Our Story

Brittany was the kind of person who made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

She was kind-hearted and full of laughter. She made people feel like they belonged, not because it was the right thing to do, but because that was just who she was. She would sit on the porch and watch the world go by. She would climb up next to a stranger on a park bench just to make sure he didn't feel alone. She would stand up from the lunch table and walk across a cafeteria to sit with a kid no one else noticed.

Her light expanded beyond her physical body. If she was in the room, you knew it. And if you didn't, she made sure you did.

She was 14 years old when she gained her wings on October 2, 2009, after battling depression for a few years. She donated her organs and has saved more than six lives. A little girl named Miriam received Brittany's kidney three weeks before her second birthday. She is still part of our family today.

Brittany used to say: “Be the reason someone smiles today.”

This site is our answer to that. This is the porch light she would have left on for you.

He was my favorite person. That is what his daughter Savannah will tell you.

He was tenacious, fearless, and brilliant at whatever he put his hands to. He built his HVAC and plumbing business from the ground up, not because he had to but because that was who he was. He worked hard and it showed, in everything he made and in the life he gave to his kids.

He was a dad who showed up. Motorcycle rides through the Berkshire hills. Horse shows where he learned every course alongside his daughter and stood at the gate, ready. He gave his kids experiences that shaped their bones, and he told them to become exactly who they were meant to be.

For decades he quietly carried what he never had language for. Imposter syndrome, depression, and finally addiction. Not because he was weak. Because the pain was real and the help never came in time. He was 47.

If you found this page carrying something heavy, this is for you too. You have something Chris ran out of: time. Time to find the light again. Time for the conversation, the apology, the first real breath of honesty. You are not too far gone. You are not too late. And you are not alone.