06/03/2026
June is Cancer Survivor Month, and I don’t think there are enough words in the world to explain what that means when it’s your child.
A year ago, I was living in a reality where every phone call, every scan, every appointment felt like it could change everything. My entire world revolved around keeping my daughter alive. Nothing else mattered. Not the laundry, not the dishes, not the bills, not the things people complain about every day. Just her.
Now I watch Brynlee run through the house, argue with her brothers, make messes, leave toys everywhere, and ask me a hundred questions before I’ve even had my coffee. And sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that these are the moments I begged for.
Not the big milestones. Not the celebrations. This.
The ordinary Tuesday nights. The laughter coming from the next room. The sound of her telling me about something completely unimportant because she is five years old and that’s exactly what five year olds are supposed to do.
Cancer has a way of making you fall in love with the little things because you learn how much they were never promised.
This month is for survivors, and when I look at Brynlee, that’s exactly what I see. Not because cancer is part of her story, but because after everything that tried to take her childhood away, she’s still here living it.
And that will never stop feeling like a miracle to me.đź©·