Why I Created Isaiah’s Wish CIC: Turning Love and Loss into Legacy

Isaiah’s Wish didn’t begin as a business plan—or as a way to make money.

It began with a beautiful little boy whom I had the privilege of calling my son for two years. It began with my love for him and that love having nowhere to go after he died. And it began with a sentence that will stay with me forever:

“I DID IT!”

I’m Brooklynn Reid, and I am incredibly proud to be one of the founders and directors of Isaiah’s Wish CIC—a place that is helping me make peace with, and find purpose in, what felt like such a painfully short time with my boy.

But before I tell you about Isaiah’s Wish, I need to introduce you to the perfect little boy behind it all.

Meet Isaiah

Isaiah-Israel Abraham Baker.

My little hero. My menace. My smiley boy. A lover of pet food, tiny spaces, silence—and trouble!

If Isaiah went quiet, there was usually trouble loading: baby powder everywhere or an unexpected trip to the bath with all his clothes still on.

Isaiah was born on 20 June 2020, right in the middle of lockdown. To say his entrance into the world was eventful would be an understatement.

“Zay,” as he is still affectionately known, decided to arrive eight weeks early. All I had with me were my hospital notes and my purse. I needed an emergency caesarean section, and my cousin was understandably shocked when I phoned to ask him to bring me a charger—and casually told him that I had given birth!

We spent five weeks in neonatal intensive care, navigating COVID restrictions. We couldn’t have proper skin-to-skin contact until I finally brought him home.

Zay quickly stole the hearts of everyone around him with his beautiful long eyelashes, his dimples and the piercing little look he would give you. Most of all, I remember the peace I felt every time we cuddled.

His first year passed so quickly. Watching him grow was an incredible blessing, particularly because I had previously experienced the pain of having my older children removed from my care.

When Zay was 18 months old, I gave birth to his little brother, Noah. Watching Zay try to pick him up remains one of my favourite memories.

Zay loved Paw Patrol and would demand to watch it every second of every day! We celebrated his second birthday with a joint party for him and his older sister, whom he called “Lala.” He absolutely loved it.

When he started nursery, it didn’t take long for all his teachers to fall in love with him and his adventurous nature.

Then, on 2 November 2022, our lives changed in a way we could never have imagined.

 The News No Parent Expects

Zay was diagnosed with a brain tumour, and we were rushed to Great Ormond Street Hospital to learn what kind of tumour it was and what could be done.

He was diagnosed with an extremely rare form of brain cancer called an embryonal tumour with multilayered rosettes—ETMR.

After three weeks in hospital, it was decided that no further treatment would be given. I took Zay home to spend his final weeks surrounded by family, making as many memories as we could.

This was made more complicated by the fact that I am a recovering addict. Understandably, healthcare professionals had concerns about my recovery, knowing that I would eventually have to say goodbye to my boy.

We had three precious weeks at home, supported by the amazing team at Haven House Children’s Hospice. We celebrated an early Christmas, made memories as a family, and even had a visit from Chase from Paw Patrol.

Just weeks after his diagnosis, at 10:40 a.m. on 21 December 2022, Zay closed his eyes for the final time while lying in my arms.

Never did I imagine that, four days before Christmas, I would be planning my child’s funeral.

Zay’s going-home service took place on 23 January 2023. It was an explosion of the love he had shown—and the love he had been given—throughout his short life.

“I DID IT!”

During Zay’s final days, one little sentence struck a chord deep within me:

“I DID IT!”

It was the last time I heard his voice, and those words represent everything he did.

He did it.

He fought cancer with every fibre of his being, and I will forever be proud of him. He endured the prodding, needles, medicines and NG tubes. He restored our family, although I didn’t fully understand it at the time. He opened doors, opened my heart and taught me more than I could ever explain.

After the funeral, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

When he was still here, I could keep moving. I could be his nurse and his mum while also being a recovering addict, sister and daughter. After he died, it felt as though a truck had run over me. My life had stopped making sense.

It felt as though the rest of the world continued moving while mine stopped on 21 December. But I couldn’t stop completely because I still had other children who needed me.

I found some comfort through bereavement counselling at Haven House, but I felt alienated from the rest of the world. I wanted to connect with parents who understood, but I struggled to find that connection. I couldn’t find enough guidance about helping my children navigate their grief or managing my recovery while carrying such an unbearable loss.

Eventually, I relapsed.

Turning Pain into Purpose

As I began picking myself back up, continuing my lived-experience work and attending therapy, I couldn’t shake the idea of creating something that embodied everything Zay had brought into our lives and our family.

I didn’t know how to do it, and I didn’t have the confidence to push through the fear.

Then, one day in February, I was packing some of my children’s old clothes and wondered what I could do with them.

That was the moment Isaiah’s Wish was born.

It wasn’t simply about giving clothes away. It was about offering practical help with dignity and compassion.

I wanted to use the pain I had carried and the lessons I had learned through motherhood, recovery, faith and navigating different systems to support other families.

From that vision, the four strands of Isaiah’s Wish were born:

Forever Loved

A place for parents, siblings and wider families to hold space for their grief—however that grief looks. It is the kind of space I desperately needed when Zay first died.

Seen, Chosen & Loved

A space for children and families to connect, feel seen, know that they are chosen and understand that they are genuinely loved.

Wrapped in Love and Little Wishes

Practical items and meaningful support for families, offered with compassion and without judgement.

Rooted and Rising

A space for parents to become rooted in who they are, rediscover their strength and grow in empowerment, confidence and purpose.

Suddenly, it all made sense. I could feel in my heart that it was right.

Through my lived-experience work, I have seen the need for spaces that promote dignity, love and empowerment—particularly for families who do not always feel seen and who are often judged, misunderstood or shamed because of where they are in life.

The Wish Behind Isaiah’s Wish

Our greatest wish is that every mother who walks through our doors or receives one of our services feels seen, chosen and loved.

We want every child to leave knowing:

“I can do it.”

We want families to feel held and to know that they have a village standing alongside them and championing them.

I am still rebuilding and learning as a mother, and I am now stepping into the new role of founder and director. I expect there will be falls, mistakes and plenty of learning along the way.

But what I know for certain is that I am building Isaiah’s Wish from the ground up with a whole lot of love, passion, lived experience and more purpose than I have ever felt in my life.

My vision for the future is that every person who encounters Isaiah’s Wish knows that they are seen, chosen and loved.

I want my baby boy’s name to live on through this CIC and through every family we have the privilege of supporting.

If this vision speaks to you, come along on the journey. Follow our progress, volunteer with us, partner with us, share our work or support us as we build.

Isaiah said:

“I DID IT!”

My hope is that, through Isaiah’s Wish CIC, mothers, children and families will one day be able to say it too:

“ I DID IT!”