Noah was born on 2/2/22. At our 20-week scan, we learned he had CHD—Congenital Heart Defect—a condition we’d never even heard of. The ultrasound tech said they couldn’t get all the images due to his position, so they referred us to a high-risk doctor. That appointment changed our lives. The doctor told us our son had multiple heart issues, though I was in such shock I barely remember the details. All I heard was, “heart defect.” Our world crumbled.

Outside the clinic, I sat on the curb, screaming and crying, unable to comprehend what was happening. Then we met Noah’s cardiologist, one of the most caring and knowledgeable doctors I’ve known. She went above and beyond to make an awful situation a little easier.

When Noah was born, they whisked him away immediately; his heart was worse than expected. He needed open-heart surgery right away, and nine days later, he underwent the procedure. We soon learned he would need an emergency catheterization because the surgery wasn’t enough. After six terrifying hours, our baby was recovering. Six weeks later, we brought him home, where he met his sister Emma. It was love at first sight; they shared a strong, special bond.

Noah came home with a feeding tube, a daunting new reality. After nine months, I decided to try a tube wean program, and soon Noah was drinking on his own. It was a huge milestone, a testament to his strength. At six months, he had his second open-heart surgery and later required another catheterization. That time, a wire nicked his artery, causing a week-long hospital stay. Noah was sedated, paralyzed, but he fought hard and recovered. He always did.

We eventually learned he’d need an invasive surgery called Pulmonary Artery Reconstruction. The best surgeons for this were at Stanford, so we had no choice but to go. After months of waiting, we got the surgery date. A company called AeroAngel generously flew us to California on a private jet, making an otherwise overwhelming journey memorable for Noah.

On July 13th, Noah went into surgery, smiling as usual. Hours later, we finally saw him—hooked up to more machines than ever before, sedated so his body could heal. The first two days were hopeful; he was doing better than expected. But suddenly, his condition declined. His numbers were erratic, and despite the doctors’ efforts, nothing worked. Eventually, they told us our son wouldn’t make it. I collapsed, screaming and sobbing, devastated. How could this be happening to our happy, strong boy?

Noah’s passing left us shattered, but his 17 months taught us about strength, resilience, and the power of a smile. He faced unimaginable challenges—surgeries, breathing tubes, feeding tubes, hospitalizations—and he always fought with a smile. His journey inspired countless followers who were heartbroken by his loss. His life taught us to cherish each moment, be kind, and embrace joy.

To honor his legacy, we started Noah’s Smile, Inc., dedicated to helping children facing serious illnesses and supporting families during long hospital stays. Noah’s light lives on in our mission. As his sister Emma said, “Mommy, Noah is so proud of you.” We’ll keep making him proud, carrying his spirit forward. Thank you for being here.