Trigger warning: suicide
Despite my skepticism, I’ve come to realize that sometimes, Hollywood gets it right.
My life could easily be a cinematic tale—at least, that’s what one of my friends insists. Nine years ago, I shared my life story over lunch with an old friend, Alex, who challenged me to reveal the saddest narrative in exchange for a free meal. We both agreed that whoever had the saddest story wouldn’t have to pay at the Cheesecake Factory.
I started with a love story—a young woman from San Francisco meets a dashing soldier on a bomb squad in Texas. After countless phone calls, unsuccessful relationships, and a few deployments, they fall in love, marry, and raise three children in four years.
“Touching,” Alex remarked. “Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”
“Just wait,” I replied, confident there was more.
In the sequel, they navigate the soldier’s college journey while their eldest battles cancer, ultimately surviving. They emerge stronger, and he returns to serve in the military, gaining acceptance into a prestigious medical school.
“Maybe a Lifetime movie could happen,” Alex admitted, but warned me to keep my wallet ready for lunch. “You’re definitely paying, you emotional storyteller.”
“Just you wait,” I insisted.
I was about to take the sadness to another level. But according to Alex, I overshot the mark. My story took a tragic turn as my marriage deteriorated when my husband struggled with emotional issues and suicidal thoughts—possibly linked to his time on the bomb squad. Five months after I temporarily left for the safety of my children, my husband—my charming soulmate—ended his life in the same hospital where he was a well-regarded OB/GYN resident.
“I don’t believe it,” Alex said, his voice shaky as he reached for the bill. “It’s just too unbelievable.”
He suggested I tone down the drama. Maybe lose the childhood cancer plotline or have the soldier survive the suicide attempt. My narrative needed redemption—a happy ending.
Our lunch concluded with a heartfelt hug and the promise to reconnect soon.
I knew Alex was right. I despised my story’s ending. As a lifelong fan of fairy tales, it was painfully far from the happy endings I’d envisioned for myself and my children. I began to doubt that a fairy godmother or genie would swoop in to save us.
In the years following my husband’s death, I crafted a narrative that resembled a mix of a b-grade survival film and an indie horror flick. I aimed for “hopeful,” but my imagined readings leaned toward “pathetic.”
Two Christmases after my husband’s passing, I first met Jason Carter. Our family attended a charity event in Dallas called Snowball Express, where Jason performed a concert with his band for 1,000 children of the fallen. By then, I had endured countless pointless dates, relocated my kids for a “fresh start,” and was resigned to a life of loneliness. So many people in our lives had moved on, but our grief lingered.
“We won’t forget you. We love you,” Jason assured me with a sincerity that felt genuine. I believed him.
Seven years later, while many have broken their promises, Jason and his foundation have consistently shown up. The Jason Carter Foundation hosts the annual Snowball Express event right before Christmas. Just when our hearts are ready to crumble under the weight of grief, they shower us with love and create countless new memories.
A couple of years ago, the foundation transitioned the charity event to Walt Disney World. For the past two Decembers, my kids and I have experienced all-expenses-paid vacations at Disney, filled with love and the company of thousands of families like ours. My children have come to expect that Jason will greet them at the airport—by name!
Then 2020 arrived, and a reunion at the happiest place on earth seemed unlikely. We were heartbroken when we learned that Snowball Express would not take place that year.
Weeks later, we received an invitation to register for a virtual Snowball Express experience. My now 18, 16, and 14-year-olds groaned at the thought of all the “lame” things they could miss. You can’t “virtually ride a roller coaster” or “virtually hang out in a teen lounge.” But we registered anyway.
A few days prior to the event, I received a call from the Jason Carter Foundation asking if we would be open to a film crew documenting our experience with the virtual activities. Though we were hesitant about welcoming strangers into our home, we couldn’t say no to “Uncle Jason” and his amazing team. So, we tidied up and prepared for a unique adventure.
We had nothing to fear. It turns out love can manifest online just as powerfully as it does at Disney.
Less than an hour into the filming, my kids were making pancakes with a camera right in front of them, and they didn’t miss a beat. They teased each other and laughed while attempting to recreate “Dancakes” in a virtual demonstration. Talk shifted to memories of their dad, and my son created some of the “dad-cakes” his father used to make. “Pancake cereal,” he suggested. “Dad-cakes?” a film director chimed in.
I watched from a distance, and in that moment, I finally saw the beauty and clarity of my love story’s redemption.
It wasn’t about a new marriage or a beautiful home. My love story revolves around my kids. Somewhere between mourning and making pancakes, they’ve grown into compassionate individuals eager to spread love, just like their dad and Jason Carter.
Despite Hollywood’s reputation for self-centeredness, it has become a backdrop for selfless service for us. Each year, numerous celebrities and countless volunteers show my children that the most fulfilling thing one can do is help others, to serve, to inspire.
Though we missed the in-person magic of Disney this year, we may have found the perfect alternative ending to our “saddest story script.” Our narrative is not suited for Lifetime or Hallmark. It has evolved into one that Hollywood loves to tell.
Our story is now one where adversity strengthens rather than defines us. Where unexpected people reveal our hidden strengths. Where the happy ending doesn’t resolve every issue but leaves us hopeful that the best is yet to come.
Sometimes, when the right elements come together to tell a story larger than life, Hollywood crafts an award-winning script—a tale of love, loss, and redemption that resonates in both fiction and reality.
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Summary:
Emily Bennett shares her family’s journey of love, loss, and healing, emphasizing the incredible support they receive from Jason Carter and his foundation during the holiday season. Through the Snowball Express event, her family finds solace and connection with others facing similar challenges. Despite the hardships of life, Emily discovers that her children’s growth and compassion serve as a testament to resilience and hope.
Keyphrase: Jason Carter support for families
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