Seven years ago, I sat down to write a story for my daughters. I was not a writer by profession. I was a dad. I wrote radio commercials. I just wanted to write something that would express my love to my two little girls. This is where the miracle began, because as I began to write this story, this story began to write itself. It would wake me up in the middle of the night, or early in the morning. Once I pulled off the freeway and wrote an entire chapter on the back of bills and envelopes and whatever paper I could get my hands on in the car. And it went on this way for about five weeks. 

Then, one very incredible morning, I went out to the kitchen table and began to write just a few sentences when I understood for the first time that this story was about the pain my mother felt over losing a child. I felt that I was not in the room alone. My sister Sue died when I was 2 years old. I said out loud, "Sue, you gave me this story for Mom."

At this point, I knew I needed to share my story with more than just my two daughters. So, I went out to a local Kinko's copy center, and I made up 20 copies. I came back and I gave the first copy to my wife, Keri. I said, "Honey, just read the first three pages. If you don't like the book, you don't have to read it." She started to read, and around midnight I noticed that there were tears streaming down her cheeks. She fell over on the couch and she began to cry. When she gained her composure, she said, "Rick, where did you get that story?" And then I told her about that morning. She said, "It makes me want to be a better mother."