Spencer Wright, a famous rodeo cowboy, lost his young son Levi Wright.The three-year-old boy died after a near-drowning accident caused a traumatic brain injury.Spencer Wright, a famous rodeo cowboy, lost his young son Levi Wright.Levi was taken to a hospital in Salt Lake City after he drove a toy tractor into a river near his family’s house by accident.
About a mile downstream, Levi was found unconscious by local police.After being told he was brain dead and not likely to live, the boy started to show signs of improvement.“LEVI AWAKENED!” We don’t know much, but the doctor told me it was okay to be excited about that, and I AM! “My child is really tough!” his mom Kallie Wright wrote on Facebook.MRI results the next day “weren’t good,” which was a shame.“We are broken, but it’s just pictures that show a certain way of life.” “What Levi does over the next few days will really tell us everything,” Kallie said.Family and friends of Levi kept asking for prayers while he fought in the hospital.On June 2, Kallie told me some terrible news“After many sleepless nights, a lot of research, many talks with the best neurologists in the world, and millions of prayers, we are here facing our biggest fear,” she wrote. “Levi only showed us enough to buy us some time.” He did those things to show us that he wanted to stay here, even though the odds were against him. Now we know that he just wanted to give us time to be okay with letting him go.Levi Wright’s family turned off his life support after many tests, scans, and consultations.The next day, Mindy Sue Clark, a family friend, wrote on Facebook that Levi had died.“The last two weeks have been so hard that I can’t even begin to describe them.” The phone rang the night of his accident and I got the message that he had to leave last night. That’s why I don’t want to think about the bad or sad things. It hurts like someone tore my heart out and squished it right in front of me. What I want to talk about is all the miracles we saw during those 12 days.“The most wonderful three-year-old ever.” He was so perfect that we couldn’t keep him. In the last 12 days, this baby boy did a lot. He got a lot of people to get together. A child brought light into a very dark world. His parents could not have asked for a better child.During this very hard time, our thoughts and prayers are with the Wright family.
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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