For Danette

Because the cacao thread keeps leading somewhere and I think it was supposed to lead here

Danette,

My name is Jason Laird. My wife Amber has worked with Earth Echo. Craig Collins has been part of our circle. I'm writing because a thread keeps connecting things in ways I stopped trying to explain and started paying attention to.

A TikTok creator named Rell Rose wrote a song called “Dulce Cacao.” Your company makes Cacao Bliss. Amber works in the cacao world. And all three of those threads lead to the same county in Florida where a man named Paul Allabaugh spent years making wooden rainbow bridges for people whose pets passed on.

Paul couldn't sell them. Social anxiety. His wife said he seemed lost. On March 30, Paul died by suicide. His house is full of bridges nobody bought.

We built rainbowbridgehope.com to sell every one of them and raise $100,000 for his wife Pat Allabaugh and for suicide prevention. 988 is on every page.

Your audience understands what it means to heal through something natural, something made with care, something crafted by hands that needed purpose. Paul's bridges are exactly that. Wood, paint, and a man who built beautiful things because people were too hard. Your 319,000 followers are exactly the people who would hold one of his bridges and understand why it matters.

Founding partners get permanent placement on the site. The cacao thread brought us to you. I think it was supposed to.

Amber can introduce us properly. But I wanted you to hear the story first.

Jason Laird | New Smyrna | Amber@VolusiaVoices.com
988.

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If you or someone you know is struggling:

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#SaveOneThenMORE

“No weapon forged against you will prevail.”

Isaiah 54:17

For the makers

When the last bridge sells, the mission doesn't end.

Paul made every bridge by hand. When the last of his finds a home, the inventory is gone — but the grieving pet owners don't stop arriving. The families don't stop needing something to hold.

We're looking for the next maker. A woodworker. A painter. A welder. A potter. A photographer. An illustrator. A sculptor. An artist of any medium who can build something a family keeps on their mantle for twenty years. You don't have to be Paul. Nobody can be. You can be the next chapter — under your own name, your own style, your own hands.

Photographers, illustrators, metalworkers, glass artists, weavers — the medium doesn't matter. The grief doesn't pick a form. Whatever you make, if it can carry someone's love for the animal they lost, this door is yours.

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