There aren’t many words to describe how proud I am of Josh and Kendria for their courage as parents to Tatum. Their faith, perseverance, and endurance are inspirational. They came together in unity and love, which fashioned a strength beyond what I believe they even realize. Even now, day by day, they are BIG and STRONG. So, in honor of my beautiful daughter and strong son-in-love, a letter from Tatum.
Mommy and Daddy, thank you. I love you.
You are courageous parents.
You are big and strong.
You taught me to be big and strong.
Through your love, faith, and perseverance, I learned courage.
You complemented one another perfectly, working together as a team. Tireless, steady, and united, you made my journey on earth as peaceful as possible.
You are my amazing parents, and I am glad God chose you to watch over me.
Daddy, thank you for riding with me to the hospital after I was born. I know it was hard for you. Your presence and spirit helped me fight to live. You and Mommy were by my side every day. You whispered prayers and love into my ears. It helped me get through the noises, wires, pokes, and prods from doctors and nurses. No matter where I was moved, you came with me. I felt your loving presence. It was the light that brightened the room, even on cloudy, dreary days.
Mommy, thank you for whispering prayers for me every day. Your love and deep faith are extraordinary. HE told me you would be my guiding light on my journey.
Daddy, you worked long hours so I could have a safe car, a home, a beautiful room, and the best care. You made sure I had everything I needed. You were exhausted after your shift but still relieved Mommy, who had been awake with me all night. Daddy, you were the strength we needed to keep going.
I loved watching football with you. I loved hearing your voice. I loved holding your face. My Heavenly Father chose the right Daddy for me. Through you, I never missed a day of HIS love pouring out over me. Thank you for making my time on earth so special.
Mommy, I love your beautiful voice. I heard you when you carried me in your womb. I heard you whisper songs in the hospital. In the middle of sleepless nights, you were singing to our Father, and He was there with us. I can still hear you, Mommy. Keep singing to our Father, for me.
I saw how tired you were, Mommy. You stayed up with me every night. You drove me to appointments every day. You did everything that all mommies do, but at a much deeper level. You were my nurse, giving me medicine day and night, keeping supplies stocked, and calling doctors and insurance companies. That became your full-time job. Mommy, thank you.
Thank you for helping me do all the things I did. I smiled. I cooed. I rolled over. I moved across the floor. I heard voices. I saw colors. I sat up. I swallowed. I tasted food. I held things.
You had vision, and I did those things. I sat in my high chair. I tasted my birthday cake. Others didn’t think I would. You believed, Mommy. I did it through your faith, prayers, and love.
On my birthday, all my loved ones—Pop, Glama, G-Daddy, G-Mama, CoCo, my cousins, and Mama Portia—were together in one place to celebrate me. Sharing this day with them filled my heart with happiness.
My journey was hard. It was painful. It was a fight.
But Mommy and Daddy, you always saw the best in me.
I loved hearing you laugh together. I loved our happy home. I loved being your bug. I loved looking into your eyes.
Thank you for showing me courage. Thank you for showing me faith in our Heavenly Father. Thank you for showing me His love.
Carry me with you as you move forward. I am at peace. I am whole. I am held.
Daddy and Mommy, move forward with your strength, grace, courage, and faith. Because of it, WE WILL be together again.
Until that day…. May the Lord bless you and keep you and make HIS face shine upon you.
I love you!
Bug
Tatum Sky Kies
“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it,” Hebrews 13:2 (NIV)
There are seasons that change you quietly. And then there are seasons that break you open.
2025 was not gentle with me. It stretched places in my heart I didn’t know could stretch. It humbled me in ways I never expected. And at times, it broke me in ways I’m still learning how to name.
This year, I’m honoring my angel baby, Tatum Sky.
I choose to be big and strong, the way Tatum fought every day. She had courage that shone through even the hardest days. With determination to overcome each obstacle. And she had a joyful strength that defied the limitations of her body and her size.
I am not “moving on.” I am MOVING FORWARD, carrying her with me.
And this is what I now know, as I’m sitting in the ashes.
God never abandons what He allows.
He is present in the silence. He is working in the waiting. He is shaping me even when I don’t feel Him near.
But HE is close; I see Him when I choose to acknowledge each victory, no matter how small.
Touch the Sky was born out of that truth; out of her name, her legacy, and the faith that carried me when my arms felt empty.
I write this blog for the moments when my faith feels fragile, but I refuse to let go. For the days I keep going, not because I feel strong, but because I choose to trust anyway. For the quiet, defiant decision to believe God is still good, even when my story doesn’t look the way I thought it would.
As I step into the new year, I know I am not empty-handed.
I am carrying wisdom.
I am carrying resilience. I am carrying a faith that survived the storm.
I have defiant hope.
None of it was wasted.
Not the disappointments. Not the unanswered prayers. Not the tears no one saw.
And I am carrying deep gratitude.
I am grateful for my husband, my constant, my strength when I’m down. I am grateful for my daughters, my son-in-loves, and my granddaughters. For the life and love they bring into my days. I am grateful for family and friends who hold me up, pray when I can’t find words, and stay when there is nothing to fix.
Heaven keeps record of every moment. The ones where I thought I was falling apart, but God is quietly putting things into place.
This blog isn’t about pretending the pain didn’t happen. It’s about refusing to let pain have the FINAL WORD.
What’s behind me does not get the last say…. God does.
As I transition into this year, I am choosing to live with intention.
I will work to remember that every day is a gift. I will say “I love you” more often. I will tell the people who matter to me, frequently and without hesitation, how much they mean to me. I will hold close what is sacred and loosen my grip on what is not.
I will remember HIS faithfulness. I will breathe deeply and release the weight of yesterday. I will tell the truth, gently, bravely, and honestly. And, I will keep walking forward with open hands and a steady heart.
God has a plan. God keeps His promises. And He is not finished with my story….or hers.
This is defiant hope. The kind that stands even when it trembles. The kind that looks heavenward and whispers, I still trust You.
I am touching the sky for Tatum, with Tatum, and because of Tatum, one faithful step at a time.
Finding true joy at Christmas is difficult when you have been dealt a devastating blow, just weeks before and you’re outside of the traditions that normally happen.
Besides the fact that my sweet angel baby is in heaven with Jesus, celebrating HIS birth firsthand, my oldest daughter and her family are miles away. It’s lonely.
By now in years past the girls and I would have baked and decorated Christmas cookies, an event that always brought such happiness. Spending time with my daughters, laughing, baking and using the few tubes of colored icing that I could find by the time I remembered to buy it, lots of sprinkles and Christmas colored balls splashed on top. Don’t be impressed because we rolled out Pillsbury dough and used cutters to create them. After a few rounds of decorating we surrendered to sprinkling them all. I’d package them up and we’d deliver them to the neighbors. My intent was to have a good time but also teach the importance of giving.
By now we also would have all piled in whatever vehicle we could all fit in and drive around looking at Christmas lights. We have a family scoring system that contributes to a night full of laughter and fun. A stop at Starbucks halfway through for warm drinks, even when Texas didn’t cooperate and it was 70 degrees outside. Everytime a friend would join us on our light adventure their reaction to our system and finally joining in added to the fun.
We decorate the trees together. The larger decorative tree for the living area and the smaller family tree tucked in somewhere. It’s where I display the 33 years of ornaments I’ve purchased for my daughters, a new ornament every year. The ornaments are connected to that year of their life or our family, there is one from Hawaii I got during our family vacation, a Bob the Tomato and Larry Cucumber from their days of loving Veggietales, a car, graduation hats, a cruise ship, and now there are ornaments with their children that are emerging on the tree, Zyla, my sunshine, Aliyah, my valentine, it’s her first Christmas and her ornament is a heart because she was born on Valentine’s day and yes a beautiful ornament of Tatum Sky adorned in gold that lights up. Every year when we decorate the tree we look at the ornaments and think about the years past. It’s always one of my favorite times each year. It’s a glimpse of the journey we’ve been on and how God has blessed us. In the first years, I’d find the cheapest ornaments available because it’s all we could afford as the blessings increased, the ornaments did too. A display of God’s grace in our lives. The tree isn’t beautiful from an aesthetically pleasing eye but it’s beautiful because it brings a deeper meaning, the joy of family, the blessings of God.
We aren’t celebrating Christmas as we know it this year. We’re all working to get past the holiday as quickly as we can, recognizing the difficult balance of celebrating for the grandchildren here but honoring Tatum’s life and being sensitive to the grief we’re all still walking through.
Every year I hear someone say, the holidays are a joyous time of year but let’s remember those it’s hard for. I have said those words. I never thought they would one day apply to me. How does one move through Christmas, with decorations everywhere. Navigating through what’s supposed to be the happiest time of year, with tears in your eyes, and a hole in your heart
With intentional defiant hope.
Defiant hope doesn’t just happen naturally, it requires work. Intentionally deciding that I will grab onto every promise God has given me in the midst of not understanding the low season He’s allowed me to be in.
Faith without work isn’t faith at all. James 2:17, “So too, faith, if it does not have works (to back it up), is by itself dead (inoperative and ineffective). AMP
Tearfully driving to deliver chili and cornbread to my daughter this week, saddened because my home isn’t a safe place for her right now, saddened because I wanted to bake cookies and see Christmas lights, I passed rows of decorated houses and it made me sadder. Missing Tatum, missing my daughters, upset that I didn’t have lights up outside my house to drive up to, upset that I only had my small family Christmas tree up and although putting it up and basking in the memories made me happy at that moment I was now sad because no one was coming to see it. 10 stockings hung on the mantel, one for Jesus, for what? No gifts would be placed in them, serving no purpose but work for me to put away in January.
I was sinking into a pit of self pity quickly.
So after I delivered the chili, while driving home I opened Spotify and found a random Christmas station playing, “Where are you Christmas” playing. Coincidence? Maybe. But it’s a song that I like, this time the words began to scream at me, a song I had only connected to Cindy Lou Who in the Grinch up until now and never connected the words before. They meant something, and I believe God knew it would gently nudge me to defiant hope. He speaks to us in unexpected ways if we’ll just listen.
“If there is love in your heart and your mind, you will feel like Christmas all the time”…..it spoke to me.
I know it’s not a Christian song but God can speak through whatever means is necessary. Remember He spoke through a donkey once to get a man’s attention.
I impromptu decided to go look at Christmas lights, first tears flooding my face, with the rain outside, made it hard to drive, but as I drove and saw house after house with lights, the flood became a trickle, the trickle become a few drops and then I could look without tears. I chuckled at a few houses and thought about what my family would be saying if they were with me. I kept driving… looking for… something, I wasn’t sure what.
New words were now playing… “Alleluia, For the Lord God almighty reigns”. Agnus Dei, turned into “Worthy is the Lamb, Jesus” … and at the moment a light shined on a garage door, a nativity scene, it’s not something I would normally think is pretty but at that moment it brought a glimmer of joy …. A glimpse into what the season is about. HOPE. And then a couple houses down another one, this one a little more elaborate …. “Jesus, we cry holy holy holy” .… I kept driving and around the corner the most beautiful nativity with Jesus lit up in the middle and I stopped and I sat quietly, in the background “Away in a manger, no room for a bed, the little Lord Jesus” ….
Coincidence? Maybe. But I truly don’t believe that. I believe the footsteps of a righteous man are directed by the Lord. Each and everyone if we’ll let Him be our guide. In that moment I found something.
Exceeding great joy … it’s a joy that can’t be explained. A joy that comes only by finding the true meaning of Christmas. Jesus.
My life isn’t a Hallmark movie, I didn’t walk back into my house with cheerful joyful music playing, running to my husband with a cheesy hug and kiss.
I walked in and my husband was tucked away in his man cave, with the door closed. The house was dark except for my little Christmas tree, and it still felt lonely .… sad. But one thing had changed, me.
I on purpose put work to my faith, defiantly fighting hopelessness, sadness, self-pity, anger and confusion and I found exceedingly great JOY that remained in my heart even though my surroundings hadn’t changed.
And by the way, the next night my husband and I on purpose got a peppermint shake and went to look at Christmas lights, in honor of Tatum. We felt like she’d want us to enjoy the season after all she’s celebrating with Jesus. If she still was here we would have taken her, so we went on purpose, we still missed her, we still missed the family, but we on purpose went and we on purpose found a house that we thought Tatum would like. Defiantly pressing passed sadness.
I couldn’t figure out how to end this post, so this morning, it’s Sunday. I came back to read what I had written the other night and to see if this was the story I wanted to post. I opened the computer and then realized it was time for my online church.
I stopped and listened to the message. Rooted in Christmas but shared in a different way, just for me, a whisper from God, “I see you”. He addressed difficult situations and being at a place you never thought you would be. His words took me back to the three nativity scenes that had planted the seeds of joy in my heart as I drove by.
He shared the finishing words that I was looking for. Coincidence? Maybe. But I believe it was God wrapping up the story.
God brings people, and messages into your messy manger (into your ashes) to help you out. The star the wisemen followed led them to Jesus, and His star is still leading us today, directing our footsteps through seasons that we don’t understand. Every step we take HE is there, even in a dark car, all alone with tears streaming, HE guided me to what I needed, what I was looking for.
HE always responds to people who search for Him. Follow the STAR!
If there is one truth Tatum’s life has tattooed into my heart, it is this: God’s presence is not always loud, but it is always near. Sometimes His comfort is wrapped in what seems like a coincidence… until I quiet my heart and listen to His whisper, gently showing me it was Him all along. I saw many small victories during her life, evidence that He was always near and that His favor was undeniably on her.
Our world was violently shaken when she left, and while sitting in the ashes, I don’t understand why God, who was visibly with us every step during her life and all the progress she made, was now holding my grandbaby in His arms.
But I’m learning that when our world breaks, God doesn’t just meet us in the big miracles… but in daily victories that will pass by unless I intentionally grab them. The ones that slip in as gentle reminders: I see you. You are not alone.
The first example of God’s whispering presence came from a man who approached me while I was volunteering as a Salvation Army bell ringer. I had volunteered for this weeks before all of this happened, and my shift was an early Saturday morning. I really didn’t want to go, and I was confident that if I called and told them I wasn’t coming, my loss would have been an acceptable reason not to go. But I thought about Tatum’s life and how, in the midst of her days, she may not have felt like fighting; she did, and while doing so, she brought us such love and joy. So I decided to follow the motto she lived by, “big and strong,” and went to fulfill my commitment.
The man didn’t know my story. He didn’t know my grief; he didn’t know me. But he pressed a little marble cross into my hand and simply said, “God sees you.” It was not human-orchestrated, and I don’t believe it was a coincidence. It was a wink from God letting me know He was right there with me. And although I felt sad, I chose to give God’s love, and He saw me.
The next day, at a gathering, a man shared that they had also lost a child, and that during their time of grief, someone gave them wind chimes as a gift. He said each time it blows in the wind, the beautiful sound is a whisper that even when our loved one is no longer in our arms, they are never far from our hearts. He shared that he sent one to my daughter with words of encouragement.
And while still basking in the warm presence of God in the windchime story, an out-of-town friend that I had not talked to in a couple of years shared her story. That she, too, had lost her firstborn child, and this year felt able to put up a dedication Christmas tree in honor of her child. She sent me a picture of a beautiful little girl and told me it was time for her test, to become a testimony, to honor her daughter’s life.
While talking to my daughter, she shared with me that a message from a speaker sent to us before our loss had encouraged her. My daughter had not listened to it previously, but the person who sent it reminded us of it, and now we know the timing of that message was yet another wink from God, preparing us for our loss. The speaker shared from her own experience of child loss, and declared to us to keep living in a way that honors the life whose time on earth was brief yet deeply powerful. Her words reminded me that Tatums’s purpose now becomes part of mine: to share our stories and become a quiet echo of God’s presence for others.
Their stories, shared with us during this time, are soft reminders… that love never leaves us. Threads of connection and whispers of God saying, I understand your pain, and I will send people who understand it too.
In addition to the stories God has sent, there are blessings that arrive with accuracy of timing; I know they were arranged in heaven first.
Like the meal train donation arriving three weeks later, and the day after our family had discussed a desire that my daughter and son-in-love would need during the holidays to bring some comfort as they walk out this first Christmas. God provided His blessing when we needed it.
He whispers His love to me by the friend who drove an hour to help me rearrange my home. Helping me create new patterns, new rhythms, new hope in the spaces where the sad thoughts sat heavy. Sometimes God sends His presence in the form of someone who shows up with open hands and a willing heart.
At the Chamber monthly coffee, a dear man intentionally got up from his table during networking time to come and give me a fatherly hug and pray for me. Right there. Right in the middle of the conversation and business cards. God stepped into the ordinary and once again, in His loving, gentle way, reminded me, “I am with you.”
And there are no words to describe the love of a nurse, who is now family, who has become an IV filled with love, for my daughter. A constant, steady reminder that God surrounds us with people who choose to walk beside us long after their “shift” ends. Love like that is not accidental and was birthed because of Tatum Sky.
Or take the moment when my oldest daughter told me she had chosen “All Is Calm” as the theme for a newsletter she was helping me with, only to discover later that the magazine we give our clients was themed “All Is Calm, All Is Bright.” It felt like one of those soft whispers from God. She was excited about the confirmation of her theme choice and realized He had spoken to her heart, and that she was hearing Him clearly.
When she told me, my heart was happy. What parent doesn’t pray for their children to recognize God’s voice and walk closely with Him, especially when they are adults and have left home, but the truth is, this season has sharpened my hearing, too. I’ve been more fervent in praying, listening, and leaning on God during this season, and as a result, I hear the whispers amid the noise of an active day.
It’s another beautiful reminder that even in the hardest seasons, God has a way of turning sorrow into something purposeful and good.
But perhaps one of the most unexpected God-winks so far came from a box of ornaments I had ordered in July.Long before we knew our world would change. I bought Christmas 2025 ornaments for my daughters and granddaughters, a part of our Christmas tradition since my daughters were babies. I thought I had ordered three of the same style ornaments, and the two for my other beautiful granddaughters were cute, but when I opened the third one, it was glass, with a gold-sparkled frame, far more elegant than the other two. I would never choose something so lavish for one of them and not the others. I looked at the receipt and saw I had ordered the same ornament for Tatum, but somehow it ended up in my box; it chose us before we knew why.
Why didn’t I open the box in July? I don’t know. When I finally opened it, months later, after it had arrived and a couple of weeks after losing our sweet Tatum, I was stunned. It wasn’t just beautiful. It lit up around her picture, one of the few where we captured a sweet smile.And it didn’t just say“Christmas 2025” like the others, across its glowing surface were the words: “Glory to God.”
In that moment, I knew—this ornament was not an accident. I don’t know how, but it was a tender wink from God… a reminder that He knew our angel baby would be back in His arms, wrapped in His glory, long before we did.
What I thought was my typical Christmas-in-July 50% off purchase became a December whisper of comfort.
In these past weeks, I’ve heard stories from others losing children, testimonies of surviving the unthinkable. Stories they shared because they saw the ache in my eyes and recognized it in their own. Their words were soaked in pain, yet overflowing with compassion. Testimonies that remind me that grief is not meant to isolate us but to connect us. More deeply to Him. More compassionately to others.
And in those connections, God quietly hugs us through people who have walked through the same fire and discovered that even in the ashes… hope still breathes.
These moments are unexpected, and I believe they are the heartbeat of Defiant Hope. They remind me that the presence of God is not something I run after; it’s something He whispers to me, if I have the eyes and ears to deliberately notice.
If I watch closely, He is everywhere: In a stranger’s gift. In a friend’s story. In the timing of a blessing. In a glowing ornament chosen months before the storm. In a heartfelt prayer. In the love of someone who chooses to stay. In the shared testimonies of broken hearts that keep beating.
And maybe that is what it means to touch the sky again after loss, not just to rise above the pain, but to recognize the holy ground beneath us… the place where God meets us, whispers to us, and gently lifts us towards defiant hope.
How do I celebrate Thanksgiving when just days ago, my beautiful granddaughter went to Heaven?
I had to think about this.
Multiple scriptures have crossed my texts, emails, devotions, and verbally in the last few days, especially this morning, since it’s Thanksgiving. And while I know and quote many of them, it feels hollow at the moment, even though I’m on the road to see my oldest daughter and my other two beautiful granddaughters.
It’s not Thanksgiving as I know it; being surrounded by family, cooking and laughing together. The smell of our turkey baking, our family’s secret-recipe peach cobbler waiting for a spot in the oven. Christmas music in the background and both of my amazing daughters by my side, sharing memories and making new ones. A hearty thankful prayer, sometimes sharing what we are grateful for, and sometimes the hunger and smells of the food drive us straight to the meal immediately after the prayer, and then in the afternoon, naps and rest before family game time.
But not today because no matter how many laughs we share, hugs we give, and food we eat, the sting of our sweet baby passing and the absence of my heartbroken daughter, who needed a getaway trip rather than a traditional Thanksgiving, is haunting me.
And YES, I have counted it all joy, and made my list of things to be thankful for: my husband, my children, my grandchildren, my friends, a home, and food. I know, I know, for those of you whispering to me that there is so much to be thankful for. I know and believe me, I AM.
But sometimes the sentiments and comments from well-meaning people feel like a slap in the face, like lofty words from someone who hasn’t walked in our shoes.
I know this because I used to be that well-meaning person; heart right, wanting to help, but a silent hug or a simple ‘I love you’ would have been a better option in that moment.
In the book of Job, we read about how, after losing everything, including all of his children and all of his wealth, his friends and wife tried to talk him into cursing God. Still, he responded that they spoke like foolish people and said, “Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad?” He could not curse God because even in the ashes of loss, he had seen how good God is.
My daughter told me that just days after her baby girl left us. She said, I am angry, but I can’t curse God because He’s been so good to us.
WOW. Think about that for a moment because I had to.
She’s right. Since the birth of Tatum, we had been fighting with her to overcome multiple hurdles they didn’t think she’d jump. The prognosis in the first days of her life was that she might not make it 2 weeks, but we had the gift of her for 13 months. Throughout those months, we experienced miracle after miracle, deeply orchestrated by God, some of which began years earlier in the tapestry of our lives, sewn with the thread of the tears we shed in other difficult times, in moments we wondered if we’d make it through.
We did, and the reason for the hard times in the past was finally revealed as we fought with Tatum. God allowed those hard times because they were the launching board for the miracles we needed to help us walk with her.
So how do I celebrate on Thanksgiving Day? I remember that God is indeed good in every situation and that although it doesn’t feel like it right now, He is working things for my good because I LOVE HIM, and He promises that He will. At the right time, the revelation of why will come.
But even in this moment, stopping to remember one of the essential truths that brings me peace: Tatum is in Heaven with Jesus, healed and whole. She’s with family and friends who have gone on before us, waiting for us to join her when it’s time; a broken, forsaken, and risen Savior ensured that we’d all be together eternally in Heaven.
AND that is the most important reason I can be grateful today and every day MOVING FORWARD.
As I hold on to my faith, Jesus is holding on to me.
For years, a nudge in my heart has urged me to write a book or start a blog. Multiple friends and family expressed that I should share what I’ve learned from the mentors I’ve had, from observing others, from what God has shared with me, or just the hard, difficult knocks of life.
I feel like I’ve gone through a blender and have been chopped to pieces and some might ask why start now, in the midst of the blending, and my answer is that it’s pure determination to prove to others that God loves me, is with me, and is for me, even when I’m sitting in the ashes.
In this moment, I am confused, I am sad, I am angry, and I have decided to be DEFIANT. Yes, that’s what I said, “Defiant,” which means openly resistant.
I’m openly resisting the temptation to be pushed down by life’s punches, I’m defiantly getting up, I’m openly resisting the thoughts that are contrary to the truth of God’s love, because without Him, the fire will consume me, I’m openly resisting the thoughts that say I can’t grieve the loss of hard business punches, or my mother or granddaughter passing away. I’m resisting the desire to stay, sad, angry, confused and bitter, and I’m choosing to have defiant HOPE.
I can’t choose the punches I’ve been hit with, but I can choose to get back up. I’m knocked down, but not knocked out. I’m not denying the pain, the confusion, the anger, or sadness I feel, and tears will still find their way into each day for a while, I’m sure of it, but I’m consciously making a choice not to be defined by the pain and to MOVE FORWARD.
Hope is a fist in the face of surrender. The staggering blow of a crushing loss hit me. I’m choosing to have defiant hope.
I’m choosing to respond by:
Acknowledging the pain I feel and dealing with it.
Determining my loss won’t define me.
Choosing to throw down an anchor of hope, with buoyant confidence that God is with me.
Relying on God’s love through His word and His people.
Giving hope and love to others. The recipe for staying free of entrenched bitterness and being a true example of Jesus.
These are not easy choices to make, and I must choose this purposefully every day, but I’m determined to take my life and my family’s legacy to a HIGHER PLACE than ever before, redeeming our brokenness and recycling it into hope for our family.
For starters, I’ll share the story of my angel grandbaby, Tatum Sky, whose short life is the CATALYST for this blog and the reason I’m finally starting. The life lessons she taught and the people she touched in her short life will live on forever through my DEFIANT HOPE and determination to ensure her purpose and legacy live on as I, TOUCH THE SKY!
Touch The Sky 