Heather’s adoptive Dad, Jim

At fourteen months old, little Heather had never left the hospital. My husband, Jim, balked at the idea of adopting her. But then a kindly nurse scooped Heather up, careful to not disturb the monitor wires and ventilator tubing, and placed her in Jim’s outstretched arms. He held the sickly child with a cautious sensitivity.

Her feverish cheek was hot as a towel straight from the dryer, but she smelled of sickness rather than fresh laundry. She was limp as a ragdoll. Her eyes didn’t focus. Perhaps she was blind, maybe deaf, maybe retarded.

The expression on Jim’s face—I’d only seen twice before, when he first held our newborn daughter, and then our son. Using that mysterious, silent communication, Heather claimed Jim, same as she had me.

Once she joined our family and home as our adopted daughter, Jim would sleep near her crib to make sure the breathing tube in her neck did not plug with her mucous and suffocate her. He kept vigil in the hospital during each surgical procedure. Miraculous airway reconstructive surgery gave her the ability to talk, and to swim. He rejoiced at her newfound health.

Throughout her school years, Jim helped Heather with homework. He watched her play soccer. He took her fishing and snorkeling in the beautiful Florida Keys.

In a poignant twist, in 2001, Jim was diagnosed with a slow and insidious cancer, that periodically orchestrated catastrophe. Teenage Heather lightened the dozen years her adoptive father struggled with cancer, replenishing multifold the love and fortitude he’d bestowed on her as a sickly child.

Enjoy reading the book, and perhaps come to understand how an ordinary man came to do the extraordinary. Experience the struggles and joy of keeping Heather alive and the superb euphoria of hearing Heather speak her first words.