Our Story
We were a busy close-knit family with big dreams and even bigger determination. Life wasn’t perfect but it was ours - and we loved it!
In 2020, Letitia made the courageous decision to return to nursing school. With the full support of our family, she poured her heart into every class, every clinical, and every late night study session.
It wasn’t easy - balancing school, kids, work, and life' ‘ but she never wavered. Her dream was to become a registered nurse and make a difference in the lives of others.
January 1st, 2023
A Stroke Changed Everything
There are moments in life that divide everything into BEFORE and AFTER.
For our family, that moment came on New Year's Day in 2023.
At just 34 years old, Letitia suffered a stroke while she was only one semester away from graduating school as a Registered Nurse. In a single afternoon, the future we had spent years building suddenly became uncertain. Instead of celebrating the beginning of a new year and graduation, we found ourselves surrounded by doctors, specialists, rehabilitation, and questions no family ever expects to ask.
The months that followed were filled with determination, setbacks, and hope. Every small victory—a few more steps, a little more strength, another day of progress—became something worth celebrating. We believed that if we worked hard enough, life would eventually return to normal.
We didn't know that our greatest challenges were still ahead.
Recovery isn't measured in weeks or months.
Sometimes it's measured in one more step.
One more therapy session.
One more day of refusing to give up.
From the very beginning, that was Letitia's mindset.
Despite everything the stroke had taken from her, she fought through every setback with a determination that inspired everyone around her. Every milestone—no matter how small—was earned through countless hours of therapy, exhaustion, and perseverance. She never stopped believing there would be better days ahead.
Our room became our home.
Hospital walls replaced the comfort of our own home. Days blended into nights as we waited for answers, celebrated small victories, and learned to find hope in places we never expected.
Road to Recovery
Our children became stronger than they should ever have had to be.
They watched their mother fight with courage every day. They learned resilience far earlier than children should have to, but they also learned what love, faith, and family truly look like. Through every challenge, they reminded us exactly what we were fighting for.
The flowers reminded us we weren't alone.
Every card, every prayer, every visit, and every encouraging message reminded us that even in our darkest moments, people were standing beside us. Those acts of kindness carried us farther than anyone will ever know.
"Recovery didn't give us our old life back. It gave us a new appreciation for every step forward."
For the first time in a long time, we began to believe that maybe life could become normal again.
Letitia was determined to move forward. She returned to nursing school, wanting desperately to finish what she had started before the stroke and finally earn the degree she had worked so hard for. But recovery had changed more than we realized, and returning too soon proved to be more than her body and mind could handle. Eventually, she had to make the heartbreaking decision to withdraw.
It wasn't giving up.
It was learning that recovery doesn't always happen on the timeline we want it to.
So Letitia found another way forward.
She returned to work as an LPN, doing what she had always loved—serving others, caring for patients, and giving the same compassion to people that so many had given to her during her own recovery.
She was still healing, still adjusting, and still carrying the things the stroke had left behind.
But she was working.
She was caring for others.
She was home with her family.
And, little by little, we began trying to build something that felt like a normal life again.
We weren't going back to the life we had before the stroke.
We were learning how to live the life that came after it.
The Fight Wasn’t Over
2026
We thought the hardest part was behind us.
We were wrong.
After everything Letitia had already overcome, we believed we were finally finding our way back to normal.
She had returned to nursing. She was caring for patients again. She was working, raising our children, and doing everything she could to rebuild the life that had been interrupted three years earlier.
Then, in early 2026, everything changed again.
Letitia began having seizures.
At their worst, they were happening three to five times a day.
Suddenly, the independence she had fought so hard to regain became uncertain again. A simple walk down the stairs could become frightening. Cooking dinner could become a moment of worry. Falling asleep could mean wondering what might happen when she woke up.
There were more emergency rooms. More doctors. More testing. More unanswered questions.
And once again, our family found ourselves learning how to live around something we never expected.
But there was one thing that hadn't changed.
Letitia kept showing up.
She kept fighting.
She kept working toward the life she had fought so hard to get back.
And even when the path forward looked completely different than the one we imagined, she refused to stop moving.
THE PROMISE
Some promises are made in the best moments of our lives. Others are made when everything falls apart.
On January 1, 2023, I sat beside my wife's hospital bed and watched our life change in a matter of hours.
She was 34 years old.
She was supposed to be finishing nursing school. We were supposed to be talking about graduation, her future, and what came next.
Instead, we were learning how to take things one day at a time.
I couldn't promise her that I could make everything better.
I couldn't promise that she would wake up and everything would go back to the way it was.
But I could promise her one thing.
I would never stop fighting beside her.
I promised that I would be there through the appointments, the therapy, the setbacks, the fear, and the days when simply getting out of bed felt like an accomplishment.
I promised that someday, somehow, we would find our way forward.
And she did exactly what she's always done.
She fought.
She fought her way back to her children.
She fought her way back to nursing.
She fought her way back to work.
She fought to rebuild a life that had been taken from her without warning.
But recovery doesn't always mean going back to the life you had before.
Sometimes it means building something new.
Today, my promise has changed.
I no longer just want to help her survive what happened.
I want to give her a place where she can feel safe again.
A home where the stairs aren't something we have to worry about.
A home where a medical emergency doesn't carry the same risks.
A home where our children can feel secure.
A home where she can continue healing without constantly being reminded of everything she's been through.
A home where we can stop surviving...
and finally start living.
Three years ago, I promised my wife, sitting beside her hospital bed, that I would never stop fighting for her, and would always give her a safe place to heal.
I'm still trying to keep that promise.
I just can’t do it along anymore..
— Jonathan