Mom was deeply emotional after her 3-year-old son lost his foot in a lawn mower accident, but he reassured her that everything would be okay.

After a lawnmower accident resulted in the amputation of his left foot, Keirsten Marsico’s little son Joey consoled her by telling her that everything will be alright.

“I was crying naturally when he came out of surgery that night, and he just held my head and said, ‘Mommy, what’s wrong?’” Marsico told PEOPLE his story. “I told him, buddy, I’m really sad.”

Joey, who was only a few weeks away from turning four, was watching his grandfather Mark DeLuca mow the lawn outside their Whitehall, New York, home on Thursday, May 9, when he made a snap decision that put him in danger.

Keirsten talked about her “active little boy,” the youngest of her two children, saying that “he really loves tractors and enjoys helping with the lawn.” “He approached my dad, who was riding the lawnmower, from behind. My dad threw the mower in reverse before my mom could get to him, and everything happened all at once,” she remembered. “The events that led to what happened were a series of events.”

“It’s been tough on all of us, especially my parents who feel absolutely awful,” Keirsten continues. Specifically, my dad is distraught.

The family believes that Mark DeLuca’s quick use of a tourniquet probably saved Joey’s life. After being transported to Boston Children’s Hospital, Joey had many foot procedures before it was decided to amputate.

Despite the difficulties in his recuperation, Joey’s maturity and upbeat attitude have astounded his family and friends, as well as his caregivers and physicians.

“What a strong little guy,” Keirsten says. At times, conversing with him is like to conversing with a teenager. He has excellent adjustment.

Joey’s father, Joseph, remarks, “He’s always been that way—very understanding, perceptive of people’s emotions, and adept at coping with situations.” Joseph is reflecting on his son’s exceptional maturity. In addition, he speaks a lot and has a vocabulary that is above average for his age.

The Marsicos, along with their autistic 6-year-old daughter Gianna, settled into a new routine during Joey’s almost month-long hospital stay.

“We tried to maintain a sense of normalcy for my daughter because she attends school,” Keirsten says. “My spouse and I decided that one of us should stay at home with her because she needs routine.”

Joseph stayed stubbornly by Joey’s side, while Keirsten stayed at home. “He’s still by Joey’s side,” Keirsten underlines.

Keirsten reflects on a touching incident by saying, “The other day, as I was leaving Joey, I was crying, and he consoled me again.” I told him it was okay and that I didn’t have to be sad as he wiped away my tears. “I know, but I don’t like leaving you,” I said to him.

The Marsicos take comfort in the knowledge that Joey’s accident was a terrible exception and in their Catholic faith.

“My worst fear is that people will hear this story and think, ‘Why weren’t they watching him?’ or ‘How could they let this happen?’” admits Keirsten, expressing her deepest concern. As his mother, I’ve struggled with it.

She does, however, take solace in her faith, thinking that Joey’s experiences have a greater meaning. “I have to constantly tell myself that everything is happening for a reason. Even if we can’t see it now, God has a plan for him, Keirsten says.

She says, “I would tell someone else it’s an accident if they were in our shoes.” “Accidents happen, and focusing on ‘why’ won’t help—it will only make you feel bad about yourself.”

Keirsten highlights how resilient their family has been in the face of hardship. “We must change and get over what is going on. Our priorities are helping Joey and continuing to be a solid family unit.

After being away from home for almost a month following the accident, Joey was released from the hospital on June 5. Earlier last week, he had his fourth birthday celebration.

His parents are hopeful that he will heal and that he will soon get a prosthetic fitted. They are in awe of Joey’s capacity to communicate his emotions and offer consolation to others during this trying time.

Warmly, Joseph says, “He’s always been such a special little boy.”

I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom

When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.

Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.

“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.

At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.

Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.

As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.

Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.

“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”

George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”

Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.

“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”

“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.

“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”

Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.

As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.

“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.

Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.

“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.

Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.

“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.

Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.

Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.

As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.