Because I spend so much time researching Project Lifesaver and other safety programs, the algorithm has filled my feed with story after story of children and vulnerable adults who have wandered from home. Most people see only the cases that make national news. I see so many of the others…the local alerts, desperate family posts, active searches, rescues, and heartbreaking recoveries that most people never hear about. It is agony knowing that someone’s child, parent, or loved

To all that helped us over those few days and continue to show up there isn't a large enough thank you. You gave us what no one else could. You gave us a peaceful good by surrounded by love. There are so many I am probably missing. I don't remember every face from that night but I remember every ounce of support. People often see the fun part of the officers playing at Musicfest with our children or at police night out and don't stop to think of the part of the job that has a

Yesterday was tough but there was a happy ending which brought some peace, but the what ifs went through my brain all day. Then today I was reminded by the passing of Ramon "RJ" Jett that although social media is an amazing tool to help with these searches we need more. Yesterday was hard. There was a family gathering waiting for me, filled with faces I love, faces I haven't seen since before everything changed or worse, since they stood beside me at Erin's funeral. I wanted

They say it takes a village, and we are so lucky to have an incredible one. ❤️ Last year, Meghan was terrified of the wind. Even the slightest breeze could send her into a full panic attack. We couldn’t get her outside some days. She wanted so badly to play softball with her friends, but her fear was bigger than she was ready to handle. We only made it to two games all season, and even then, we couldn’t make it through them. But her coaches, Pat and Marc, never stopped showin

I came across this Facebook memory today from a year ago. Reading it again, I realized how much of it still holds true. Sleep is still rare. The grief is still heavy. The nights are still hard. But over this past year, I’ve learned to pour that pain into purpose. Instead of simply trying to outrun the silence, I’ve focused my energy on Erin’s Way and on helping other families the way so many people helped us when our world fell apart. The support, love, meals, messages, hugs,

Today, on Pediatric Nurses Day, I’m reflecting on moments in our journey with Erin, her birth and the time surrounding her passing. During both the most joyful and the most devastating days of our lives, it was the nurses who stood beside us. From helping bring Erin safely into the world, to advocating for her care during a medical emergency at just 10 days old, to staying past their shifts to support us in our final moments with her. Erins passed close to a shift change. He

This poem came from a lot of different emotions all colliding at once. Yesterday we participated in Jog for Jude, which raises money for SIDS research. Standing there, surrounded by families, I couldn’t stop thinking about how different our story could have been. When Erin was just 10 days old, we found her not breathing. That moment replays in my mind more often than I’d like to admit. We were one decision, one night, one moment away from losing her back then. But we didn’t.

I wrote this poem because Jog for Jude has always held a special place in our hearts. Erin was a SIDS survivor, and because of that, this cause has always felt deeply personal to our family. The Zayacs took unimaginable loss and turned it into hope, awareness, and action And in doing so, they became a source of strength for us, especially when we need it most. This day is about Jude, about stopping SIDS, and about supporting every family walking this road. Today We Jog for J

In our family, we choose to celebrate Erin’s birthday with love, laughter, and remembrance. While there are always tears, we focus on the joy of the day she came into our lives rather than the day we lost her. We spend the day doing Erin’s favorite things. Going to Red Robin, hitting up Rita's, taking walks at Marywood University and more. We spent time sharing stories, reliving memories, and holding tight to the moments that made her so special. This poem reflects that balan

Today was St. Patrick’s Day parade day—something that has always been one of my favorite days of the year. The excitement, the traditions, the joy of it all… it used to mean so much. But this year feels different. Because of COVID and the cold weather, Erin only ever made it to one parade. Just one. And now, the thought of going without her feels too heavy to carry. What was once a day I looked forward to now feels like a reminder of what we didn’t get enough of—and what we’l

In my non-professional opinion, just as a mom walking through something I never imagined. I’ve come to see an overlap between autism and grief that I didn’t recognize before losing Erin. Before, I understood autism through Erin’s world. I knew her sensory needs, routines, the way she processed things differently. I saw how overwhelming environments could be, how important predictability was, and how much comfort she found in certain items, movements, and spaces. That was her

Today was kindergarten registration day—usually one of my favorite days of the year as a PTA board member. I love being there, helping set up, welcoming new families, and seeing the excitement on the faces of the students as they begin their school journey. But this year felt different in a way I wasn’t prepared for. This year, Erin should have been right there with me, getting ready to start her own journey. Instead, I couldn’t bring myself to help set up or even walk throug

Today, I went to a group of mothers who have all experienced the unimaginable—the loss of a child. It was the first time in over a year and a half that I didn’t feel the need to keep my guard up. For the first time in so long, I could just be . There was no hiding my pain, no stepping out to the car to quietly fall apart and then pulling myself back together before returning. I didn’t have to soften my grief to make it more comfortable for others, or be strong for the childre