, five days a week and can complete her tasks independently.

“I roll a shirt and add a wristband,” explained Jordyn when asked about her workday. Her big brown eyes, identical to her mom’s, stare out the window as she speaks, her fingers fidgeting with a blue band around her wrist. “I like the ‘Y’all’ shirt.”

When Jordyn needs a break, she gets a Dr. Pepper and sits in one of two oversized blue rocking chairs in the middle of the work room, where her black Labrador mix, Max, gazes at her, hopeful she has food to share.

Jackie maintains their social media accounts, where they have 1.7 million followers. She frequently posts videos of Jordyn working in her signature braids, which garners thousands of likes and hundreds of comments. The videos of Jordyn rolling shirts and stamping cards are especially popular. “There is something therapeutic about watching Jordyn roll shirts,” one commenter posted. “Jordyn is so fast it amazes me,” posted another.

The Moores continually help Jordyn develop new skills. They’ve added pens and decal stickers to their online shop and have created modifications to help Jordyn sort and package the items successfully. Jordyn isn’t the only one to benefit from the modifications. The MIMO class from Jordyn’s alma mater, South Forsyth High School, visits every Tuesday morning to learn job skills.

“This job has helped Jordyn so much,” said Jackie. “Seeing it work for other kids is just amazing.”

Finally getting her chance

Jordyn has gained more than just job skills at the Summer Shirt Project. Her speech has improved, which Jackie notices most when she records the family’s podcast.

Launched in June 2022, Be Kind to Everyone podcast focuses on the experience of parenting Jordyn and the resources Jackie and Ben have discovered in the process. Jordyn joins them frequently to answer questions submitted by listeners. Speaking in sentences that are increasingly longer and more clearly enunciated, she talks about her brother Hudson, 9, and signs off with her signature line: Have a good day, you guys.

Jordyn’s job has also afforded her the opportunity to develop a social life.

She met Sarah Chirchirillo, 21, when they were in high school. Chirchirillo has worked for The Summer Shirt Project since the beginning, and she and Jordyn have become close friends. Chirchirillo, who is neuro-typical, has helped teach Jordyn work-related skills, but the two also make time to chat about things like music and nails.

“This job has given Jordyn so much time with Sarah,” said Jackie. “That’s something many kids with autism never get — one-on-one time with a typical peer, just hanging out like most kids do.”

A few years ago, Jackie thought it might be fun for Jordyn and Sarah to go out to lunch on their own. She warned Sarah that Jordyn might be nervous; she’d never gone out to eat without a parent. Jackie couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I still have a picture of them at the car getting ready to go to Mellow Mushroom. Jordyn couldn’t say bye fast enough,” said Jackie, laughing at the memory. “Before that, I never knew what she was missing. I realized then that she noticed what happened around her, she saw what other kids do, and she was excited to finally be getting a chance to do the same.”

Jackie and Ben’s concerns over what comes next for Jordyn have dissipated. Their daughter is thriving. The Summer Shirt Project has given Jordyn purpose, growth, friends and legions of followers who cheer her on and eagerly await the next T-shirt release.

Jackie and Ben believed they could create a better life for their daughter, and they did.

Learn more about Summer Shirt Project or to listen to the Be Kind to Everyone podcast, visit www.bekindtoeveryone.com. Follow Summer Shirt Project on Instagram at @summershirtproject.

Made With Love

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

David Hughens jokes that, like the Blues Brothers, he was on a mission from God when he wrote his award-winning screenplay “Made with Love,” a story about the bond between an old man and his neighbor who has Down syndrome. Hughens, 56, hopes folks will help raise funds to have the movie produced, which will raise awareness, acceptance, and appreciation for individuals with Down syndrome.

Born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, Hughens wrote and directed an independent film at age 23, then followed other career paths, including education, where he served as the director of marketing for an independent school in Raleigh for 15 years. While in that role, Hughens also served as his father’s caretaker for five years. When his dad died in 2020, Hughens’ next step became clear.

“I felt like God was telling me to get back into filmmaking and make positive, uplifting films,” said Hughens. “I quit my job, sold my house, moved back to Atlanta, and began pursuing my passion again. God really moved in my life and has given me so much creative juice. I’ve written six screenplays in two years.”

“Made with Love” was among the six and was written in just two weeks. Hughens submitted it to film festivals around the world. “Made With Love” has won over 25 awards, including the “Best Script” award in France, Singapore, India and Italy.

The screenplay was inspired by Hughens’ friend, Jay Thrasher Carr, a 29-year-old Suwanee man who has Down syndrome. Jay is the adopted son of one of Hughens’ dearest friends, Dawn Carr.

Jay, a high school friend of Dawn’s daughter, Lucy, moved in with the family in 2013 and was formally adopted in 2020.

“Lucy was a high school senior when she came to talk to me about Jay one day,” said Dawn. “She said his mom was moving away, and that he could go live with his dad, but Jay wanted to live with us instead because he said we would love him more than anyone. Lucy said she was taking him to live with her in Tuscaloosa where she was heading to college. I said, ‘No, you’re not!’”

Dawn and her husband, who, coincidentally, is also named Jay, welcomed the younger Jay into their family, which includes four grown children, including Lucy, and a grandchild. Dawn said Jay is adored in their home and is known everywhere he goes for his joyful, lovable demeanor.

Since becoming part of the Carr family, Hughens has spent lots of time with Jay. Coloring is Jay’s favorite hobby and Hughens loves to join him. The two recently attended the Big Game Ball, sponsored by the National Down Syndrome Congress, together, where they goofed off, danced, and where Jay, as always, spoke to everyone.

“If you don’t know someone with Down syndrome, they may look, sound, or act a little different,” said Hughens. “Some people are scared of what they don’t know, but when you let yourself get into his world, it’s so amazing. He’s changed my life. He’s shown me so much about what individuals with Down syndrome are capable of. When Jay heard about my film background, he told me he wants to be a movie star and that I should write a movie about him. I completely agreed, so I did it.”

While the role of “Jay” in the movie isn’t about the real Jay’s life verbatim, Hughens used his personality as inspiration and pictures him acting in the role.

“He’s the star as far as I’m concerned,” said Hughens. “I wrote it with him in mind. Could someone else do it? Yes. But my friend Jay wants to be a movie star and I fully believe he’s capable of doing it.”

Jay, who dressed up as his mom, Dawn, for Halloween last year, complete with a wig and Chanel, is confident that he would be a good actor.

“I was made for the spotlight,” said Jay, with a smile that reaches his eyes. “My nanny always told me to shine my light.”

Dawn seconds the comment about Jay’s grandmother who died years ago.

“Jay says Nanny would be so happy and proud because she wanted everyone to know him.”

Jay is working hard, hoping his role in “Made with Love” will come to fruition. He’s been focusing on social cues and learning how to read. He turns 30 next September and hopes that, in addition to a trip to Turks and Caicos, he’ll be celebrating the movie premiere.

“It’d be my dream come true.”

If you would like to join the crowdfunding effort for “Made With Love,” visit www.madewithlovethemovie.com.

Canines for Kids at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta

Originally Published in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Lisa Kinsel knew Canines for Kids would be a successful program at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, but she never fathomed that one day she’d teach other hospitals how to integrate the program into their facilities. She didn’t imagine speaking about the program to congressional members or a televised conference, but that’s exactly what happened, all because Lisa had an idea. Best of all, that idea led her to Casper, her four-legged best friend.

An idea with legs

For 28 years, Kinsel, 67, worked in volunteer services at Children’s. One of her duties was coordinating a weekly visit by a friendly pack of service dogs, courtesy of Canine Assistants, a Milton-based non-profit that breeds, trains and places service dogs with people who have mobility issues, Type 1 Diabetes, seizure disorders and other special needs.

Trained for 18 months and taught to remain calm in various situations, the labradors, golden retrievers and a mix of the breeds would parade into the hospital every week, tails wagging as they visited the children. Kinsel loved witnessing small hands run through fluffy fur and worried faces lift with joy.

Treating the dogs like celebrities, children would pose with them for photos. One day, while Kinsel was delivering the photos to patients, she came to the room of a little boy who sat in a wheelchair and had a tube in his mouth that made it difficult to speak.

“He looked at the photo of himself and the dog and asked, When will they be back?” recalled Kinsel. “I knew he would have to wait a whole week to see a dog. He didn’t need to wait so long.”

That’s when Kinsel had the idea to start the Canines for Kids program, bringing dogs on staff to be at the hospital every day. Big picture, she envisioned a dog working full-time in every department. She presented the idea to Dr. Dan Salinas, who was chief medical officer at the time.

“We loved the idea from the start,” said Salinas, who’s now chief of community clinical integration officer for Children’s.

Leader of the pack

Canines for Kids launched in 2009. It began with one dog, Casper, who also became Kinsel’s personal dog.

At Canine Assistants, they say the recipients don’t pick their dogs, the dogs pick their owners. Casper, a golden retriever yellow Labrador mix, definitely chose her, said Kinsel.

“We were an immediate, easy match,” said Kinsel, a smile in her voice. “He and I pioneered Canines for Kids together. We learned what to do and what not to do. We tipped our toes over the line occasionally to try to expand his usage for medical procedures. We were a team.”

Lisa and Casper’s daily routine involved responding to visit requests from different departments. Every day was different, the heartwarming stories endless. There was the teenager with autism who was scared about his medical procedure. Casper greeted him in the hallway, walked with him back to the surgical room and laid with him as he was put under anesthesia. There was a catatonic child who hadn’t spoken in a week, but finally did upon meeting Casper. Casper laid beside patients, sat still while their little hands stroked his fluffy fur. His presence was therapeutic, and not just for the children.

“One day I received a call requesting Casper in the ICU,” said Kinsel. “I asked what patient room, and they said, No, it’s a doctor. The doctor had lost a patient and was having a terrible time. She needs to see Casper, the nurse on the phone said. It turned out, everyone benefitted from having Casper at the hospital.”

Sunshine on dark days

The program was so successful, it soon expanded.

In 2010, Bella came to work in CHOA’s child advocacy center where she helped staff build rapport with patients, making them more comfortable talking about their issues and receiving services and procedures.

“I’d worked at Children’s for two years before I got Bella,” said Kara Klein, 37. “My role was always to help patients with coping and reduce anxiety. Once I had Bella, she enhanced the role in a way I never could have provided.”

Bella offered non-judgmental comfort, said Klein, noting that dogs don’t notice bandages or patients without hair. Canines for Kids dogs love you, no matter your story.

One day Bella was called to a room where a 14-year-old girl was refusing a genital exam. It is Klein’s job to explain to the patient why the exam was necessary and help her agree to it. Klein spoke for 30 minutes to the girl, who petted Bella the whole time. She agreed to the exam as long as Bella could be on the table with her. Stretched behind the girl like a pillow, Bella rested her head on the teen’s shoulder like a soft restraint. I couldn’t have done it without you, Klein heard the girl tell Bella when the exam was over.

Canines for Kids currently has 14 dogs on staff. Uno is a golden retriever assigned to cardiac services. Lotus is a black Labrador assigned to a chaplain and assists with staff support. Dory, a golden retriever known as the camp director, goes to Children’s sponsored camps to tuck kids in at night when they’re homesick and encourage them to swim in the pool. Tidings, a goldendoodle, works in the pediatric ICU.

Ryder Oliver, 8, is a big fan of Tidings.

“Tidings was one of the first that made Ryder react after brain surgery,” said Ryder’s mom, Kristin Oliver. “My husband and I were clearly not enough motivation for Ryder to try to move, but Tidings was. He was also the first to make Ryder smile after surgery.”

Ryder received treatment for brain cancer for seven months. Much of that time was spent inpatient.

“As a parent, you look for anything to bring happiness to your sick child,” said Oliver. “The Canines for Kids program is priceless. These dogs brought sunshine to a dark day not only for Ryder, but my whole family.”

A legacy of love

According to Children’s, it is the first pediatric hospital in the country to incorporate a facility dog program. Hospitals across the country have adopted the program and send staff to Children’s to be trained on integrating dogs into hospital life. Donors now pay for dogs from Canine Assistants to serve in hospitals nationwide.

As the program’s founder, Kinsel has been invited to the Capitol in Atlanta to speak about the benefit of animal assisted therapy in pediatrics. She also spoke on the topic at a televised symposium in Washington, D.C, sponsored by Hill’s Pet, creator of Science Diet Dog Food.

In 2018, Kinsel and Casper retired.

“Casper wasn’t happy about it,” said Lisa with a laugh. “He loved putting his vest on every morning and going to work. I know he missed that.”

Last September, Kinsel’s husband John died suddenly. John, like Lisa, loved Casper like a son.

“I don’t know how I would’ve made it over the past year without Casper,” said Kinsel. “Just as he helped all of those children over the years, he helped me every single day. He gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

Sadly, last July, Casper died at age 14.

“I’m so thankful he was here for me,” said Kinsel, “and now I know he’s with his dad.”

To honor him and all his years of service, Children’s commissioned an artist to create multiple bronze statues of Casper. There are two, one in each of the two support buildings for administrative staff in Brookhaven. Kinsel hopes one day a statue of Casper will be placed in the lobby at Scottish Rite Hospital, where he can continue to greet everyone with a smile.

Five Years Later: Megan pepperdine shares her memories from the vegas shootings

It’s the otherworldly screams she remembers most about that night on Oct. 1, 2017. She tries to forget, but when she’s in a crowded place, thinks of traveling or hears of another mass shooting, they’re back — screams of raw terror, echoing in her head. That’s all it takes to return to that night five years ago, huddled in an equipment room with strangers, praying she was not about to die.

Megan Pepperdine, 36, of Buford, was excited for a trip to Las Vegas with her two sisters-in-law in the fall of 2017. The preschool teacher and her husband, Jason Pepperdine, had two little girls, Calleigh, 6, and Amelia, 3, at the time. They weren’t babies anymore, so Pepperdine had grown comfortable with the idea of leaving them for a girls’ trip.

She and her sisters-in-law, Carrie Lozynsky and Angela Goure, arrived in Las Vegas on a Friday and checked in at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. It was Pepperdine’s first time in Las Vegas. She was amazed by the bustle, the constant whir of people and sounds, the enormity of all the hotels. The women spent their time eating at restaurants, hanging out at the pool, shopping, and enjoying the colorful people-watching.

On Sunday evening, Pepperdine and Goure were seated in the MGM Grand casino after dinner, contemplating going back to their hotel room, where Lozynsky had already retreated, when a herd of people came running past the rows of slot machines.

“One person kind of hit my shoulder, and I thought that was rude,” said Pepperdine, “then … someone looked at us and said, ‘There’s a shooter, you need to run.’”

Running for her life

Instinctively, the women fell in line with the crowd, running scared, with no time to think. In hindsight, they wish they’d run to their room, but they heard the shooter was in the MGM lobby, just a stone’s throw from them. They called Carrie and told her to stay put in the hotel room, and they ran full speed through the hotel, out the door and past the pool where they heard gunshots in the distance. They didn’t slow down until they were in the parking lot behind the Topgolf entertainment venue.

A security guard spotted the women and waved them inside Topgolf, locking the doors behind them. There were small pockets of people inside, maybe 100 total. People were crying, confused, making phone calls and asking questions.

“Some people had suitcases, because they just arrived from the airport, and some, we could tell by their outfits, came from the country concert,” said Pepperdine.

The Route 91 Harvest Music Festival had been underway in Las Vegas Village, a 15-acre outdoor venue a half-mile from Pepperdine’s hotel. What she did not yet know was the shooter, Stephen Paddock, a 64-year-old man from Nevada, had opened fire on festival-goers from his suite on the 32nd floor of Mandalay Bay while singer Jason Aldean performed. Firing more than 1,000 bullets into the crowd, he killed between 58-60 people, depending on the source, and injured hundreds before killing himself with a gunshot. The incident is the deadliest mass shooting committed by an individual in United States history.

“The people from the concert, some had blood on their clothes and on their faces; I couldn’t tell if it was theirs,” said Pepperdine. “Some were so dirty because they told us they had been trampled as they tried to flee. We began hearing that a shooting spree began at the concert, but that’s all we knew. My sister-in-law looked on Twitter where it sounded as though there were multiple shooters.”

Pepperdine vividly recalled a girl next to her inside Topgolf holding a phone to her ear and repeatedly saying, I’m OK, I’m OK.

“She looked at me and said she was talking to her mom, then she told me she was sorry. I have no idea why she thought she needed to apologize,” said Pepperdine, her blue eyes teary. “It makes me cry to think of it. It makes me think of my kids, that mother and child connection.”

Misinformation fuels fear

It was late in Georgia, but Pepperdine called and texted home, so her husband and mother would be assured of her safety as soon as they woke and heard the news.

The screams and crying in Topgolf calmed after a while, and a sense of camaraderie spread through the room as people introduced themselves and shared their experiences from the night. Pepperdine and Goure met a husband and wife who attended the concert with a friend. The wife was dancing with their friend when the shooting began. The friend was shot and taken to the hospital. Pepperdine still wonders if she survived.

Speculation about the shooting was rampant across Topgolf, each circle hearing this and that, desperately trying to piece together facts as their fear mounted.

About an hour after they arrived at Topgolf, Pepperdine stepped outside onto the playing field alone for a moment of peace. She could see emergency vehicles in the distance, coming and going, then she heard her sister-in-law screaming her name.

Pepperdine turned to see Goure frantically waving her back. Inside, they joined a group of about 25 people in full panic mode pushing their way through a staff breakroom and into a small, dark storage room filled with golf clubs. Someone had heard that a shooter was in the parking lot trying to get into Topgolf.

“Some people were screaming, and some were angry, telling the screamers to shut up and not make noise,” said Pepperdine. “My sister-in-law and I sat on the floor and wrapped ourselves around one another. I was wholeheartedly convinced that I was going to die. I was waiting for bullets to come through the door.”

A couple men dragged a shelf in front of the storage room door to secure the entrance. They removed paper from a corkboard and covered the windows. About 20 minutes passed before someone got word that everything was safe, and they could all leave.

“That walk back was awful,” said Pepperdine. “It was a long walk. It was amazing to see how far we’d ran; we had no idea.

“We couldn’t get over the shoes scattered throughout our path,” she said. “Abandoned shoes everywhere, left by people who were running for their lives. We didn’t talk much, everything felt eerily quiet, as we gingerly walked with our heads on swivels. When we got back to the room, Carrie nearly broke our necks when she hugged us.”

Everything bright turned dull

Back in the safety of their hotel room, the women watched the news and were shocked to learn there was only one shooter. They had been convinced by rumors there were multiple assailants.

“There was a lot of sorting through true and false information,” said Pepperdine. “I felt almost stupid for believing everything I heard.”

Pepperdine took a Tylenol PM that night. She was exhausted, but her body was overwhelmed with adrenaline. She slept for two hours, then her phone began to buzz with calls from home.

“I was awake the rest of the next day,” said Pepperdine. “We walked across an MGM bridge that leads to the other side of the strip and we observed the scene of the shooting in daylight. There were so many police vehicles surrounding the field, tons of debris. Everything that was bright before felt dull. We had tickets for a Cirque show, but it was canceled, of course. The whole city felt sad and quiet. I just wanted to get to my family.”

Pepperdine flew home on Tuesday. She walked through her front door and immediately wrapped her arms around her husband and little girls.

“All I wanted to do was be home, slow down, appreciate my kids and husband, and all the ordinary things that make up my days,” said Pepperdine. “My mom kept calling to see if I needed her. I told her I didn’t, that I was OK, but then I realized she just wanted and needed to be with me. I told her to come.”

Never take safety for granted

Over the next few months, Pepperdine struggled with difficulty sleeping and feelings of guilt.

“I have all this trauma even though I wasn’t at the concert, and I feel guilty for being so shaken,” said Pepperdine. “There were people there who lost friends and spouses and who have it way worse than being shoved into a storage room over something that wasn’t even true. I carried that guilt around for a long time and didn’t want to talk about it.”

Pepperdine met with pastors from her church a few times after she returned from Las Vegas, confiding all her fears and guilt to them. They listened, counseled and prayed with her, helping her navigate through the array of emotions. She has become more comfortable talking about her experience over time, but the emotions haven’t faded. She struggles the most when she hears about another mass shooting.

“I was just beginning to heal from Vegas when the high school shootings happened in Parkland, Florida,” said Pepperdine. “Thinking of how terrified we were, then imagining a high schooler or even younger children feeling that way — it’s just too much. I know there will be more shootings and thinking of that feels like a weight inside me.”

Invisible scars remain for Pepperdine and physical reactions occasionally surface.

“Anything unexpected, like a security or fire alarm, has a big effect on me,” said Pepperdine, who teaches preschool at Buford Presbyterian Weekday School. “When firefighters come to the school and put on their entire uniforms, my heart starts to beat fast, my breathing feels heavy, and it’s almost like a panic attack.”

Crowded places, like the Yellow Daisy Festival and shopping malls make her feel extra cautious.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever go to a concert again, and I for sure will never in my life go back to Las Vegas. I have not taken a trip without my kids since 2017 and have no desire to.”

Her family, which now includes 3-year-old son Reid, visited Disney World in 2020. Pepperdine was nervous about the trip and found herself looking for escape routes in the park, something she would have never thought of before that night in Vegas. Although her radar is always up, and she sometimes avoids large, public gatherings, she refuses to prevent her family from living life to the fullest.

Recently, a family member took Pepperdine’s oldest daughter to see her first concert, Imagine Dragons. Pepperdine battled her fears while Calleigh was gone, but she’s glad she let her go. Her girl returned home safely with a smile and wonderful memories.

“I will never take safety for granted,” said Pepperdine. “Being able to live your life and feel safe doing so is everything.”

Jodi Brooks Fights Glioblastoma with Optimism

It was a warm, cloudy afternoon in June 2020, four months into the pandemic. Jodi Brooks was walking down Nelson Street near her Brooklyn neighborhood, talking on the phone with her sister and nephew, discussing his middle school graduation gift. When Brooks asked her nephew a question, his answer made no sense. She strained to understand his words, becoming overwhelmed with confusion. She tried to speak but couldn’t. Overcome with dizziness, she had an urgent need to sit down. That’s the last thing Brooks remembers before waking up in an ambulance.

“Her sister called and told me something was wrong,” Sam Brooks, her husband of 12 years, recalled. “I used a tracking app on my phone and found her on a sidewalk, surrounded by emergency workers. When they put her in the ambulance, she was screaming in pain because her shoulder had been dislocated when she fell, and she was staring right through me, like she didn’t know me.”

Jodi, I am your husband, Sam! he shouted. That is your son, he said pointing to Jonah.

“That’s when a light came on,” said Sam. “She recognized Jonah, then she passed out.”

Jodi Brooks, now 47, had experienced a seizure. At the hospital, doctors discovered what they thought was a benign tumor, the size of a walnut, on the speech center of her brain. Eleven days after her seizure, she underwent a craniotomy to remove most of the tumor. They couldn’t remove all of it for fear she would lose the ability to speak.

After the surgery, she got the official diagnosis: level 3 glioblastoma. It has since changed to level 4.

“We were all baffled,” said Brooks. “My family and I had so many questions. What is glioblastoma? Why is this happening? How did this happen? How long has the tumor been there? We had no family history of cancer. Just, how?”

Facing reality

Glioblastoma is a malignant cancer that affects the brain and spinal cord. It can strike anyone at any age but is more common in older people. Symptoms include vomiting, nausea, headache and seizures. It is non-genetic in nature, quickly developing and the reasons for its occurrence are unknown. Treatment involves surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. The median survival time for someone with glioblastoma is 15 months.

But doctors were hopeful. They considered Brooks’ surgery successful, and she returned to work a few weeks later as managing partner at Finn Partners, a worldwide marketing agency.

Before COVID, Brooks commuted by subway to the headquarters in New York, worked eight to 10 hours days and traveled across the United States one week each month. Since COVID and her diagnosis, she works from home, still averaging eight-hour workdays.

She’s grateful for the support she’s gotten from her CEO and colleagues, especially her work friend Katie Seigenthaler, who endured her own battle with cancer involving her child.

“Once Jodi was diagnosed with glioblastoma, she and I took our friendship to another level,” said Seigenthaler. “I was blown away by her insistence on hearing, absorbing and dealing with the truth, always. She asked this of me: to always be straight with her. She is not afraid of the fear. She does not pretend to be brave, does not parrot the typical survivor language so ubiquitous in the cancer world, and, consequently, is the bravest and most optimistic of all. I am in awe of her.”

Power of optimism

Brooks’ attitude toward cancer mirrors that of her professional work ethic. She is relentless in building relationships, ferocious when it comes to finding solutions.

A year after her surgery, she made two big moves. She transferred her care to Dr. Henry Friedman of the Robert Tisch Brain Tumor Center at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. And she and her family moved to Johns Creek to be closer to her cousins and her doctor, who she affectionately calls “Dr. Henry.”

“I would not be here if not for Dr. Henry,” said Brooks. “I’m so thankful for him. I love him. My first doctors in New York didn’t expect me to still be here, but I am because of Dr. Henry. Finding the right doctor is everything.”

Dr. Friedman, 70, has practiced neuro-oncology since 1981. While he responds humbly to Jodi’s praise, he does acknowledge that the team at Duke has a philosophy that, he believes, positively affects their patients.

“The foundation of our entire program is ‘at Duke there is hope,’” said Dr. Friedman. “No matter the outcome, we believe we’ll do better within that framework and give the patients’ time more meaning. We believe the positive approach is the right approach.”

Brooks has undergone multiple chemotherapy and radiation treatments, and she goes to Duke every eight weeks for an MRI. A recent scan revealed the tumor had grown.

“It’s hard not to be upset, because, obviously, if it grows, that’s not good,” said Brooks. “But Dr. Henry immediately says, ‘OK, we’ll try something else. We still have other options.’ Then I feel a bit of relief. There’s still something to work for, there’s still hope.”

Dr. Friedman is a big believer in the power of optimism.

“There have been great books written about the physiological manifestations in the body from having an optimistic approach, “Anatomy of Hope” by Dr. Gerome Groopman being one of the best,” said Dr. Friedman. “Jodi is embracing our philosophy and she’s capable of fighting the fight. If she weren’t, she’d die … I’ve been accused of giving false hope, but I disagree with that. The majority of people with glioblastoma will die, yes, but a rising number will not. Jodi lives to fight another day.”

Focus on the present

Brooks said she lives her life with a sharper perspective now. What is important versus what is frivolous is much clearer, and where she dedicates her time and energy is sacred.

“Life is a precious gift, but even more precious is the quality of life. Focus on being present for every experience, big and small. Think about your legacy, and act on that every day,” she said. “Your legacy isn’t something bold or grandiose, it is the stamp you make on the world. Every day we impact others, and that is what makes all of this so incredible.”

Brooks has worked hard to maintain normality in her life. Despite exhaustion and the roller coaster of changes in her body, she is determined to cook dinner, do her job well and play tennis. Her family and friends buoy her spirits, fill the gaps, drive her to appointments and are ready and willing to do anything she needs. In return, Brooks strives to continue being a good friend, a hard worker and a good wife. Her greatest focus, she said, is 10-year-old Jonah.

“Life with Jonah feels as normal as can be, because I refuse to have it any other way,” said Brooks. “He knows everything that’s going on, but I still want to give him the best of me. Sure, there are times I’m angry and times I cry, because this just shouldn’t be and it’s unfair, but I choose not to do that around him. I may start worrying about being at Jonah’s bar mitzvah in two years, but I work hard to correct that thinking. I’m still here. I’m going to see him off to college one day.”

Friends have told Brooks she should quit her job and travel to places she’s always dreamed of visiting, but she refuses to do that because that sounds like she’s dying.

“My counselor once asked if a doctor told me I’m dying,” said Brooks. “The answer was no; my doctor hadn’t said that. So, the counselor said, ‘Unless the doctor says you’re dying, you’re living.’ It’s so simple, but it’s beautiful. One day they may say I’m dying, but until then, I’m going to live.”

Jonathan Gross: Extra Special Photographer

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jonathan Gross is not a man of many words, but his photographs speak thousands. Jonathan is one of 35 individuals currently participating in A Thousand Words Photography Project, a mission by ConnectAbility to teach groups of all abilities about photography. Jonathan of Dawsonville has learned a lot in his seven years with the project and has even made plans to launch his own photography business after he graduates from Dawson County High School in the spring.

Jonathan, 21, has Down syndrome and has been involved with ConnectAbility since age 2. ConnectAbility is a non-profit with a mission to create communities where people of all abilities are valued, included and empowered. They offer free programs to families, monthly parties, and an array of other services. Jonathan’s mother, Pam Gross, took a leap of faith when she dropped Jonathan off the first time for respite care.

Jonathan Gross is not a man of many words, but his photographs speak thousands. Jonathan is one of 35 individuals currently participating in A Thousand Words Photography Project, a mission by ConnectAbility to teach groups of all abilities about photography. Jonathan of Dawsonville has learned a lot in his seven years with the project and has even made plans to launch his own photography business after he graduates from Dawson County High School in the spring.

Jonathan, 21, has Down syndrome and has been involved with ConnectAbility since age 2. ConnectAbility is a non-profit with a mission to create communities where people of all abilities are valued, included and empowered. They offer free programs to families, monthly parties, and an array of other services. Jonathan’s mother, Pam Gross, took a leap of faith when she dropped Jonathan off the first time for respite care.

“He’d never taken pictures before. We bought him a point and shoot digital camera to see how he liked it and, well, he loved it,” said Pam. “I think the very first day he took over 300 pictures. Some were crazy, he experimented in the dark, he tried all kinds of angles. It surprised me to see his point of view.”

During his first year of A Thousand Words, Jonathan’s group was shooting at Gibbs Gardens in Ball Ground. Pam attempted to direct Jonathan to pretty flowers, but he instead wandered to a retention pond. The mentor photographer asked Pam if she was concerned for Jonathan’s safety. She answered no, but explained she didn’t understand why he was at the retention pond when there were so many wonderful things to photograph.

“She told me to let him be, so I did,” said Pam. “It wasn’t until later that night when I looked through his photos. I was amazed,” Pam said. “There were reeds beside the pond, and the reflection of overhead wires on the water. Things I would’ve never noticed, I wouldn’t have even gone to that area, or seen those angles. I was schooled that day. Jonathan could see beauty in ways I couldn’t.”

ConnectAbility is celebrating their 10th year of A Thousand Words Photography Project. This year they’ve partnered with groups in North Carolina and Spain. The theme is “Road Trip,” and participants were given a miniature VW bus to incorporate into their pictures. This is the second year the group will self-publish a book of the photography.

Lee Anne Tourigny is the coordinator of A Thousand Words Photography Project. While in college, she wrote her honors thesis on therapeutic photography and how it affects depression and anxiety. She wrote of how photography can create community and improve individuals’ well-being. Her role at ConnectAbility proves her theory.

“Watching everyone get so actively involved, interacting with one another, excited about the photos they’re producing – you can tell how much they love it and how much happiness it brings to their lives,” said Tourigny.

Angela Cooper said her daughter, Hannah, who is also Jonathan’s best friend, has gained not just a hobby through photography, but confidence.

“Two of her photos sold for $500 each at the annual gala. She was so proud,” said Angela.

Jonathan’s photos have also received accolades. This year he won a photography contest through the Historic Preservation Commission in Dawsonville and three of his photos were accepted into a juried arts show at the Bowen Center for the Arts. Due to his talent and interest, his parents will help him pursue an online photography business called Depictions of Being after graduation.

“I’d like for this venture to be a place for him to showcase his point of view and encourage anyone who struggles to communicate that they can still find ways to express their perspective,” said Pam. “Challenges don’t have to limit you, sometimes you just stretch in different directions.”

Jonathan, Hannah, and their fellow photographers eagerly anticipate the annual Thousand Words Photography Project Gala in January. A night when they can dress up, be recognized for their efforts, and let their photographs do the talking.

VENUS

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

When Venus Morris Griffin was in the deepest pit of darkness, she made a pact. If God helped her get out, she would share her story, no matter how humiliating, in hope of helping others. God followed through, and now Griffin has, too.

One of Augusta’s top-selling real estate agents, Griffin began sharing her harrowing life story through online real estate training sessions, then transitioned to speaking at national real estate conferences, packing halls to standing room only. Next came podcast interviews, which is how Brandon Stanton heard her story. Stanton is the creator of Humans of New York (HONY), the popular photoblog started in 2010 on Instagram and Facebook that has amassed nearly 12 million followers, produced three anthologies, and, most recently, a memoir. On March 3, HONY ran a 13-part story on Griffin that promptly went viral.

“What (Stanton) did for me, how carefully he handled my story, how respectful he was, and the exposure gained from sharing it on his platform — it was humbling, wonderful and embarrassing all in the same breath,” said Griffin. “There were millions of likes. People called me a good mom. They said I inspired them. The fight I made for my children, pushing through the pain, it was all worth it. For the first time in my life, I felt validated.”

‘Everyone loved him’

Griffin’s nightmare began in 2011 when, while nursing her baby daughter late one night, she received a phone call.

Venus, you don’t know me, but I’m calling to tell you what an awful man your husband is.

Within an hour, Griffin met with the caller, a young woman, in a hotel room behind a Denny’s. According to Griffin, the woman divulged details of her affair with Griffin’s husband, John Evangle “Tripp” Morris III, and said he turned menacing when she threatened to tell his wife. The woman was afraid, but also, it seemed, in love.

“On my way to meet with her, I imagined a heated confrontation and hating her because she took my family from me,” said Griffin, 50. “But when I looked into her eyes, all I felt was compassion, connection. I saw me, someone who hadn’t gotten away from their demons, and I wanted to help her. I forgave her instantly. I kept thinking, what has happened in your life?”

Griffin understood demons and the desperate desire to escape them. She grew up in a roach-infested trailer with a mom who battled drug addiction and cycled in and out of rehab centers. It was not until Griffin became an adult that she realized some moms make breakfast for their children.

“My first memory is watching my mother’s fingernails,” Griffin recalled in her HONY feature. “My stepfather would make me sit beside the couch and watch them. If they turned blue, I was supposed to call 911.”

Griffin navigated her traumatic childhood by hiding her life from others. Friends weren’t invited over for fear they’d see the roaches scatter, the pill bottles littering the floor or learn her mom had attempted suicide by sticking her head in the toilet.

Griffin changed high schools six times. When she was invited to prom, she was surprised and elated. While fixing her hair for the big night, her mom told Griffin: You will never be as pretty as me. Then she stuck her fingers in her daughter’s perfectly coiffed hair and messed it up.

“I could have let her win,” said Griffin. “I could have cried, but I wasn’t going to let her take that night from me. I quickly fixed my hair and walked out the door. I wasn’t going to let her ruin my life.”

When Griffin graduated high school, she got two loans and worked two jobs in order to earn her political science degree at the University of South Carolina. That’s where she met and fell in love with Morris.

“It’s complicated even now,” said Griffin. “If I could turn back the clock and change things to how I thought they were, how I thought they would be, I would. I genuinely loved him.”

There was much to love about the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed young man. Morris was gregarious, the focus of every crowd he encountered. He was a big man on campus — a college cheerleader and president of his fraternity. When he visited Griffin’s family at Christmastime, he dressed as Santa and handed out toys to the kids. Everyone loved him.

‘Forgiving him was key’

After college, Morris and Griffin moved to Augusta, Morris’ hometown. They married and welcomed six children. Morris was unable to reproduce, so they relied on a sperm donor, the same one, for each child. Together, Morris and Griffin served as PTA presidents. Morris led their Wednesday night Bible study and coached their son’s baseball team. As Griffin said in HONY, he was 90% good. The other 10% was terrifying.

“The children adored him, but, like me, they were a little scared of him,” said Griffin. “There was one time we were at our son John’s baseball game and the umpire made a bad call. Tripp started screaming so bad that the police escorted him off the field. There was always that side of him. When his temper would flare, it would flare. He was big on calling me names. And he’d get in my face.”

Griffin said Morris’ mood swings worsened over the years. Ten years into their marriage, he pushed her into a bathtub. Another time, Griffin screamed for her oldest son to call 911. Morris had pinned her to a bed and threatened to snap her neck.

After Griffin confronted Morris about his affair, he confessed, admitting to a sex addiction and checked into a rehab facility. While he was away, Griffin learned the whole truth.

“One of my daughters came to me and told me a story about her father. It was the worst thing it could possibly be,” Griffin confided to HONY. “It wasn’t just prostitutes. It was inside the home.”

Griffin hired a polygraph technician to administer a lie detector test to Morris. Afterward, the technician told Griffin she’d be an unfit mother if she let Morris come home.

Morris was arrested, convicted of aggravated child molestation and is serving sentences of 20 years and 25 years at Baldwin State Prison in Milledgeville.

“I’ll never forget coming home from the courthouse after Tripp was convicted,” said Griffin. “I sat my six children down. I told them, ‘The first thing we’re going to do is forgive your dad. We will never talk bad about him.’ Forgiving him was key. If you forgive people, you can move forward and see life differently. I knew if I could forgive him, my kids would follow.”

Rebuilding their lives didn’t come as easily, especially with the discovery that Morris had depleted the family’s finances and incurred a lot of debt.

“There were days when I just wanted to die. I didn’t know how I could support my children. How would I meet all their physical and emotional needs? How would I pay off Tripp’s credit card debt?” Griffin recalled. “I felt shamed by my community and church friends. But if I lay my cross down, my six kids would have to carry it. I will die trying before I quit.”

The day after Morris’ conviction, Griffin woke at 5 a.m. and ran five miles, as she still does every morning. And for the first year, she took all six kids with her to mass before school every day.

“The kids didn’t like it and neither did I, but it was our only option,” said Griffin. “We needed help. Looking back, it was my saving grace. It was stressful getting the kids there, but I’d hear something from the priest to get me through the day, to give me strength. I’m not a holy roller, but I’m a person of faith who believes nothing happens by chance. My life is proof of it. If you live long enough, you’ll go through hard stuff. How will you let it define you?”

‘I could be happy in a trailer’

Prior to Morris’ conviction, Griffin’s only work experience was as a waitress and nanny. While Griffin was in the hospital recovering from the birth of their sixth child, Morris told her she should get a job, so she did. She took online courses to earn her real estate license. When Morris went to prison, she turned to real estate full time. Griffin’s oldest son, John, watched the younger kids after school, allowing Griffin to work up to 70 hours a week. But she was always home for dinner.

“Every time I made a sale, I’d use the commission to pay off a little more of our debt,” said Griffin. “That first year, I made $100,000. By my seventh year, I was grossing over $1 million.”

Currently in the midst of a divorce from her second husband, with whom she had her seventh child, Griffin is now vice president of Meybohm Real Estate, the same brokerage firm she started with a decade ago. And she is enjoying the spoils of a successful career.

When Morris left, Griffin and her six children were living in a two-bedroom home. Now they reside in a 7,000-square-foot home with eight bedrooms, a pool and a two-bedroom guest house. Recently, Griffin purchased a $1.2 million beach house in St. Simons Island. Her down payment was $1 million.

“I know at any moment I could lose it all. Money doesn’t define me,” said Griffin. “I could be happy in a trailer as long as I have my kids. I’ve developed a lot of wealth in real estate, and I’ve worked with clients who have millions. Some are happy, some are not. Money is good and it can be fun, but it’s the sit-down dinners that sustain you.”

‘I wanted to give people hope’

Griffin never forgot the deal she made with God. She knew she had to become successful in the business world before she could have a platform to help others. It was around her seventh year of real estate when she felt an urge to share her story.

The speaking engagements she booked through the real-estate world were lauded and led the way to events nationwide. Though she’s told her story many times, she is not immune to the horror of it all. Pain rests right beneath her tenacious exterior. To protect herself and, most importantly, her children, Griffin limits her interviews and holds tight to certain details.

She’s currently working on her biography with writer Kimberly Houk and has been a guest on multiple podcasts, which was the catalyst to her newfound HONY fame.

“My wife heard Venus on a fertility podcast,” said Stanton, who moved from New York back to Georgia, his home state, during the pandemic. “She was talking about her large family, which was conceived through a sperm donor, then went on a tangent about her life story. My wife said I had to hear it. I listened and messaged her right after.”

Stanton spent around 15 hours interviewing and photographing Griffin for her HONY feature. He released her series on March 3, posting one chapter per hour throughout the day. His readers were enraptured — liking, commenting, begging Stanton to post the next chapter quicker.

“I expected Venus’ story to be well-received, but it exceeded expectations even for me,” said Stanton. “I love all my stories, but I never know when a story is really going to connect, when the audience is going to latch on. With Venus, the audience came along for the entire journey.”

Every Mother’s Day, Griffin receives a card from Morris. In it he tells her she was the best wife, an amazing mom. Once a year, Griffin sends him family photos and a long letter to update him on the children’s lives. Her friends don’t understand why she does it.

“I treat him how I’d want someone to treat me if I were in prison and never going to see my kids again,” said Griffin. “He’s serving a tremendous sentence, and I know I don’t have to do anything. I try to remember, and I remind my kids, that he has a mental illness. As a Christian, I believe it doesn’t hurt to treat him like a human being.”

Griffin has no plans to slow down with real estate. She could retire now and be set for life, but she continues to work and grind. One of her greatest goals is to put all her children through college debt free. She also hopes to continue sharing her testimony to help others, especially women.

“I feel like I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain with God,” said Griffin. “I wanted to give people hope, inspiration, motivation, to show them that if I could do it, so can they. I’ve received messages from people across the world, telling me they’d contemplated suicide, but my story gave them hope. Good came from the bad. I achieved my goal.”

But she doesn’t let it go to her head.

“I’m not perfect. Don’t paint me out to be,” she said. “Everyone has a story. Mine is horrific, but my pain is no different from the prostitute’s or the next person’s. I’m no one special, please put that in bold letters. I’m a mother. I just want to sit down and have dinner with my kids every night.”

And in the mornings, she will make her children breakfast: biscuits, bacon and eggs.

Dr. Durden

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

At the end of each day, after plastic surgeon, Dr. Frederick Durden, has worked a long shift and kissed his three children goodnight, his prayer is the same: please let me be useful to others and help me honor the blessings I’ve received.

“Let me be clear,” said Durden, 44, when asked about his success. “I’m very thankful for mercy, favor, and my blessings, and I use them all for God’s glory. I find great satisfaction in knowing I woke with the intent to do a good thing and am so happy when I accomplish that. I know I’m blessed in terms of what I am, what I do, and where I come from. I recognize what everyone has done for me to be here.”

Durden refers to himself as a “Grady baby” when explaining how deep his roots run in Georgia. He was born at Grady Hospital, grew up in Atlanta, and attended both Morehouse College and Emory University.

“I had amazing role models,” said Durden. “My grandfather was a sharecropper and he taught that trade to his five sons. All of them had less than a high school education, but they went on to be successful. I watched them and I learned. You get up and work; there is no excuse. I didn’t know I’d become a doctor one day, but I knew I’d be successful because I knew how to work hard, and I was surrounded by support and love.”

When he begins to say who in his life has had the most impact, his deep voice breaks.

“My mother had a traditional role at home until my dad left, then she became the head of the household,” said Durden. “I’d see her at night, reading her Bible, rocking, worrying, but she was strong and never complained. Anything I did was met with ‘I’m proud of you, baby, you get out there and get it.’”

During his time at Morehouse, he was surrounded by great men, great stories and legacies to fill the gaps from his father’s absence. That said, he bears no bitterness toward his father, whom he has not seen since his teen years. He does not judge him, he forgives him, and hopes he might reach out one day, maybe even meet his grandchildren.

Durden and his high school sweetheart, Tonia, have one daughter, Zoé, age 5, and two sons, Frederick, 3, and Isaiah, 1, who is named after Durden’s grandfather, the sharecropper. In 2015, the family chose to move to Fayetteville, not far from the Cancer Treatment Centers of America in Newnan, where Durden is a plastic and reconstructive surgeon.

“I chose CTCA because it’s different from other places,” said Durden. “They focus on both holistic medicine and traditional medicine to take care of cancer patients. The spiritual aspect really spoke to me, too. You don’t have to be afraid to pray with a patient.”

One patient Durden didn’t expect to cross paths with is his sister, Linda Jackson.

“You don’t imagine yourself ever having cancer,” said Jackson, 49, who is being treated for colorectal cancer. “I don’t know how I’d get through this process without my brother. He isn’t my doctor, but it’s a blessing that he’s there. He shares the medical side, I share the patient perspective, and we help each other. I love and appreciate him dearly. But he always says don’t thank me, thank God.”

Somehow, despite his 12-hour weekday shifts and four-to-six-hour weekend shifts, Durden found time to create a cancer support group at Cornerstone Baptist Church, where he and his family attend each Sunday. As with his sister, he learns so much from the group he leads. He carries the insight with him and applies it with patients.

“I’m very thankful for all the blessings I receive, and I think it’s my responsibility to take those blessings and use them to serve others,” said Durden.

If you tell Durden’s mother that he attributes much of his success to her, she takes no credit.

“God gives him another chance every day,” said Mary Durden. “Fred believes that you give, and you shall receive. He believes in treating others how you want to be treated. I’m proud of him. He’s come a long way, though he doesn’t look at himself like that. He cuts the grass, he’s a great husband and father, always trying to do the right thing, always putting God first. We believe you pray, and God will see you through. We learned that from my mama.”

The apple doesn’t fall far in the Durden family.

Dyslexic Mama on a Mission

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Joy Mitchell’s eyes filled with tears when she saw her family smiling from the stands of the University of Alabama coliseum. Shoulder to shoulder they stood, her husband, her siblings, her five children, all to watch the highly successful CEO earn her bachelor’s degree.

Joy’s college journey did not go as she hoped after high school. As the youngest of four, her mom frequently reminded her of the value of education. Her older sisters both earned their doctorates, her brother graduated from Georgia Tech, but, unlike them, Joy struggled with reading and writing. She attended Georgia College for a while, she moved back home and tried cosmetology school for a semester, then attended Georgia State for a short time.

“It was so hard, there were many challenges, and I felt like I’d failed,” said Joy, 41. “Still, it was important to me, and I knew I could do it. My heart wanted it.”

While living back at home, Joy began working alongside her mother, who sold used furniture. Joy and her boyfriend Brett Mitchell, her husband now for 19 years, drove all over town, delivering the furniture from the back of Brett’s pick-up truck.

“I loved working and began seeing a bigger picture. I wanted to transition into new furniture,” said Joy. “I grew up in Gwinnett and had a great support system and network. I made a plan and I hustled.”

Joy’s business, Office Creations, a corporate furniture company, was founded in 2001. She utilized many skills her mom imparted, but many lessons were learned in the baptism-by-fire approach. As her success began to grow, so did her family.

Joy, who splits her time between Atlanta and Sea Island, has four daughters and one son, spanning from ages 8 to 17. Though she’d proven she could be successful without a college degree, her desire for it never waned. While pregnant with her fourth child, Joy secretly began classes at Georgia Gwinnett College. She only attended for one semester.

“I quit and felt like I’d failed again,” said Joy.

Joy’s daughter OletaKate, now 15, began struggling with reading and writing in elementary school. Joy saw so much of herself in her daughter. She could read the same paragraph five times and not comprehend what she’d read.

“Through the process of testing we discovered OletaKate is severely dyslexic,” said Joy. “My husband and I looked at each other and realized I was dyslexic, too. I spoke with my mom about my struggles from childhood and instantly it all made sense and it was actually exciting. When someone who’s dyslexic realizes there’s hope, it’s a game changer.”

Since the dyslexia journey began, Joy has learned how to better retain information, audible books being one of the best methods. This discovery reinvigorated her desire to earn her bachelor’s degree, if not for herself, then to show to OletaKate how it was possible for her.

“I saw the University of Alabama was offering an online hybrid school opportunity,” said Joy. “I applied without telling my husband and kids and when I got accepted, I sobbed. My kids’ response was ‘you’re going to Alabama?’ because we’re Georgia fans, but they were proud.”

A decade had elapsed since she’d been in school. Mitchell retook many classes and adjusted her days to get the work done. Office Creations had grown exponentially (annual revenues up to $42 million) and her kids were all involved in extracurricular activities. Mitchell took classes from 5 to 7 a.m. before the kids were up, then again from 8:30-10:30 p.m. after they went to bed.

“My kids saw the work, they saw I had to step away and prioritize what I wanted, and what could drive opportunities for our family,” said Joy. “What others see is a successful business owner, but my kids got to see all the effort and I’m grateful for that.”

The validation she felt was immense and her desire to learn only intensified. Once again, in secret, Mitchell applied to a school, this time to the University of Georgia for her executive MBA. A year later, she walked at her second graduation ceremony.

“It meant the world to watch my mom get her degrees,” said OletaKate. “She reminds me all the time that even if I get a bad grade, or if I’m struggling, I can work for whatever I want. Seeing her do it made me see I can do it, too. She is who I want to be one day.”

Through happy tears, OletaKate held a sign at her mom’s graduation ceremony with bold writing that read “I am so proud of you.”

Miracle Match

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jeanine Ramirez was making plans for the end of her life when a call from Bixby, Oklahoma, changed everything.

“Jeanine, I’m a match,” said Jimmie Deibert as soon as Ramirez answered.

“For what?” asked Ramirez.

“I’m giving you my kidney,” said Deibert.

Ramirez, of Milton, was shocked to learn she was in kidney failure during her annual physical in 2018. She was asymptomatic, but the combination of migraine medication Topamax and pain reliever ibuprofen caused her creatinine levels to skyrocket. She did her best to slow the progression, but in June 2021 her kidney function dropped to just 9%.

“My arms and legs started to hurt, I had shooting pains that made me wonder if I was having a heart attack, I had no energy or appetite. My body was incredibly itchy because my phosphorus was so high,” said Ramirez, 46. “My doctor said that without a transplant I had about six months to live.”

Ramirez, a single mother, panicked about what would happen to her daughter Kyra, 17. Who would take care of her if she died? Would they respect her wishes and love her daughter well?

When work friend, Jane Bridges, asked Ramirez how things were going, honesty was the only answer.

“I immediately asked what I could do,” said Bridges, 52, of Melbourne, Florida. “I went online to Emory’s site to see if I could be a donor. I wasn’t eligible, but I wasn’t going to let a friend die because of my inaction.”

Though Bridges and Ramirez are co-workers at Cancer Treatment Centers of America, they’d never met in person. They both work from home in their respective states. When Bridges asked Ramirez for permission to email her contacts about the crisis, Ramirez said yes, please.

“I’ve worked with Jeanine for about 12 years, but have never met her in person, and had no idea about her health status until I read Jane’s email,” said Deibert, who works at the same company as the ladies and is based in Oklahoma. “Something about her story and knowing her through the years, I just felt like God was speaking to me. I felt like he was asking me to be the one.”

Within an hour of receiving the email, Deibert went to the Emory transplant website and began the process to see if he was a match. By the end of September, he received the news.

“Oddly, I wasn’t surprised that I was a match,” said Deibert, a father of two teenaged sons. “I had a feeling from the beginning. I told my wife, Laura, I thought the opportunity was God’s plan and her reply was ‘I can’t argue with that.’”

The Deiberts flew to Atlanta on Oct. 7 to meet Jeanine and her daughter and undergo more tests.

“That visit really confirmed everything,” said Deibert. “Jeanine is an awesome person and seeing her with her daughter made everything feel even more right.”

The surgery was scheduled for Nov. 11, Veteran’s Day, which felt especially poignant as Ramirez is a veteran.

“I kept my guard up right until surgery,” said Ramirez. “I was nervous something would go wrong. I arrived at the hospital first and was scared until I heard the elevator doors open. I turned to see Jimmie and his wife praying.”

The three prayed together in the waiting room before Ramirez and Deibert were taken to side-by-side operating rooms. Six hours later, the operations were complete and Ramirez’ new kidney was functioning perfectly.

“By the next day my energy was like a 16-year old’s,” said Ramirez. “I was walking the halls and felt better than I had in probably 30 years.”

Bridges, determined to continue helping however she could, drove up from Florida and cared for Ramirez for two weeks after surgery. It was the first time they’d met in person.

“It was emotional, but also so familiar,” said Bridges. “I had to go help her. I just had to. If there’s something you can’t do personally, don’t sit back and put your hands up. There’s always something you can do.”

Both Ramirez and Deibert have thrived since the transplant. About three to four weeks after surgery, Deibert returned to his regular gym visits and has zero restrictions. Ramirez’ new kidney is functioning at 100%.

“I’m Kyra’s cheer coach at the high school and I’m her Girl Scout troop leader, as I have been since she was in kindergarten, but now I have so much more energy to enjoy this life,” said Ramirez.

Ramirez, Deibert, and Bridges agree their bond will endure. They are family now.

“We all just celebrated the two-month anniversary of “Sidney the Kidney,” said Ramirez. “I’m overwhelmed by my blessings and thankful for every day. When I hear Jane and Jimmie’s names, my heart does a backflip and I smile.”

For Jimmie, the opportunity to be a living donor has affirmed what he’s always known.

“You hear the saying ‘it’s more blessed to give than to receive’ and it’s absolute truth,” said Deibert. “What a huge joy to give such a gift. How often do you get to directly and immediately save someone’s life? I don’t say that to pat myself on the back, Jane was just as important as Jeanine’s advocate. It was God’s plan and we got to be part of it. How awesome is that?”

Dude 21

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Three weeks before he died in June 2021, Chandler Patterson stood at his wedding rehearsal and professed his love for his family and friends. On Friday, hundreds of his loved ones gathered to raise a glass of Dude 21, a beer created in tribute to Chandler by his bride, Alyssa Patterson.

Chandler lived his life for God, country, and family. His parents instilled in him a servant’s heart, a desire to give back to his community, which is what led him to firefighting in the city of Gainesville, a job he loved and, his family says, would have continued through retirement.

When Chandler and Alyssa met in the fall of 2019, they fell quickly. In fact, on their first date, Chandler told Alyssa he was going to marry her one day. Two weeks later they were exchanging “I love yous” and meeting one another’s parents. Chandler proposed 11 months later and they said their vows before an audience of 250 on June 5, 2021.

“It was like a fairytale,” said Alyssa, 24. “He loved me so well and was everything I ever wanted. I’m so thankful he was mine, even if for just a little while. Knowing what I know now, I’d do it all over again.”

The newlyweds enjoyed a weeklong honeymoon in Cancun, then returned to their new home in Braselton, where they were excited to settle into a routine as man and wife. They hosted their families for the first time on Father’s Day, and six days later, while out on Lake Tugaloo with a group of buddies, Chandler was killed in a boating accident.

“I couldn’t move when we got the call. I couldn’t speak,” said Alyssa. “All that was going through my mind was ‘we just got married. How is this happening?’”

On July 2, just shy of their one-month wedding anniversary, Alyssa eulogized her husband before a crowd of 1,000, not counting the thousands who watched the livestream.

In the seven months since losing Chandler, Alyssa, a sales implementation specialist for an insurance company, has relied heavily on her faith to guide her through the onslaught of grief. She attended a retreat in November for young widows, sponsored by Be Still Ministries, and she has been surrounded with support from friends, family, even strangers.

A week before Christmas, Alyssa visited StillFire Brewing in Suwanee with her sister and friends. As she sat on the patio, drinking her favorite sour beer, Gummy Bandit, she thought about Chandler.

She’d brought him to StillFire on one of their first dates.

“StillFire is everything Chan loved,” said Alyssa. “It’s an old firehouse turned brewery that offers live music. It’s the perfect spot.”

Thinking back on their many visits to StillFire, an idea struck Alyssa. Chandler rode on engine 21 and was well-known for calling his friends “dude,” which is why the fire department had patches with “Dude 21″ created in his memory. What if StillFire brewed a beer for in honor of Chandler called Dude 21, she wondered. Could they do that?

“She sent me an e-mail all about Chandler and it tore at my heart,” said Phil Farrell, brew master at StillFire. “I shared it with the partners, and it was decided within five minutes: we would make this happen and fast.”

Alyssa and her family graciously accepted Farrell’s invitation to join him as he created Dude 21, a flavorful IPA that has the number 21 used repeatedly in its formulation. And, of course, they scheduled the beer release for Jan. 21.

“We made six kegs of beer and we’ve already busted through three of those,” said StillFire partner and general manager Aaron Bisges early in the evening at the release. “The good news is, on Monday Phil and the team will be back in the lab to make more. This is one of the biggest responses we’ve ever seen.”

StillFire is also sending a few kegs of Dude 21 to Universal Joint, a bar near Chandler’s hometown in Rabun County.

After the crowd cheered and toasted to Chandler, the family was invited in the back where Farrell gave them a surprise. StillFire dedicated a fermentation tank, complete with American flags and a firefighter hat, to Chandler “Dude 21″ Patterson.

After months of darkness, multiple family members said the night was a welcome opportunity to celebrate. It was filled with things Chandler loved and the people he loved most. Prophetic words from his rehearsal speech echoed among the crowd, words that will long outlive the man.

“If you want to be happy, you have to invest in people,” Chandler said in his speech. “My grandfather always said ‘when you die, what are people going to say about you? Are they gonna say ‘man, that guy drove an awesome truck,’ or ‘that guy had nice clothes.’ No. When you’re gone people don’t remember those things, they don’t care about that. People care about who you are and your heart. Granddaddy always said if you invest in people, you will always be rich. If you have a full heart, you will be rich. I’m not perfect at all, but I do love people. I’ve failed at many things in my life, but I don’t fail at loving people … I love you guys.”

Ryan Cone

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

After seeing his father’s list of unfulfilled dreams, Ryan Cone was determined to honor his father’s memory by making his own dreams come true.

“I took care of my dad the last couple years of life while he fought cancer,” said Cone, 41. “We found an old list of goals, things like: go to Hawaii, start a cigar company. Dad said “don’t be like me. I’m 57 years old and I didn’t do any of those things because I was fearful.”

He got stuck in a rat race, he needed to provide for his children, and he couldn’t take any risks.”

Cone was 18 years old when his father died. The loss sent him down a path of self-discovery. He began contemplating the deeper questions in life. He wanted to learn what it takes to be successful, and he started by figuring out his personal definition of success.

“I started reading biographies and motivational books,” said Cone. “When I was 23 years old, a senior at Georgia Southern, I started interviewing people, at least 100, to see how they mapped out their successful lives. Someone suggested I called Tommy Newberry. He became my coach and that changed everything.”

Newberry is a best-selling author and business coach based in Atlanta.

“Ryan had big goals, needed coaching, and said he’d need a scholarship for the coaching,” said Newberry. “He said ‘I promise if you do this, I’ll become one of your best clients, maybe your very best.’ He met that promise by his 10-year mark.”

Cone is a commercial real estate agent in Atlanta. By age 29 he owned his own company, which morphed a couple times before becoming Cone Commercial. With Newberry’s help, Cone learned to place equal emphasis on five areas of life: faith, business, spirituality, health and family.

“I realized that my definition of success is balance in all those buckets,” said Cone. “Financial freedom is huge, but I also wanted to dive into my spiritual life and be a charitable person. I want to be fit and healthy, and present for my wife and kids. I want to be the dad who never misses a game or recital, who can put his phone away and focus on what’s right in front of him.”

Cone starts each day with a morning ritual. He wakes early, drinks a full glass of water, does 15 breath reps, stretches and says affirmations. From 7 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. he plans out his entire day and tackles his most daunting tasks. He likes to schedule at least an hour of alone time every week, whether taking a long “God walk” at sunrise or going to hit golf balls.

“None of my best thoughts have happened when I’m around other people,” said Cone. “It’s good for me to have that quiet time to set my intention and meditate on my goals.”

It’s been 18 years and Cone still receives coaching from Newberry. They speak bi-weekly and communicate through e-mail and text frequently. They meet for a full day once a quarter, along with a group of other entrepreneurs like Cone.

“Not all my clients are as disciplined as Ryan,” said Newberry. “While it takes some a while to implement my principles, Ryan calls within 12 hours with follow-up questions. Balance can be so hard for a business owner to attain. It’s easy to become a workaholic, or to abandon your health, your marriage, your faith. But Ryan sets goals in every area of his life and implements them.”

Cone has been married to his wife, Stephanie, since 2005 and they share two daughters, Aubrey, 8, and Madelyn, 6. He often writes affirmations on Post-Its for his daughters and puts them on their mirrors. He created a nighttime ritual with the girls that he calls “Maker, Mission & Mate,” something he picked up in a parenting seminar years ago.

“My girls know who their maker is, they have a mission in life, and I encourage them to pick a good mate in their future,” said Cone.

Cone also upholds a “Good Husband List,” which consists of date nights, affirmations, gifts of service, and “etched memories,” where, every six months, he creates a special experience for his family, which is most often a trip.

Though Cone leads a good life, he is no stranger to challenges. He has dealt with a health issue, and, like many, his business came to a halt at the beginning of the pandemic.

“Storms are going to happen, it’s inevitable,” said Cone. “It natural to focus on the negative, but if you have a safety net with affirmations and goal setting, if you have faith in a higher power and can be transparent with your emotions, the storms are easier to weather. Anxiety happens to everyone, but a plan for the valleys helps us climb the mountains.”

Cone sets goals as far out as 30 years from now. The ritual of goal setting keeps him focused on living the life he contemplated at his father’s bedside years ago.

“I may not be Arthur Blank, but in my sphere of influence, I want to help change others for the better,” said Cone. “Success in business is great, but I want to be known for honesty, charity and good character. I want to be a nice person, a good father, a good husband. I will be grateful for each day and chase my wildest dreams. I know my dad would be proud.”

Young Philanthropists

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

What breaks your heart? What makes your heart happy? That’s how it all begins at Kids Boost, a nonprofit where kids are empowered to use their passions for good. The answers to those questions serve as a launching pad for young philanthropists, ages 8 to 14, guiding them to organize and lead a fundraiser for a cause that matters to them.

Kids Boost executive director, Kristen Williams, worked for 15 years as a child life specialist at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. Around 2012, Williams met a kid named Jared, a former Children’s patient, who wanted to give back to the hospital, but was unsure of what to do.

“He didn’t want to just collect things, he wanted to do something bigger,” said Williams, 42. “He’d suffered a severe arm injury years before and part of his therapy was rock climbing. We met and I tried to help him find a way to fundraise through something he loved, and that’s just what he did. He created Jared’s Climb for Kids. Stone Summit donated the time for him to climb and friends and family pledged donations for every wall he climbed. He raised $2,500.”

Williams’ lightbulb moment occurred at Jared’s check presentation.

“I saw this kid who’d been through so much, beaming with pride,” said Williams. “Wouldn’t it be awesome, I thought, if every kid had the opportunity to use what they love to help a cause that’s important to them? As a mother of a son, I knew I wanted to raise my child to be philanthropic. I wanted it for all children, really. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. It’s like my soul was on fire.”

Williams dreamed about starting Kids Boost for about two years before taking the plunge at the end of 2014 when she attained her 501c3 non-profit status. She continued to work at Children’s Healthcare as able on weekends and poured herself into Kids Boost, which was especially difficult as a single mother.

“I joke that we’ve lived off peanut butter and a prayer,” said Williams, whose son, Parker, is 14. “No one gets into the nonprofit world for money, that’s for sure. There are no benefits and it’s so much work. But it’s also the most rewarding risk of my life.”

When a kid decides to take on a Kids Boost project, they meet with Williams or one of the two other coaches, they’re given a $100 start-up fund, and a fundraising plan is created. The kids learn many business skills, like money management, marketing, even the importance of a thank you note. Their first “no” is celebrated with a gift card to Dunkin Donuts.

“We practice their pitch and prepare them to hear the word no,” said Williams. “We tell them it’s not fun to hear, but you have to keep going, keep knocking and you’ll get that yes.”

The average project spans about three months. The average funds raised is $1,800. Recently, a booster raised over $27,000. To date, 204 kids have completed a Kids Boost project and raised $367,000 and growing. Kids Boost has supported 113 nonprofit organizations around the world.

“It is my hope that kids will catch the bug and become lifelong philanthropists,” said Williams. “I’d love to see Kids Boost chapters open across the nation. I’d love for signing up to run a Kids Boost project to be as common as signing up for piano lessons or soccer. There is great emphasis on sports and academics, rightly so, but what are we doing to teach our kids to be good people?”

Thalia Fung-a-wing, now 12, was 11 when she asked her parents if she could do a Kids Boost project.

“She wanted to fundraise for the End It Movement, which raises awareness for human slavery and trafficking,” said Gabrielle Fung-a-wing, Thalia’s mother. “She learned about the organization through our church, Passion City Church. As a parent, you want to shield your children from those topics for a while. I wasn’t ready to have some of the conversations necessary when she came to me about human trafficking, but she’s very mature for her age and this opportunity allowed me the chance to have a really open, honest conversation about what’s happening all around us and what we can do to help.”

Thalia’s project was set to run in the spring of 2020, but COVID made conventional plans a challenge. Since Thalia is a big fan of cooking, she and her Kids Boost coach decided she could create her own cooking show on YouTube. Viewers were granted access to the protected site by making a donation to the End It Movement. In the end, Thalia raised $1,370.

“It felt so good to hand over the check,” said Thalia, her inflection punctuated by squeals of enthusiasm. “It made me so emotional, and I was, like, trying not to cry because I had worked really hard. I was just so happy I got to do my part to make the world a little bit better.”

Saint Imelda

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

When her brown eyes meet those of someone in need, a Bible verse echoes in her thoughts.

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” — Matthew 25:35

“Is this you God, I wonder, is this you asking for my help,” explained Imelda Solano. “I ask and think, who am I to say no?”

Solano, 48, grew up in the Catholic schools of Lima, Peru. The motto “servian,” which means “to serve,” is a mentality woven deeply into her being, as inherent as her blood type or bone structure. She sees herself as a servant — a happy, determined one.

Solano, of Brookhaven, has worked for the Archdiocese of Atlanta for 14 years, first as the Hispanic ministry coordinator at the Cathedral of Christ the King, then in the Office of Life, Dignity and Justice. Aside from her altruistic work duties, she volunteers countless hours a week with Saint Vincent de Paul Society, an international volunteer organization in the Catholic Church, as well as Christmas Connections: Adopt-A-Family, and the Compassion Kitchen Project. She is a consummate connector, linking those in need to those who can provide. People seek “the lady at the church,” her reputation a testament to goodness, her assistance like gold. Those who bear witness to her selflessness consider her more saint than servant.

“Saint Imelda, that is what we call her,” said Isabel Rice, co-founder of the Compassion Kitchen Project. “I’ve known her 15 years and she’s never wavered. She has a heart for service with a boots-on-the-ground approach. She’s under bridges, on the side of the road, she listens to every story from veterans, the homeless, single moms. She believes in the dignity of life and offers people hope, respect, and joy.”

When the Compassion Kitchen Project launched at the height of the pandemic, Rice called her friend Solano to see if she could help link restaurants to those who are food insecure. Solano responded immediately, establishing more than half the distribution locations, from a trailer park in Jonesboro, to the Basilica downtown. She personally distributes meals every Tuesday and Thursday. When Christmas Connections: Adopt-A-Family began 14 years ago, they provided gifts for 75 families. The program now serves over 550 families, in great thanks, Rice said, to Solano.

“Imelda was also the one who brought vaccination sites to the local Hispanic community,” said Rice. “She organized a COVID vaccine clinic at the Christ the King Mission on Buford Highway. She scheduled all the dates, had a translator on hand to educate people and answer questions. Imelda even speaks to and trains other volunteers, down to the nuances of how to interact with vulnerable people. She is amazing.”

Solano is passionate about the Hispanic community.

“I am an immigrant,” said Solano. “I know how it feels to be by yourself in a new country, nowhere to turn. My prayer is that if someone seeks help, I can be the one to provide it.”

Though her entire biological family still lives in Peru, Solano has found an extended family in those she serves. She’s been invited to first communions, baby showers, and baptisms.

“Oh, she is my sister,” said Alejandra Gutierrez. “When my parents needed immigration lawyers, she found one. If we are ever short on paying a bill, she finds the money. If we are sick, she brings us food. For Thanksgiving, she calls to be sure we have enough food and that my children have all they need – for 15 years now. Whenever I thank her, she stops me, tells me not to even think about it because we are family. She is a blessing. I think God has a plan for everybody. I’m so thankful he made her part of ours.”

Solano’s phone number has been passed like warm dinner rolls through the Hispanic community. She answers her phone at all hours from the Brookhaven apartment she shares with her two rescue dogs. She has changed her phone number twice due to incessant calls, but still leaves her ringer on each night. She does not complain about exhaustion, she is not easily overwhelmed. She champions others’ challenges until she finds a resolution.

Years ago, a woman arrived from Mexico and approached Solano for help in finding her son. The last the woman knew, he was living in Atlanta, then moved to Los Angeles. The woman could not speak English, nor could she read or write. Solano was determined to help her. After months of work, Solano discovered the woman’s son had been homeless in L.A. and passed away.

“It was terrible news, but I gave her closure. She returned to Mexico, her mission was complete,” said Solano, emotion trembling in her soft voice. “I kept thinking about my mother, hoping someone would do the same for me. I had to help for the sake of all mothers.”

When Christmas comes, Solano will be sure to phone her mother in Lima, she’ll spend time with her local “family” and friends, maybe cook, go to a movie, read. And, of course, she’ll be at the church, where everyone knows they can find her, Saint Imelda.

Teen Creates Lacrosse Experiences for Special Needs Children

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

The Wolfpack stands roared and eyes brimmed with tears Oct. 3 – the day Max Howey, a 6-year-old boy with Down syndrome, scored his first ever lacrosse goal. It was one of many hallmark moments dreamt up and orchestrated this season by 13-year-old lacrosse player, Grayson Carvel.

“It all started over the summer with my coach for my travel team,” said Grayson, of Acworth, who plays for North Paulding Wolfpack in spring and fall and Crossfire during the summer. “Coach wore initials on his helmet to represent and honor his grandfather and that inspired me. I wondered who I could play for. A couple months later I was thinking about people who can’t play lacrosse because of disabilities. That’s when I started to volunteer with Trailblazers.”

Paulding County Trailblazers is an organization that offers athletic programs for individuals with special needs. When Grayson finished his lacrosse practices, he headed over to Trailblazers to help with soccer practice.

“There’s one kid who is non-verbal, autistic and epileptic,” said Anthony Carvel, Grayson’s father. “His dad told us his son didn’t interact with people much, then I see him holding Grayson’s hand, running around the field. It chokes you up as a parent. These days, when so many kids are focused on appearances and social media, Gray is thinking about making all kids feel included. His mom and I are proud, to say the least.”

Grayson’s volunteer time with Trailblazers answered the question he’d been asking himself. He knew who he wanted to play for, whose initials he wanted on his helmet: those of special needs kids. His big idea for Giving with LAX hatched.

“I decided I’d honor a different special needs kid in the community each week,” Grayson explained. “I’d wear their initials on my helmet to honor and recognize them and make them feel like part of the team. I’d invite them to watch practice and even participate in a game.”

Four kids were honored during Grayson’s fall season and all of them, as well as their parents, were thrilled by the invitation.

Max Howey’s older brother, Watson, plays on the same teams as Grayson. Max loves people and loves to attend the lacrosse games but keeping the gleeful little guy off the field can be a big task.

“When Grayson reached out about Giving with LAX, we knew Max would love it because he’s always trying to get on the field anyway,” said Max’s dad, Dustin Howey, with a laugh. “My wife, Rene, and I were all for it and so impressed by Grayson. He has a heart for people with special needs, he truly wants to be involved and help. It’s amazing to me that someone his age would have the thought and heart to do something like that.”

Grayson’s intentions toward his honorary players were infectious. Soon his teammates were donning initials on their helmets and taking time to interact with the players of the week. They’d take team pictures together, post them on social media, and Giving with LAX even garnered the attention of a lacrosse equipment manufacturer, East Coast Dyes, who sent custom lacrosse sticks. Professional lacrosse teams, including Georgia SWARM, also follow Giving with LAX on social media.

“Our community has been so into this and I’m so glad,” said Grayson. “I want to continue growing season to season. My goal is to spread awareness about inclusion for all these kids and I just want to put smiles on their faces.”

Anthony says he and his wife are excited to see where Grayson takes Giving with LAX, and they’re happy to help him get there. They are currently working to get established as an official 501(c)(3), so Grayson can think of more ways to enhance the kids’ lacrosse experiences and create long-lasting memories, just as he did for this season’s players.

When Max had his turn to take the field, his father stood on the sideline and watched his youngest son charge the goal. The Wolfpack players made a show of pretending to block Max, but took fake falls, allowing Max to burst through. When the blond little boy, outfitted in a Wolfpack helmet and jersey, approached the goal, he launched the ball from his stick and, as if in slow motion, watched as it rolled over the line. The team swarmed around him, cheered, and slapped high fives as Max raised his stick in the air and yelled, “Woo hoo!”

“It was emotional watching Max out on that field,” said Dustin. “While we want him to have the same experiences as other kids, we know he’s not like them and that’s OK. Still, it’s special for us to see him be included. We greatly appreciate Grayson for giving Max that moment.”

After his big game Max, who is partially verbal, looked at Dustin and said three words that affirmed the bright smile on his face.

“Daddy, I’m happy.”

Jackson Warren Honors His Father, a Fallen Soldier

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jackson Warren is the spitting image of his father, Army Sgt. 1st Class Charles Warren, who was killed in Iraq in 2005. The resemblance is especially undeniable when Jackson strums a guitar.

Charles was deployed in May 2005 and killed that August when a car detonated at a checkpoint. Many soldiers were killed instantly. Charles was injured severely but was conscious for a while. He knew help was coming and he asked about the well-being of his fellow soldiers. He also spoke of how he’d never see his daughter, just 1 month old at the time, and he prayed. Charles lost consciousness in the helicopter and could not be revived.

Jackson, now 18, was just 22 months old when he lost his father, too young to remember him. He has relied on family and friends to tell him stories about his dad over the years. He’s learned his father was kind, funny, musical, and he especially loved to sit around and casually play his guitar. Jackson was in the first grade when he began begging his mother, Carol Warren, for guitar lessons.

“I caved when he was in the second grade,” said Carol. “He wanted to play because his dad played. I wondered if he was too young for lessons, but how could I say no? I work to be mom and dad to Jackson and his sister, Maddie, but I always want to make sure Charles still has his place in this family and that the kids know him in the best way I can provide. For Jackson, music was the perfect way.”

Carol registered Jackson for lessons at Music Authority in Cumming, where Jackson began weekly lessons for 30 minutes at a time.

“Learning how to play guitar at 8 years old was hard, but I stuck with it,” said Jackson. “Mom made me practice for 30 minutes a day and I think I began to find my groove by age 9. Music instantly makes me happier, and it makes me feel closer to my dad.”

Jackson owns about eight guitars, but he plays his dad’s honey-hued acoustic guitar at home all the time.

“I gave Charles that guitar for Christmas in 2003,” said Carol. “It was a really expensive purchase for us at the time, but he wanted it so badly. He was self-taught and he loved to play it. It was a Takamine guitar. I didn’t know anything about the brand back then, but now I know all about all kinds of guitars because of Jackson.”

Jackson, a senior at Lambert High School in Suwanee, now plays bass, guitar, and piano. Most of his free time is dedicated to music. He’s in the jazz band at school and he still goes to Music Authority, where he takes three lessons a week. It’s also where he works and where he performs with his student band, Eclipse.

Music Authority opened in 2002 and has been owned by Andrew and Melissa Loggins, since 2004. They define it as a music destination that offers performances, lessons and repairs. They teach 600 students a week and host two to six shows a month, all student-based productions. Their students range from age 4 to senior citizens in their 80s. Melissa has been Jackson’s instructor for a decade and has come to know him and his passion for music very well.

“A couple years ago Jackson performed in a show we produced called ‘Gone,’” said Melissa. “It was a show about people who inspire us, who aren’t here anymore. Jackson spoke about his dad.

He’s talked about his dad publicly many times over the years, at his schools and Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. It’s obvious that representing his dad is important to Jackson.”

Jackson honored his father at Music Authority’s Fall Festival on Oct. 16, a performance benefiting Any Soldier, a nonprofit that sends care packages to the military.

Jackson’s younger sister, Maddie, 16, also takes music lessons at Music Authority. Their mom said she loves that her home is filled with music. She knows it would make Charles smile.

“I greatly enjoy watching them play,” said Carol. “Jackson has always been a shier kid, but music brought his personality out and made him more outgoing. He lights up a stage and I know when he’s up there that he feels so connected to his dad. I think about that as I watch and I can imagine Charles, watching over him. I know he’s so proud.”