Eli’s Fight with AML Leukemia

06/15/2026

06/14/2026

It’s been 2 years now without him with us. Earlier the day he passed away, he slept while struggling to breathe. The struggle kept worsening. After accepting the fact that we were going to lose him, our last hope was that he would leave this world peacefully.

Losing him was hard enough, but the fact that we had to watch him struggle to breathe, slowly suffocating while grabbing me begging me to help him, was a whole other level of pain. I wished I could help him, but I couldn’t do anything for him. I felt so helpless as he died in my arms. Seeing the life leave his eyes, feeling his last breath, and his body go limp was complete torture.

Alex and I could not get that awful feeling and picture to stop. It’s all we could think about for months. It isn’t constantly on our minds now, but will definitely haunt us for the rest of our lives 💔

I would be lying if I said we weren’t still (and may always be) a little bitter with God for letting this happen; and suffice it to say, we have lots of questions for him when we face him in the after life.

When people say “God needed another angel in heaven”, I don’t believe it. I believe this is the devils doing. If God is merciful, then how could he allow innocent little children to suffer this way? Like I said, we have lots of questions.

06/01/2026

Coming up on 2 years since we lost Eli, and I feel this 💔

There are days that I feel as though my child just passed away and then there are days that I feel as though it’s been years ago… and then there are days that I don’t want to even believe you are gone so I pretend in my mind that you are really still here. I believe this is something that all mothers do that have lost a child.

05/29/2026

Please keep this family in your prayers. Words can’t describe the heartache and pain of accepting defeat or losing a loved one to this awful disease. May Ava have a peaceful transition from this world. Praying for her family ❤️

Time.
It’s free, but it’s priceless. You think you have an infinite amount of it. It can be a thief, but it’s also a gift. You waste it. It moves too fast or it can feel like it’s not moving at all. In the end, all you do is wish that you just had more of it.

Yesterday’s procedure failed to give us the results we had hoped for.
We have decided to go home. To spend our time together as a family, and help comfort and ease Ava from this earthly life into the next one. Where she will be surrounded by family and everyone who loves and adores her.
We invite everyone to visit once we get home to celebrate her and her courageous fight.
We love you AvaStrong!

05/10/2026

This is awesome! These medical drugs need to be more available when there is no other option! I pray that it makes a difference for this boy and for others in his situation 💛

A 15-year-old Alabama boy with stage 4 bone cancer has started what his family hopes will be a life-saving treatment in Southern California after pleading for help from the Trump administration in a viral video.

04/19/2026

🧡🧡🧡

I still talk to my child as if he were still here… it is comforting to me. I am sure that there are many mothers that talk to their child too.

04/19/2026

Oh, what a glorious day that will be 🧡🧡🧡

I imagine when my time comes…

I’ll be greeted by little feet running toward me,
arms wide, eyes full of love,
screaming, “That’s my mommy!”

No pain.
No waiting.
Just the kind of reunion that makes every second apart make sense.

The kind where love didn’t end…
it just waited.

And maybe that’s what heaven really is about…

Not just a place,
but finally being reunited
with all the souls you lost along the way.

The ones you never got enough time with.
The ones you had to say goodbye to too soon.
The ones who changed you forever, even in their absence.

No more empty spaces.
No more “what ifs.”
No more missing pieces of your heart.

Just love…
whole again.

04/16/2026

💔💔💔

“I could never survive losing my baby…”

I used to think that too.

I used to believe it was something I wouldn’t make it through.
Something that would completely take me out.

And then it happened.

And somehow…
I’m still here.

Not the same.
Not untouched.
Not okay in the way I used to be.

But breathing.
Living.
Carrying a kind of strength I never asked for.

Because the truth is…
you don’t survive it because you’re strong.

You survive it because you have no choice.

Because the world doesn’t stop.
Because the sun still comes up.
Because your heart keeps beating
even when it feels like it shattered.

And you learn how to exist
with a piece of you missing.

It’s not strength.
It’s survival.

And no one truly understands that…
until they have to.

04/08/2026

This.

There’s a version of me
that existed before I lost my baby.

She laughed easier.
She slept better.
She didn’t overthink every little thing.

She believed bad things
happened to other people.

Not her.

I miss her sometimes.

But I also know…

she wouldn’t recognize who I am now.

Because grief changes you
in ways you can’t explain.

It rewires your thoughts.
It hardens parts of you.
It softens others.

It makes you more aware
of how fragile everything really is.

And while I would give anything
to go back…

I can’t.

So I carry both versions of me.

The one I was…
and the one loss forced me to become.

03/31/2026

The world feels alive again,
colors everywhere…
yet a part of me remains in winter without you. 💔