At just 9 years old, my life changed in ways I could have never imagined. I was in fourth grade when my mom was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer—completely unexpected given her health and young age. I still remember coming home from school one day, only to be guided by my parents, along with my younger brother, to the family room. They handed each of us a book and a stuffed animal, and then, with heavy hearts, shared the news that would alter the course of our lives forever.
Our immediate family was my mom, dad, younger brother, and me, and we were blessed with five older half-siblings on my dad’s side. Beyond this, we had an incredible support system of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and close friends who rallied around us. My mom’s diagnosis crushed us all, but together, we leaned on one another as we navigated the fear, uncertainty, and grief that came with this devastating news.
As my mom underwent chemotherapy, our home shifted dramatically. My dad had to work extra hours to support us financially, while my mom, despite her worsening health, continued to work part-time, keep the house in order, and cheer me on at every softball game. Her energy and selflessness during this time left a mark on me that I will never forget. Even amid these challenges, life offered moments of unexpected joy: through her advocacy and community involvement, my mom had the opportunity to meet President Barack Obama. After the launch of the Affordable Care Act, she introduced him at a speech in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and on a few other occasions, we had the extraordinary privilege of visiting and speaking with him. These experiences remain almost unbelievable to me to this day.
Yet, despite these incredible moments, the reality was harsh. My mom’s cancer continued to progress, and at 9 years old, I could not fully comprehend the weight of what was happening. After a courageous five-year battle, my mom passed away at home, surrounded by family and friends. Life moved forward, but the loss was profound. By then, I was a high school freshman, my brother was in sixth grade, and my dad had stepped into the role of both parents. He taught me to drive, helped me start my first job, cheered me on at graduation, and sent me off to college. These milestones were bittersweet, as I navigated them without my mom’s presence—her guidance and love profoundly missed.
One of the reasons I survived those dark years was the support of my best friend Miranda, whom I met in fifth grade. When I fell into depression during high school, she persistently pulled me out of my shell, helping me rediscover my happy self. In my first week of college, I met Clare, another best friend who had recently lost her father to early-onset Alzheimer’s. Our bond was instant and unshakable, and the moments we shared felt like signs of divine intervention. Together, they helped me navigate grief, loneliness, and the struggles of adolescence and young adulthood. Without them, I truly would have felt lost.
Just before my final year of college, my dad began experiencing severe health issues. He endured months of abdominal pain, multiple hospital visits, and tests that initially yielded no answers. Unknown to us, the melanoma he had battled in the past had returned aggressively. By fall 2018, doctors discovered a large mass in his intestines, as well as cancer in his spleen and gallbladder. Surgeries and treatments followed, and though the stress was overwhelming, my dad’s unyielding strength gave us hope that he would fight through it.
Around the same time, I learned I was eligible to graduate a year early. Initially, I felt disappointed to miss out on senior year experiences, but in hindsight, it was a blessing. After completing my finals, a small family lunch on campus turned somber when my dad revealed that the cancer had spread to his brain. He said, “I didn’t want to hide this from you, but I wanted you to finish your last year of college without worrying about me.” The pain I felt in that moment is indescribable—knowing I could have spent more time with him before this next battle was heart-wrenching.
From that day forward, I devoted myself to being by his side. He began a clinical trial in hopes of reducing the brain tumors, and our family clung to hope. However, during one hospital visit, the situation worsened. The tumors had spread significantly, and the medical team recommended hospice care. On the first day, he drifted in and out of consciousness. I’ll never forget the quiet, tender moment as I hugged him and he whispered, “I love you, Sugar.” Those were the last words I ever heard him say. Surrounded by our large family, we watched over him as he peacefully began his journey to heaven, assuring him that it was okay to reunite with my mom.
After college, I took a year to heal and reflect, seeking a way to channel my grief into helping others. That’s when I discovered child life—a career focused on supporting children through illness, hospitalization, and family crises. I realized that the guidance of a child life specialist could have profoundly helped me and my brother during our parents’ illnesses. Determined to make a difference, I dedicated myself to this path, completing volunteer hours, gaining work experience with children, and eventually being accepted into a graduate program for child life.
Today, over eight years after my mom passed and nearly two years since my dad’s death, I have finished my first year of my master’s program and am preparing to begin my career as a child life specialist. The journey has been incredibly difficult, but perseverance, love, and faith have brought me here. Grief is a lifelong process, but through it, we learn resilience. Lean on those who love you, honor your loved ones in heaven, and trust that you will persevere. You are strong, you are loved, and no matter the trials you face, you can move forward with courage.
