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 It was the spring of 1998 when I first met Frank Callahan. My son, Landon was 9 and Frank's son, Colby, was 10. Frank and I were coaching our son's little league team. I often kid Frank that I wasn't too fond of him when I first met him, because Frank loved for his kids to steal home on my pitchers. This was something totally new to my pitchers and they would look over at me with this blank look on their face that seemed to say, "what just happened, they can't do that... can they Coach?"
It seems ironic that I basically met Frank stealing home at a little league game. Little did we know that our boys would be stolen from this life and taken home before their time due to accidents. Little did we know at the time that we would forever be linked with each other through our common tragedies and the terrible hand we have been dealt. Our personal journey started in 2001 and it has been a long road. Although I lost touch with Frank over the years, when I heard about his son, I instantly knew I had to contact him and offer my support. It was during this time that I started feeling the call to start working and helping those that are grieving. We dedicate our new life work to God in honor of our son Landon. But it was Colby's tragic accident that gave me the inspiration to start this web page and to reach out to others who are grieving. |
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Losing my mom at 15 |
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Written by Krista (Unruh) Osborne
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My mom was an incredible woman. She was the type of woman that could be heard laughing from across the room and you wondered what was so  funny over there and wanted to be a part of it. She loved life and was involved in everything from playing the piano every Sunday at church (even when she had to bring her oxygen tank with her), to helping my dad run our restaurant, to throwing parties at our house after football games so we would have somewhere safe and fun to hang out. I was 11 years old when I first found out my mom had cancer. I had stayed home sick from school the day that my mother went in for a biopsy only to find out it was cancer. I remember my father calling my grandma to tell her they were going to be at the hospital longer, and I remember my grandma trying to explain why Mom was not coming home that day without truly explaining why. No one thought I would understand. I was 15 years old when my mother passed away from cancer one week before I turned 16. I had gone to the hospital to have lunch with her because that night I had to cheer at an away game and would not be able to see her. I cannot explain this feeling, but somehow I knew that was the last time I would see her. That night I returned home late and went to bed and as soon as I heard my father's footsteps in the hallway I knew what he was coming to tell me. She was in heaven. |
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