Please take a moment to say a little prayer for this beautiful little family. They have impacted my life in the short time I spent with them. Please read the beautiful life of Timber written by her mommy & daddy.
I would love for you to enjoy this little angel in the slideshow we put together. We spent the afternoon at their home capturing their relationships and memories.
There are a lot of things we CAN’T do to help this family, but there are a few things we CAN do to help this family. Mom and dad are home with Timber and enjoying every second of every day with her until the end. I would encourage you to pray and if you can please give a little financially if you can.

https://www.youcaring.com/wyattrebeccaandtimberruby-728458

Timber’s story written by her mommy & daddy:
The end of 2016 and the beginning of 2017 were the first few, worst days of my life. New Years eve found me curled around the body of my three-month-old infant daughter in a Pediatric Intensive Care Unit crib. Just two nights prior on December 29th, we received the news that rocked our world and changed its course forever. Our baby girl was diagnosed with hydrocephalus secondary to a large brain tumor. I remember the tears pouring down my face, dripping on her head, as I rocked in place clutching my baby as if I could protect her from the truth. A neurosurgeon delivered the ghastly news showing us the unbelievable MRI image of her head and talking about treatment options. Both my husband and I are ICU trained nurses, and the MRI image showed us the cold hard truth. It showed us the true severity of the situation. I felt as though my soul was cracking open. The room was hot. The room was cold. The lights were harsh. My stomach was an empty pit. My husband’s hand gripped my knee and we shared the pain that knowledge brought. Emergency surgery was planned for the following morning. We were to be back in less than twelve hours, but for the time we were allowed to take her home. In a way, it was the last night of normalcy in our home. However things were already different. We were unable to put our baby down, unable to sleep, unable to do anything but stare at her perfect little features.
The next morning was nothing but cold and bleak. Back at the hospital, after body shaking sobs, teary hugs, and wet kisses, we placed our darling infant in the hands of a kind stranger named Travis (who had an awesome mustache) and watched them walk away with our baby knowing she would be hurt in an attempt to save her. She was away from us for over twelve hours as she underwent a craniotomy and tumor resection. They were the longest hours we had ever experienced. The surgery was high risk and intense, and we spent the time unsure if we would see our little girl alive again. When the surgeon came to talk to us after surgery, our joy of learning she had survived was short lived. We were told the tumor was too deep and vascular to remove. Surgery had been aborted for her safety, and she was now recovering in PICU.
They had taken a biopsy of the tumor during surgery. Identifying what type of tumor it was would determine her treatment, so another waiting game began. The next two weeks waiting for pathology dragged on; often times with us not knowing what day it was, or even what time it was. All we knew was that our perfect baby was sick in a way we didn’t want to comprehend or fully accept. We felt utterly helpless, waiting for results to say just how bad our baby girls’ tumor was. A tumor we already understood to be very bad. It was a long two weeks away from home watching other people take care of our infant around the clock. The first week unable to hold my baby as she was ‘wired for sound’ with tubes, lines, and cables attached to nearly every part of her. A second week of limited baby holding and snuggling as her condition improved. Only to have an axe dropped on us with the official results confirming what we had hoped not to be true. Our beautiful, perfect, happy, loving baby girl…was not going to survive this fight. She had a rare aggressive cancerous brain tumor with no treatment option that could save her. No treatment that would save her life without taking it.
The hospital staff was amazing, loving and kind. They dealt with us gently and with care. They shared in our tears, our silent moments of sorrow, and offered hugs and words of comfort. We spent one last day preparing and stabilizing our baby in the hospital, and then were allowed to take her home on hospice care where we can more fully enjoy every last moment with our little dream baby. Knowing the end is coming is a cruel blessing. It allows us to cherish and appreciate her…but the anticipation of loss is hard and our grief has been pulled and extended in strange ways. We try our best to love every moment. To be positive and grateful for the time we have. To live and laugh with our sweet babe who still smiles and coos. But the ugly truth sits quietly waiting in every corner and the darkness creeps in during quiet moments surrounding us with its shroud of grief and despair that never seems far enough away.
Despite all this or more accurately because of it, I’ve found that people are truly beautiful. I forget this fact sometimes going about my day-to-day life. Busy with living, working and playing. I ignore this fact too, by becoming too focused on myself. But when tragedy rocked our family- I became aware at just how loving and beautiful everyone is. I’m amazed at the people that surround me. My family, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, and even strangers stepped up to share their love. To let me know my family was in their thoughts and prayers. They reached out to offer their hand in service and comfort during this terrible time in our life. It’s hard to react or know how to react during this difficult time. But I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who touched our lives during this time no matter how small the act, it was felt and appreciated.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hW3Ljc3NuLk&t=3s