A Trail Of Hope

Yesterday, I saw a video of a young boy with disabilities who loved soccer more than anything. His favorite Liverpool players showed up at his school — not just to meet him but to remind him that dreams aren’t measured by limits but by passion. You could see it in his face — the joy, the disbelief, the hope. And maybe just as important, you could see it in his parents’ eyes.

That feeling — that surge of hope — is something I know well.

My daughter, Isabeau, was born with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome — half a heart, a life filled with hospitals, and a future full of uncertainty. At three and a half months old, she was too weak to eat. We tried everything. Nothing worked. Then, one day, we turned on High School Musical.

Something shifted. The singing, the dancing — it pulled her in. For the first time in days, she drank. So we played it again. And again.

That movie became her lifeline. It kept her going through surgeries, through exhaustion, through the moments when we didn’t know what would happen next. While other kids found comfort in stuffed animals or lullabies, Izzy found hers in song and dance.

As she grew, she didn’t just watch — she became. Acting wasn’t just a hobby; it was her way of stepping beyond hospital walls and into a world where she wasn’t defined by her diagnosis. But performing is demanding. It takes breath control, stamina, endurance — things her body doesn’t always give her. Some days, it’s hard. But she never lets it stop her.

She pushes forward. She gives everything she has, even if it’s only half.

Her journey has never been easy. It’s been a winding trail — full of setbacks, uncertainty, and moments where the road felt too long. But at every turn, she’s left behind something powerful: hope.

Hope for kids who are told they can’t.

Hope for parents searching for a sign that their child will be okay.

Hope for anyone who has ever felt like the odds were stacked too high.

That Liverpool video reminded me — hope isn’t just something we hold onto.

It’s something we leave behind.

And that’s the trail Isabeau is creating — one step, one note, one performance at a time.

I hope this is a good read and gives you a little hope, a little perspective, and a little reminder that even in the hardest journeys, there’s always light ahead.