Addison's Story: Love, Loss and Grace Holding Us Close

There are stories we carry that change the shape of our hearts forever.This is Addison’s story—one of the hardest and holiest parts of my life.

Addison came into this world with a fight already ahead of her. Born with spina bifida, her tiny body knew more hospitals, therapists, and surgeries than most adults ever will. The first time I held her, I remember thinking how small she was—and yet how powerful her spirit felt. She had this quiet strength about her, a softness wrapped around steel. God weaves that combination into only a few souls, and Addison was one of them.

Though she was my granddaughter by birth, life had a different plan for us.When my daughter, Savannah, stepped away and abandoned her, Addison didn’t lose a mother—she found one. She became mine in every way that truly defines motherhood: in the sleepless nights, in the appointments, in the worry, in the fierce love, and in the way she fit into my arms like she had always belonged there.

Our days were filled with therapies, doctor visits, and learning how to care for a child whose needs were great—but whose spirit was even greater. Addison faced every challenge with a resilience that still humbles me. Even on the hardest days, she had a way of looking up at me as if to say, “It’s okay, Mimi. We’ll do this together.”

And we did.Together.Every step, every hurdle, every small victory.

Caring for her wasn’t a burden—it was an honor. She taught me patience I didn’t know I had, courage I didn’t know I needed, and a deeper understanding of grace than anything I had learned in the easy seasons of life.

Her laugh could brighten the darkest morning.Her determination could silence fear.Her presence made our home softer, gentler, and unexpectedly whole.

But Addison’s story is not just one of medical charts and hard days. It’s a story of love—the kind that roots itself in your soul. The kind that shapes how you see the world. The kind that, even after loss, continues to grow.

Losing her broke me in ways I still can’t fully express. Grief doesn’t follow a straight line, and healing has been slow, tender, and sacred. But even now, I feel her everywhere—in the moments of grace that catch me off guard, in the courage I lean on when life is too heavy, and in the purpose that has grown out of our little farm.

Because Addison’s life changed me.Her strength planted the seeds for It Starts With Grace.Her resilience shaped my heart toward helping children with trauma and veterans with PTSD.Her need for comfort and connection opened my eyes to the healing power in the simplest acts—like holding a goat, brushing its fur, or sitting quietly with a creature who asks nothing of you but presence.

Addison’s story didn’t end when her life did.It continues in my mission, in my motherhood, and in the way I love others through their own storms.

She was a gift.A fighter.A lesson in unconditional love.And a reminder that the most beautiful stories often begin in the hardest places.

To anyone reading who has walked roads like mine—roads of unexpected motherhood, medical battles, or heartbreaking loss—know this:

You are not alone.Your love matters.And healing is possible, even when it feels distant.Especially then.

Because grace doesn’t wait for perfect circumstances.Grace meets us in the mess, in the heartbreak, and in the deepest parts of our story.And that’s where Addison’s story lives—woven into the grace that carried us then and carries me still.