Harper’s Story – A Journey of Resilience and Hope
By Cheryl Candelaria, Founder of The Foundation for Anoxic Injury Recovery (FAIR)
Ten years ago, my world changed in an instant. My daughter Harper was just a year and a half old when she suffered a non-fatal drowning that left her with a severe anoxic brain injury. In a matter of minutes, the life we had known was shattered. The doctors didn’t offer much hope—they told us that if she survived, she would likely never walk, talk, or interact meaningfully with the world again.
I remember sitting in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU), staring at the monitors, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, willing her to wake up. Every breath she took felt like both a miracle and a heartbreak. The unknown was unbearable, and the grief of losing the life I had imagined for her weighed on me in ways I can't fully describe. But what I didn’t understand in those early moments was that Harper’s injury wasn’t just hers—it happened to all of us.
When a child suffers a life-altering brain injury, it doesn’t just change their life—it transforms the entire family. While the focus naturally falls on the child’s medical needs and recovery, what often gets overlooked is the emotional, mental, and physical toll it takes on everyone else in the home. Parents are thrust into an unfamiliar world of medical decisions, therapy appointments, and advocacy. The stress is unrelenting. Guilt creeps in. The exhaustion—both physical and emotional—can feel impossible to carry. Siblings suddenly find themselves in a new reality, one where their needs might feel secondary to their injured brother or sister. They grieve too, but often in silence. They need to know they still matter and are just as loved as before. Marriages and relationships are tested in ways no one can prepare for. The weight of grief, stress, and financial burdens can drive couples apart or force them to rebuild their relationship on entirely new organizations. Grandparents, extended family, and close friends feel the pain, too, unsure of how to help, wanting to support but not always knowing how. An anoxic brain injury may happen to one person, but the ripple effect changes the entire family. And each family member deserves care, support, and healing just as much as the child does.
During those first agonizing weeks, something extraordinary happened: people showed up for us. Friends took care of our other children, making sure their routines felt as normal as possible. People we had never met followed Harper’s journey, praying for her, sending messages of encouragement, and offering financial support. Meals arrived at our doorstep, laundry was done for us, and we were taken care of. We were carried by a community of love. But not every family is fortunate enough to have that kind of support. And even when help comes in the beginning, the long-term journey of caregiving, grief, and healing can feel incredibly lonely.
Harper eventually stabilized, but we had a long road ahead. We learned that recovery from an anoxic brain injury isn’t a straight path—it’s a winding road of small victories and heartbreaking setbacks. We explored every possible therapy—some recommended by doctors, others we discovered through research, and other parents who had walked this road before us. We tried traditional therapies such as physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy. We tried alternative treatments, including Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy (HBOT), Stem Cell Therapy, Intensive Neurorehabilitation, and Functional Medicine. We also implemented home-based strategies such as sensory integration activities, specialized diets, and adaptive communication tools. Some therapies helped, others didn’t. But we kept searching because we refused to accept that there was nothing more we could do. And through it all, I realized something: if I wasn’t okay, I couldn’t care for Harper the way she needed me to.
As parents, we pour everything into helping our children heal—but we often neglect ourselves in the process. I’ve learned firsthand that self-care isn’t selfish—it’s survival. If I didn’t take care of my own mental health, my marriage, and my other children, I wouldn’t have had anything left to give to Harper. Families need emotional support—therapy, support groups, and a safe place to grieve, process, and find hope. They need practical guidance—access to the right medical resources, drowning prevention education, and therapy programs that support the entire family. Most importantly, they need a community—people who understand, who listen, who remind them that they’re not alone in this journey.
That’s why I started The Foundation for Anoxic Injury Recovery (FAIR)—not just for the children affected by these injuries but for their entire families. Over the years, I connected with countless families who were experiencing the same pain, confusion, and desperation we had felt in those early days. I realized how many parents were left to figure everything out on their own—researching therapies, fighting for services, navigating insurance battles, and feeling utterly alone in the process. That’s why I created this Foundation—to ensure that no family ever has to walk this journey alone.
This Foundation exists to provide real, research-backed information on alternative therapies that could help children recover. It connects families with the right providers, organizations, and support groups and shares stories of resilience so that no parent feels isolated in their experience. It advocates for awareness of anoxic brain injuries and drowning prevention and supports the entire family—because healing isn’t just for the child; it’s for everyone.
Harper’s journey is not over—recovery is an ongoing process. She has defied expectations in so many ways, but we still face challenges daily. Some days are hard, but every day is a gift. She is loved. She is cherished. And she has taught me more about strength, perseverance, and unconditional love than I ever thought possible.
If you are reading this and feel lost, I want you to know: there is hope. There are resources. And most importantly, you are not alone. We are in this together.
