My story began in 2012 when my middle child, Jac, was born. His birth was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. During the pregnancy, everything had appeared normal, but from the very second he entered into the world, he started turning blue. Nobody knew what was going on. The next thing I knew, he was whisked away from my arms to an intensive children’s hospital. In fact, I didn’t even get to cuddle him properly before he was gone.
At two days old, Jac went into open-heart surgery due to a rare heart defect that the doctors detected. The next several weeks were just a blur of fear, lots of tears, and lots of prayers. After finally coming home, his road to recovery began-doctor’s appointments, speech therapy, physical therapy, and occupational therapy. Later on, at two and a half years old, when he was diagnosed with autism, it still came as a shock. By this time, however, therapy was nothing new in his little life.
Raising Jac has been both challenging and full of unexpected joy. His curiosity often comes with a bit of chaos; he loves activities that can sometimes be destructive or unsafe. He’s what doctors call an “eloper,” meaning he can suddenly dart away when we’re outside. That constant worry keeps us on edge. Though incredibly bright in some areas, Jac is still developing in others. At eight years old, we still work on potty training. We can’t leave him alone because he might try to flush random objects down the toilet. But every day, he surprises us with his laughter, creativity, and tender heart.
In 2018, when it seemed as though life was taking a turn for normalcy, it all changed yet again. We had just moved into a beautiful home in a quiet neighborhood with a big backyard our three kids could play in. A few months later, I found a lump in my breast. Tests confirmed my worst fear-it was breast cancer. Not just any kind, but an aggressive, stage-four triple-negative cancer. My doctor told me I might only live for two more years.
It was a devastating piece of news to comprehend. What happened after that restored my faith in humanity, though. Friends, family-all of them-reached out to help, and even strangers. My church family redecorated our room, making it a peaceful space. They built a fort and a gazebo in our backyard so the kids could play. Their love gave me strength to face treatment.
Chemotherapy was brutal. My back and legs ached, and the only relief I could get was from taking hot showers throughout the night. I was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally. But then one day, two of my friends prayed for the pain to go away, and miraculously it did. Since then, I could sleep again. That feeling is something that I will never forget.
Over the next several years, I underwent six treatments. When one would cease to be effective, I began another, in hopes of buying time. The physical battle was grueling, but the spiritual one was terribly hard. I had been a Christian all my life, but my faith was sorely tested in ways I’d never imagined. There were times that I doubted my worth and whether I was useful to God anymore. But then something shifted. I started focusing on gratitude on every small blessing still surrounding me.
Even though I haven’t been healed, I see God’s hand everywhere. Our home has been a blessing, our jobs understanding, our family and friends endlessly supportive. My mother-in-law retired to help care for the kids, and our community has carried us through tough times.
I also have found joy in unlikely places, like jewelry making. What started off as a tiny hobby has turned into therapy for my soul. Creating something beautiful reminds me I’m still here, still living, still capable of joy.
Nowadays, I try not to think too much about the future. My biggest worry would be my family, but I know the same God who has been providing for me will do the same for them. They call me strong, yet I am not. I just choose to keep my eyes on what matters. I may not know what tomorrow holds, but today-right now-I’m grateful. I remind my kids that happiness isn’t about circumstances; it’s about perspective. If you focus on the blessings in front of you and appreciate each breath, joy will find you. And that’s what I’m doing: just living one day, one moment, one breath at a time.
