Each day we are overwhelmed with bad news. It can be as grand and painful as the war, as small as a traffic accident that takes a life or two. And there’s the news that merely makes us shake our heads and wonder what this world’s coming to (imploding celebrities, mindless crimes, a loss of human decency).

That’s why I consider myself fortunate to be associated with one story that proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there is a goodness to life which makes everything worth it. It’s a story of pain and heartache, a story of joy and undeniable spirit. And it’s a story everyone should know because it speaks to the essence of what life is all about.

Most importantly, it’s a story still being written. And I hope I continue to be lucky enough to follow along.

It starts, for me, in 2000 (I play such a small part, and my presence is necessary only as narrator). When I indicated on the juror form that I would be available for a lengthy trial, I was not surprised when I was asked to report in a week for further interviews. But as a journalist for the Arizona Republic, I was shocked to be named to the 14-person jury. I figured no one would want a reporter. Especially for a case this big, involving the Avondale quads. At the time, I think local news shows even had a graphic that said Avondale quads, so ubiquitous was the case.

There were nights during that trial that all I wanted to do was come home and give my son an extra long hug. He was 3, just a year older than the quadruplets I had been hearing about all day, kids who has been brutalized. The only question was who did it.

We heard testimony, saw x-rays, examined reports. There had been broken ribs, arms and skulls. One child, a doctor said, had been shaken so hard that it was as if he had been in a head-on collision at 45 mph. The doctor surmised the child, who was just six months old at the time, had been picked up and slug down, his had slamming into a wall or table.

By the time we were allowed to talk about it, each juror had been affected by what we’d heard and seen.

Those responsible were convicted, and this story is not about them or the trial.

The real story starts in another courtroom, one festooned with balloons and smiles and laughter.

Because not long after the trial, the three foster families of the four children appeared in family court for the finalization of the adoption process. New names accompanied the new start: Brandon, Michael, Matthew and Hannah.

Michael and Matthew, identical twins, raced around the courtroom with their sister Hannah, showing few signs of injuries that had kept them in the hospital for months.

Brandon was in a wheelchair, his skull sloping unnaturally on one side because of an injury that, doctors had testified, should have killed him. As it was, they said Brandon would never hear or see, and likely no live past the age of two.

Brandon was now three, smiling when his brothers and sister appeared at his side with a bright red balloon. He could barely move his arms or legs, and he could tilt his head only slightly.

Yet he was the biggest miracle in the room.

Ken and Becky Rowin were Brandon’s proud parents, a couple who had devoted themselves to special-needs kids over the years, fostering or adopting children to whom most people would gladly donate money. But time? Well, it’s just that these kids are so much work.

So much work.

Sandy and Lyle were much the same way. The new parents of Michael and Matthew, Sandy and Lyle also had dedicated themselves to children that you, nor I, without some sort of blood relationship, would ever take on.

And Hannah would be the princess of Sherrie and Rick, who would dote on their young daughter. Sherrie had always wanted a daughter, having had sons who now were zooming toward adulthood.

Imagine having seen nothing but x-rays and heard nothing but dire tales of the abuses heaped upon four children, and then finally meeting those four children, now wearing their Sunday finest.

This is when you may start to believe in miracles. I did.

Flash forward about two years. More balloons, a colorful pile of gifts piled on a table next to a pink and blue birthday cake. Children of all ages running to and fro in barely controlled pandemonium. Several bowls of chips lining the kitchen counter, at the end of which is a large plate of cookies.

Brandon, Hannah, Matthew and Michael are 5. Personalities have emerged. Hannah in playful and outgoing. Matthew is sensitive and loves to draw. Michael prefers to act out the adventures of Spider-Man, his favorite superhero. Just check out all the presents wrapped in Spidey paper.

Off in the dining room is Becky and Brandon, who’s defied every prediction of medical science. In the past few months, he’s begun to recognize colors, patterns and sounds. He is reacting to the outside world, and the family’s favorite moments include Brandon’s laughter as be watches Dora the Explorer (another miracle is the video, which remains in great shape despite dozens and dozens of viewings).

But in her darker moments. Becky wishes it wasn’t like this. She wishes Brandon is a carbon copy of his brothers, that instead of this wheelchair, he would be on a bike, wind blowing against his face as legs pumped harder and harder.

Becky would give anything – anything – to make it so Brandon could step out of the prison that is his body and experience the normal joys that, right now, his siblings are enjoying. In fact, she would give anything – anything – to make it so Brandon could blow out one candle on his cake.

But those are just her darker moments. They come and they go. In between, she realizes she is lucky to have Brandon for one more day. And another. And another.

She still cries. So does Ken. And when I think of this story, so do I. But it isn’t just about the sadness and unfairness. It’s much more about hope, about Brandon being able to experience things doctors said he would never experience.

But let’s wait for more on that. Because the story continues.

Five years later. And just a few weeks ago. Another room decorated with balloons, this one inside a warehouse-sized fun factory filled with rides, video games and flashing lights. Several buffets are filled with kid-friendly foods.

Another birthday. The quadruplets are 10, and this is their annual gathering.

Years ago, the children would get together several times a year for dinners or outings. It always has been important for the parents to have the children keep in touch, to keep thas part of the family together.

But over the years, life has pulled them apart. Because there are soccer games, friends’ parties, and various other commitments that keep families busy.

Because they have attained normalcy. There are routines that include favorite dinners, special nights out, arguments, shopping trips, homework, games, hurt feelings, miscommunication, movies, and etc and etc and etc.

They were no longer the Avondale quads. They were Hannah and Matthew and Michael and Brandon. Those who knew their background would also call them remarkable.

Anyone else would just call them rambunctious kids.

Matthew and Michael are happy to run in and around the various game machines. Matthew is still the shy and sensitive one, who prefers time with a good book or sketchpad (and, Sandy says, Matthew was just chosen student of the month at his school and is in an advanced reading program). Michael the active one who can definitely be more than a handful. Hannah’s personality lies somewhere between her two brothers, and she is spending most of her time with friends she’s invited.

Brandon is much the same, and now uses a computer that leads him though colors and pictures where he can tell a story. He still loves Dora, and has displayed quite a sweet tooth.

And here are just a few things Brandon has seen, touched and heard that doctors swore, just about 9 years ago, he would never experience: a sandy beach, waves lapping against the shore, the scent of his mom’s favorite perfume, squeals of children on a thrill ride, a high five from Mickey Mouse, a balloon disappearing into the blue, the rich sweet taste of his own birthday cake.

And so much more.

Becky and Ken still have their dark moments. They did not talk about them, but I would like to think that in this story, those moments are much fewer.

This is what I will remember most from that day: I look at the LCD screen on the back of my camera to make sure each child is centered in the frame: Brandon in the front, surrounded by Michael, Matthew and Hannah. I wait a second, two, for all of them to smile, that perfect moment.

It hits me just as I snap the picture. I put the camera down and look again at this scene. This, I realize, is the perfect moment. And I am so very lucky to be here.

The story is still being written. Becky and Ken and Brandon will appreciate each and every day together. And the other three kids will grow, go to junior high, cop attitudes, go to high school, get into scrapes, meet a special someone, break up, meet another special someone, learn to drive, go to college, kiss their parents goodbye, meet another special someone, get married, come home for Christmas, be together on their birthday..

Life as it should be. And only those who know their whole story will realize how remarkable life can be.