Gabrielle Ward-Collier is a mother of 5 from Saint Johns, Michigan, USA. She and her husband were introduced to Hope for HIE while still in the NICU after their daughter Ophelia's birth in 2022. They received a notecard with website information and immediately started reading through family resources, which helped them to know they were not alone during such an overwhelming time. Gabrielle shares how this year's theme, "Hold onto Hope," is deeply meaningful their family and their journey with HIE.
Can you tell us a little bit about your family and your daughter, Ophelia?
Our family is a blend of love, resilience, and a lot of learning as we go. I’m a mother to five children—two I gave birth to and three I’ve had the privilege of raising as my own. We’ve walked through medical complexity, trauma, growth, and healing together, and it has shaped the way we show up for each other.
Our daughter Ophelia’s journey with HIE, cerebral palsy, and epilepsy has deeply influenced who we are as a family. It’s made us more intentional, more protective, and more compassionate. Our home is not perfect, but it is safe, steady, and rooted in connection. We celebrate small wins, we adapt constantly, and we hold each other through the hard moments.
What does this year's theme "Hold onto Hope" mean to you and your family?
“Hold onto Hope” isn’t passive for us. It is something we actively choose over and over again, each and every day.
Hope looks like continuing therapies when progress is slow. It looks like advocating in rooms where we’re exhausted. It looks like believing in our daughter’s future even when the path is unclear.
It’s not blind optimism. It’s grounded and earned. It’s built from lived experience, watching her do things we were once told might never happen. Hope, for us, is not about ignoring reality. It’s about standing in it and still choosing forward.
How do you find hope on the hardest days? Who or what has been a source of strength for your family?
It’s in Ophelia’s effort. It’s in her determination and tenacity. It’s in the way our kids love each other, even when things are messy. It’s in the routines we’ve built and the progress that only we might notice.
Our strength has come from a mix of places—our family, our lived experience, and the community we’ve found along the way. Organizations like Hope for HIE reminded us early on that we weren’t alone, and that mattered more than anything in those early days.
A vast part of our strength has come from being forced to grow into it. This journey didn’t give us a choice, but it did shape us into people who can carry it.
What does hope look like today compared to when you started this journey?
At the beginning, hope was survival. It was getting through the NICU, understanding what HIE even meant, and holding onto anything that felt stable.
Now, hope is more expansive. It’s not just about getting through each day, it’s about building a life we are proud of.
It looks like long-term goals. It looks like advocating for better systems. It looks like believing in Ophelia's independence, her personality, her future, not just her medical outcomes.
Hope has grown with us. It’s less fragile now. It’s steadier.
What advice would you give to a family just starting their HIE journey?
Take it one moment at a time. You don’t have to understand everything all at once.
Ask questions. Trust your instincts. You know your child in a way no one else does, and that matters. You are the expert in your child’s experience.
Find your people, whether that’s other parents, providers who truly listen, or communities like Hope for HIE. You are not meant to carry this alone.
And most importantly, allow space for both grief and hope. They can exist at the same time. One does not cancel out the other. Sometimes it looks and feels messy. Sometimes it looks like sitting at the breakfast table, admiring the strength your daughter exudes, and simply being in the warmth of that moment.
What gives you hope when you think about the future of HIE awareness and care?
What gives me hope is how much has already changed, and how many people are working to change it further.
There is growing awareness, better research, and more emphasis on early intervention and long-term outcomes. Families are being heard in ways they weren’t before.
I’m also hopeful because of the community itself, parents, advocates, and clinicians, people who refuse to let this space stay stagnant.
The future of HIE care feels more collaborative, more informed, and more human-centered than it used to be. I hope to be part of that shift. As I move forward into nursing, with interests in neonatal care, potentially as a neonatal nurse practitioner, alongside long-term neurodevelopmental and movement outcomes, I want to help move these conversations forward, not just as a future nurse, but as a parent who has lived it, so care continues to become more connected, informed, and truly centered around the families experiencing it.
Gabrielle's story is a powerful reminder that hope is not something we simply wait for — it is something we build, choice by choice, day by day. From the early days in the NICU to advocating for her daughter's future and stepping into a nursing career shaped by lived experience, Gabrielle embodies what it means to truly hold onto hope. We are so grateful to Gabrielle for sharing her journey with such honesty and heart, and for showing our community that grief and hope sometimes walk hand in hand.
Follow along on our social media channels to hear more from our families on this year's HIE Awareness Month theme "Hold onto Hope."
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