Words That Capture a Lifetime

On the left, you'll see the raw, heartfelt contributions from friends and family—shared via a simple email reply. On the right is the Collabraverse magic: those individual threads woven together into a cohesive, professional poem that captures the collective heart of the group.

Recipient

Timmy Thom (Thommy)

An eight-year-old boy in the final stages of being adopted by Harry and Trina Contrile. After time in the foster system, he is finding his place in this loving family, expressing himself through his art and quietly observing how this family fits together.

Contributor

Harry Contrile

Thommy's adoptive father

From the moment Thommy walked through our door with that worn sketchbook clutched in his small hands, I knew he was meant to be here. I've watched him carefully test each corner of our home, like a little architect making sure the foundation is solid. The way he sits quietly in my workshop, sketching while I build, reminds me that love isn't always loud—sometimes it's found in the gentle presence of someone who chooses to stay. When I see him drawing pictures of our family, including himself right there in the middle, I know we've built something beautiful together.

Contributor

Trina Contrile

Thommy's adoptive mother

Thommy has taught me that motherhood comes in many forms, and sometimes the most precious gift is a child who chooses you back. I'll never forget the first time he shyly showed me a drawing of our family hiking together—him right there between Wally and baby Timmy, all of us smiling. He may be quiet, but his art speaks volumes about the love growing in his heart. Watching him slowly open up, seeing him laugh at Wally's jokes and gently touch baby Timmy's tiny fingers, fills me with such joy. He's not just joining our family; he's completing it in ways we never knew we needed.

Contributor

Kelly Contrile

Thommy's adoptive aunt

As the family archivist, I've been documenting Thommy's journey with us from day one, but what I treasure most are the moments that can't be captured in photos. Like when he quietly slipped his hand into mine during our first family movie night, or when I found a drawing he'd left on my desk—a picture of me labeled 'Safe Aunt Kelly.' This little boy has shown me that family isn't just about blood or even time; it's about the choice to love and be loved. Every sketch he shares, every shy smile, every moment he lets us into his world is a gift that reminds me why the Contrile legacy is really about opening our hearts wide enough to hold everyone who needs a home.

Contributor

Wally Contrile

Thommy's adoptive older brother

Having a little brother wasn't something I thought I wanted, but Thommy changed everything. He's not like other eight-year-olds—he watches everything with these wise eyes, like he's seen too much but still believes in good things. When he first started drawing pictures of me in his sketchbook, calling me his 'big brother,' something shifted inside me. I realized I wanted to be the kind of brother he could look up to, someone who would always have his back. Now when I see him getting more comfortable, laughing at my dumb jokes or asking me to help him with his art, I know he's not just my little brother—he's home, and we're his family forever.

The Poem

The Choice of Love For Timmy Thom (Thommy) A small boy walked through our door one day, clutched tight a worn sketchbook, weathered and frayed, with eyes that had seen too much too soon, yet still believed in afternoon's gentle tune. He tested each corner like an architect's child, measuring love with steps careful and mild, in workshop shadows he'd quietly sit, sketching our family, piece by piece, bit by bit. Oh, the waiting was long, the hoping was deep, through seasons of longing, through nights without sleep, but love has its timing, its perfect design— the moment you chose us, we knew you were mine. Not mine by blood, but by something much stronger, the choice to stay when the testing grew longer, the choice to trust when trust felt too hard, the choice to love and let down your guard. In pictures you drew us—all hiking together, through sunshine and storm, through all kinds of weather, yourself in the middle, right where you belong, completing our chorus, perfecting our song. Your art speaks the language your shy voice won't say, "Safe Aunt Kelly" labeled in crayon one day, a hand slipped in mine during movie night's glow, these moments that cameras will never quite show. Big brother Wally learned what it means to be looked up to, to be part of your dreams, when you called him brother in sketches so true, his heart grew three sizes—that's what love can do. Baby Timmy's small fingers you touch with such care, a gentleness born from knowing what's rare, you've taught us that motherhood comes many ways, and sometimes the sweetest are adoption days. The Contrile legacy isn't just name, it's hearts opened wide, love without shame, it's choosing each other when choosing is hard, it's building a family, card by precious card. From that first shy smile to your laughter today, you've woven yourself in our hearts here to stay, no longer testing if the foundation is sound— you are the foundation, safe, solid, and found. So here's to our Thommy, our artist, our son, our brother, our blessing, our chosen one, the cord that now binds us can never be broken, for love is the language that finally was spoken. In workshop and kitchen, in hallway and yard, you've proven that family isn't so hard— it's presence and patience, it's choosing to stay, it's love that grows stronger with each passing day. Welcome home, Thommy, you beautiful boy, you've filled up our hearts with unending joy, the wait was worth every moment of pain, for now we're complete, and love is our name.

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