The hardest realization I’ve faced over the past few years is this: life doesn’t always go the way we plan.
That’s a difficult pill to swallow for someone who feels safest when she’s in control.
And the (not so funny) thing about cancer? It doesn’t care what you want.
I never imagined I would lose a child to pediatric brain cancer. Even in the realm of every worst-case scenario a parent can think of, I would have bet money it wouldn’t be that. That doesn’t happen to me… right?
Even as reality closed in, I believed—deeply—that we would never lose Layla. I used to say, “I won’t believe it until one of us takes our last breath.”
On November 11, 2017, she took hers.
And I was still here.
(Barely.)
It’s been nearly a decade since her diagnosis in 2016, and if these years have taught me anything, it’s this: life can still be beautiful. It can still be joyful—even after the unimaginable.
In the fall of 2023, I had two words tattooed on my side: Amor Fati. “Love of fate.”
Not just accepting what happens—but choosing to embrace it. For me, it’s a reminder to let go of the idea that life was supposed to look any different than it does. That even through loss, even through heartbreak, this life is still a gift.
And it is.
I have two incredible kids. I’m surrounded by friends and family who bring more joy into my life than I ever thought possible.
Welcome to my world—held together by caffeine, sarcasm, and a slightly unhinged sense of humor. I’m not for everyone. And everyone is not for me.
This is what our family looks like now. She may not be in the photo—but Layla is always here.
Always present.
Always twirling.
Always in our hearts.