On February 10, 2014, I went in for what I thought was a routine 21-week prenatal check-up—excited to learn whether we’d be welcoming a girl in frilly pink or a boy in tiny bow ties. Instead, I received news that changed my life forever. My baby had only half a heart. She was diagnosed with Hypoplastic Right Heart Syndrome (HRHS)—a severe congenital heart defect.

At first, I was advised not to continue the pregnancy. But after days filled with shock, tears, research, and second opinions, we found hope—and a team of extraordinary doctors—at Boston Children’s Hospital. With every appointment, our path became clearer: we would continue this journey, give our baby every fighting chance, and surround her with all the love we had to give.

Elliot Grace came into the world kicking and screaming on June 24, 2014. I got five beautiful minutes with her before she was rushed to the Cardiac ICU at Boston Children's Hospital. I had to be wheeled over in a wheelchair to meet my baby in another hospital—jealous of the mothers around me hearing their babies cry while mine was hooked up to machines.

She had her first open-heart surgery (Stage 1: Norwood) at just three days old. Her second (Stage 2: Glenn) came five months later. Her third (Stage 3: Fontan) at the age of two. Despite it all, she beat the odds with strength and resilience that continues to inspire everyone she meets.

But CHD doesn’t end with surgery. Elliot lives with a heart powered by a single ventricle. She takes daily heart medication, battles ADHD, undergoes frequent cardiac and liver testing, and lives with uncertainty. The long-term outcomes for kids like her remain unclear. One possible future includes a heart and liver transplant if she develops complications like Fontan-associated liver disease (FALD).

The scariest part? We don’t know when—or what—comes next.

But here’s what I do know: CHD research is why she’s alive. And it’s why I keep fighting.

Over the years, I’ve turned fear into action—founding the New England Region of the Children’s Heart Foundation, serving on its National Board of Directors, and even climbing Mount Kilimanjaro to raise critical funds for CHD research. I’m now proud to run the 2025 NYC Marathon for the very organization that’s fueled so much of the progress we’ve seen—and the one that continues to give families like mine hope for a healthier tomorrow.

Elliot’s passion is just as strong. She hosts an annual birthday blood drive, raises money through her summer lemonade stand, and even has her own wine label at our family’s winery—Saving Grace, named in her honor. We donate $2 from every bottle sold to CHD research.

So why am I running the marathon? Because I can’t fix her heart—but I CAN fight for her future. I’m running in honor of Elliot and every child born with a congenital heart defect. I’m running to fund life-saving research that has already made miracles possible—and will continue to shape what’s possible in the future.

Elliot is now ten years old. She’s thriving, sassy, sweet, and strong. She reminds me every day what real courage looks like. She’s my superhero—and I’m proud to run every mile for her.

CHDs are the most common birth defect in the U.S., affecting 1 in 100 babies. They’re underfunded, under-researched, and too often misunderstood. That needs to change.

Every mile I run, every dollar we raise, brings us closer to better outcomes, brighter futures, and the chance for these incredible kids to not only grow up—but grow old.

With your help, we can get there.

With love and endless gratitude,
Melissa & Elliot (Dashiell and Monroe too!)