“Only Half a Million Away From a Miracle for Romuś!”.2309

In the depths of every parent’s heart lies an unspoken dream – the hope that their child will grow up healthy, happy, and full of life. For most, it’s a natural expectation, something taken for granted. But for us, this dream has been shattered. Our son, Romuś, was born with a condition that no parent should ever have to face: spinal muscular atrophy (SMA) type 1. It is the most severe form of the disease, and without treatment, it takes away a child’s ability to move, to breathe, and ultimately, to survive. The doctors told us that, without treatment, Romuś wouldn’t even live to see his second birthday.

Imagine the terror, the gut-wrenching despair of hearing those words. A healthy baby born into the world, only to have the very breath of life stolen from him by a rare and cruel condition. But I know what it feels like. I understand the agony that comes with hearing a death sentence for your child. And every day, I pray for Romuś. I pray that he can forget the words of the doctors, that he can live the life he deserves, a life full of joy, a life full of possibilities. No child should ever have to suffer as Romuś does, and no parent should ever have to face the reality that their child is slowly slipping away.

But in the midst of this unimaginable pain, there is hope. The kind of hope that shines bright when the darkest hours seem endless. Over the past few days, something incredible has happened. The support we’ve received from the community, from people we don’t even know, has been overwhelming. So many kind and generous hearts have joined in this fight, and it has filled us with a sense of gratitude and hope we thought we had lost. We’re now closer than ever to the goal of raising the funds needed for the treatment that could save Romuś’s life.

We are just half a million away from reaching our target – half a million that will give Romuś a chance to live, a chance to see his second birthday, and beyond. And it’s not just our friends and family who are helping anymore. Even those who were once in our shoes, those who know what it feels like to hear the diagnosis and to fight for their child’s life, are standing beside us. I want to share a message from one of them, Iga, whose words reflect the pain, the struggle, and the hope that so many of us are experiencing:

“Do you know what it feels like when you give birth to a healthy child, and then you hear the death sentence? ‘Your son has the most severe form of spinal muscular atrophy – SMA1, and without treatment, he won’t live to see his second birthday…’ I know what that feels like, and every day I pray that Romuś can forget it. No one should have to suffer like this, no one should have to hear this!”

Iga’s words echo the pain that every parent in our position knows too well. But they also reflect the hope that we cling to every single day. Despite the immense pain and the long hours spent in hospitals, we see a glimmer of light. The treatment we’ve been fighting for, the treatment that could save Romuś, is within reach. But we still need your help. We can’t do this alone.

It’s hard to put into words the depth of our gratitude for the support we’ve already received. People from all over have come together, sharing our story, contributing to the fundraiser, and offering prayers and encouragement. Some of them are the very people who have gone through this fight themselves and understand the weight of what we’re experiencing. Their kindness has been a lifeline for us, and we know that it’s this collective strength that will carry us through.

But we are not there yet. There’s still half a million to raise, and we need you. Every donation, every share, every prayer brings us one step closer to the treatment that could change everything for Romuś. Your support doesn’t just give us money; it gives us hope. It gives us the strength to keep going, even when everything feels overwhelming. It gives Romuś a chance to grow, to learn, to experience life in a way that SMA tries to take away from him.

When I look at Romuś, I see so much potential, so much joy waiting to be unleashed. I see the child he could become – running, playing, laughing, growing up with his friends. I see him becoming the person he was meant to be, living the life that every child deserves. But we need this treatment to make that possible. We need your help to give him that chance.

There are no words that can fully express the gratitude I feel. I don’t know how we can ever repay you for your kindness, for standing with us in this fight. But I do know this: your support is everything. It is the difference between life and death for Romuś. It is the difference between him being able to live and being taken from us far too soon.

Please, don’t turn away. Don’t stop now. Romuś needs us, and we need you. Together, we can make this miracle happen. Together, we can give Romuś a chance at life.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for your support, for your generosity, and for your unwavering belief that Romuś deserves to live.

When Music Heals: A Man, a Piano, and a Heartbroken Elephant.561

In the dusty expanse of a small elephant camp, where the air carried the faint scent of hay and earth, a young man set up a simple keyboard. His mission was quiet but profound: to reach out to a being whose life had been marked by pain, neglect, and misunderstanding. The elephant, an enormous creature with gentle, intelligent eyes, had endured years of mistreatment. Chains had been a constant in his life, harsh words and unkind hands had left invisible scars, and the weight of captivity pressed down on him with every step.

The man began to play. At first, the notes floated softly into the morning air, hesitant and delicate, almost as if unsure they would be heard. The elephant, who had learned to expect only cruelty, froze. His massive ears twitched, and his deep, mournful eyes focused on the stranger at the keyboard. Something about the sound pierced the haze of fear that had clouded his life for so long. It wasn’t commanding, it wasn’t harsh—it was tender, human, and alive.

As the melody unfurled, the elephant’s body language began to change. The weight of his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly. His trunk, which had spent years curled and stiff from chains and fear, moved with a hesitant curiosity. Each note was a lifeline, a message from someone who had come not to dominate, but to connect. And slowly, incredibly, he took a tentative step forward, drawing closer to the music and the man who played it.

Tears welled up in the musician’s eyes as he watched the elephant’s reaction. This was a creature who had learned to expect only pain, and now he was discovering something new: kindness, patience, and understanding. The elephant’s eyes glistened, brimming with emotion that words could never capture. The deep rumble in his chest, the subtle sway of his massive frame—it was as if he was speaking back in a language older than time, a language of trust and release.

As the man continued, the melody grew more confident, carrying hope and empathy with it. The elephant lifted his head high, his trunk reaching toward the notes, absorbing each sound as though it could heal the invisible wounds inside him. For a brief, sacred moment, the boundary between human and beast dissolved. Music became a bridge—one that could traverse fear, pain, and years of suffering.

Those who watched from the side of the enclosure whispered in awe. They had seen the elephant’s anger, his despair, and his retreat from the world. They had seen the way he recoiled from human touch. But now, through something as simple and profound as music, he was revealing his heart. His heartbreaking reaction—the quiet shudder, the lingering gaze, the subtle sway of his body—spoke volumes. He had been hurt, yes, but he still carried the capacity to feel, to trust, and to be touched by beauty.

The piano notes lingered in the air long after the last key was pressed. The elephant stood silently, as if processing the experience, and then, slowly, he moved closer, resting his massive head near the man’s shoulder. It was a gesture that transcended words, a quiet declaration of connection. For the first time in years, perhaps the first time ever, he allowed himself to be seen not as a spectacle, not as a burden, but as a being capable of feeling and deserving of love.

The moment ended, but the bond forged in that space would last. The man packed up his keyboard, but he left behind something far more enduring: a reminder that empathy and patience can reach even the most wounded hearts. The elephant, once mistreated and withdrawn, had experienced a fleeting but profound glimpse of care, a whisper of hope that perhaps not all humans were the same.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows over the enclosure, the elephant raised his trunk one last time, a silent farewell and an unspoken promise. In the depths of his eyes, the pain remained, but so did a spark of trust. And for those who witnessed the encounter, it was a lesson in compassion, in the extraordinary power of music, and in the quiet, enduring truth that love can heal—even where words cannot reach.