Michelle Coffey-Garcia and her husband Manny have three children - Taylor, age 7; Samantha, 6, and Zachary, almost 2 years. They live in the Kendall area of Miami-Dade and own and operate the Just Big Stuff Nursery in Redlands. The parents, born and raised in Miami, have been married for 13 years. Samantha's Purpose is a 501©(3). If you would like to contribute, you can make out a check to Samantha's Purpose and send to 2933 SW Third Ave., Miami 33129.

By MICHELLE COFFEY-GARCIA

When I speak about my life, it seems to always be in the "before" and "after"... as before I was married, after my grandmother passed away, and so forth. But there is no more profound time in my life than "after my daughter was born."

Living the life of a parent, sibling, grandparent, aunt, uncle or family member of a child with special needs is difficult. There is nothing normal about your life again.

I cannot speak for anyone other than myself. So that is what I will do. First, a little history...

Before the birth of my second child Samantha, I was living what now seems like a dream. I had been married to my best friend for six years. We had a beautiful, healthy baby boy. Our very successful nursery business provided us with an amazing life filled with all the "material" items you could ever dream of. We had no worries! Then the bottom fell out.

Samantha came into this world June 16, 2005 via an emergency C-section. Samantha was born 12 weeks premature and weighed 2 pounds-2 ounces. Her premature birth didn't surprise my husband and me. (I had actually gone into labor with her at 20 weeks. But helped by great doctors, we were able to hold off Samantha's delivery for an eight more weeks.)

I prayed out loud in the delivery room as doctors struggled to deliver her: "God, please let her live." They took her away to the NICU so quickly I never saw her. When I awoke in the recovery room, the first person I saw was the nurse. I wanted to ask about Samantha, but was so scared what she might answer that I simply didn't.

Samantha's condition and birth weight required her transfer from the South Miami Hospital NICU to the Baptist Hospital NICU. I don't remember seeing her before the transfer, though my husband tells me I did. I started to distance myself from the situation and my daughter, probably because I so feared she might not make it.

The first time I remember seeing her is after I was discharged from the hospital four days after she was born. My husband took me directly to the Baptist Hospital NICU. When the nurse pointed out Samantha to me, it was though I couldn't breathe. There she was inside a plastic box with tubes and IVs, looking so helpless and I couldn't even hold her.

Little by little I distanced myself more and more. I refused to connect with her because if she did not make it I could not deal with that pain. I became almost lifeless. I had no emotion, no tears.

Due to her premature birth, Samantha suffered a brain injury called a periventricular leucomylacia (PVL), together with an interventicular hemorrhage (IVH). We first learned this while Samantha was still in the NICU. But the doctors could not tell us what the outcome of this brain injury would be. All he could tell us was, "Only time will tell."

Although I prayed non-stop for Samantha, I also was very angry with God. How could he send me a child with a brain injury? A disabled child would change everything I had planned.

Samantha was discharged from the NICU on Sept. 6, 2005. We brought her home in a car seat where she was too small to fit. She required a special monitor to make sure that she was breathing and her heart was beating. As I walked in the front door, I was greeted by three of my sisters and our 11-month-old son Taylor. At that moment, I was determined that our lives would return to normal. I was not supposed to be the mother of a "special needs" child. That was not what I had planned. My daughter was going to grow strong, and her premature birth would merely just be a story we could share with her when she got older. Her brother and her would start elementary school together and graduate from high school together. I would not accept anything else. There was no way our daughter would be a "special needs" child.

But as the months progressed, I knew something was wrong, though I still I didn't want to accept it. Part of me told me to ignore it; the other part told me to do something about it. The struggle was constant. Yet I knew what was going to be -- therapy appointments, specialist appointments, so much more I could never have imagined.

Samantha never met the milestones my son had met. By the time she was a year old, I was exhausted from hearing doctors tell me nothing was wrong. But my constant insistence had at least gotten me a referral for Samantha to start physical, occupational and speech therapy. So I took Samantha to therapy three times a week and did endless hours of research on her type of brain injuries and the results. Two words constantly ran through my mind, "cerebral palsy."

In January 2007, Samantha became very ill with a respiratory tract virus and needed to be hospitalized. During this hospitalization I finally got a doctor to listen to my concerns. The attending physician came in to see Samantha and asked her to sit up. That's when I told him that Samantha could not sit up. In fact, Samantha couldn't crawl, walk, talk, eat or use her hands. I urged him to call in a neurologist, and he agreed with me. Within 30 minutes the neurologist walked in the room. It took him just a few minutes to confirm what I already knew. He said the two words, "Cerebral palsy."

While I thought I was prepared to hear the words I had been waiting to hear, it was devastating. Now it was confirmed...documented. I was the mother of a daughter with special needs. "Oh, dear God, what did that mean?"

It has now been 4½ years since Samantha was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. As the years go by it doesn't get easier -- and actually more difficult. Now it is more evident to the entire family and the world that Samantha is "disabled." I have had to come to terms with the fact that Samantha may never speak. She may never walk. What I am certain of is that I will be Samantha's caretaker for the rest of my life -- and, wow, does that take a lot of work.

Some really amazing things have come from Samantha's disabilities. My marriage is stronger than ever. I truly did marry the right man and the perfect father for my children. Samantha's disability also has turned my oldest son into the most compassionate, loving 7-year-old I have ever met. When he thinks no one is looking, he just kisses his sister and whispers to her that he loves her. He prays every night before going to bed and asks God to please let his sister talk and walk. He tells me all the time, "Mommy, Samantha is going to be fine. God always listens to my prayers." If only I could have the same faith that he does...

It may sound strange, but Samantha's premature birth, brain injury and cerebral palsy diagnosis has made me the wife, mother and woman I am today. Before all this, I was too self-centered...too concerned about having the best car, designer handbag, latest piece of jewelry, etc. I was too often looking for happiness in material items. I kept myself busy shopping and traveling. I thought being charitable meant writing checks to St. Jude's Children Hospital.

With Samantha came the realization that you could have all the money in the world, but it didn't mean you could save your child's life. Money could not do what the power of pray and faith in God could do. As soon as I got Samantha to a place where her health had improved and the breathing and heart monitors were removed, I threw myself into volunteer charity work. I decided to give of myself because God had given me the opportunity to be a mother to two beautiful children.

In November 2007, my husband and I decided it was time to take our charity work to the next level. We saw the desperate need for an organization that financially helped with the cost of therapy services for children with special needs. That's when we started Samantha's Purpose. Since the beginning it has been a full-time job putting together fund-raising events, spreading the word about the organization and looking for people to help us make Samantha's Purpose a success. It's very difficult but a labor of love. It's our way of turning Samantha's disability into something positive. (My husband and I pray that someday our three children will take over Samantha's Purpose and continue to help families and their wonderful children.)

I have shared my story with the hope that someone will read it and understand that good can come from a bad situation. It all depends on how you choose to deal with the situation. Don't get me wrong -- it has taken me years to come to terms with Samantha's cerebral palsy. I still have a hard time looking at her without wanting to cry. I still look at little girls running around in dresses, with pretty shoes, their hair in ponytails and just wish that my daughter was "normal."

It is not a question of whether or not I Iove my daughter because I absolutely adore her and have dedicated my life to caring for her. I am not ashamed to say that I despise "cerebral palsy." I resent not being able to enjoy being the mother of a little girl. Even more, I feel terrible sadness thinking about how Samantha must feel and whether or not she even understands us.

But I also know that Samantha and all of us are blessed in many ways. And I cannot, and will not, forget that.