When Mark and I first tied the knot, our Sunday mornings were often spent behind a family with five energetic boys. I would nudge Mark and jokingly whisper, “Five boys…what a nightmare!” Little did I know how my perspective would change over time. I later learned that the mother of those lively boys had fought cancer and lost a leg. Suddenly, my thoughts shifted to, “Cancer…now that’s truly terrifying.”
Fast forward a few years, and my biggest fears materialized when our five-year-old son, Leo, was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. It was spring 2018, and I was living in what I considered my own nightmare. I had four little boys all under the age of six, and the chaos was overwhelming. Although I would never admit it, I often felt like I was losing my grip on sanity. My nightly prayers became desperate pleas: “God, please help me to be a better mom.”
Then, everything changed in the most horrific way possible.
On the morning of April 22, 2018, our household was buzzing with the usual chaos: toaster waffles sizzling and cartoons blaring. Everyone was recovering from a stomach bug, so my nerves were already on edge. With my oldest still asleep, I figured he was the next one down for the count, and let him rest. Meanwhile, my 15-month-old, Max, was busy creating a disaster zone in our living room. I was preoccupied packing lunches for an Earth Day picnic, something Leo had eagerly suggested.
As the morning wore on, I noticed that Leo was still in bed. I went to check on him and found he had been sick. His responses were slurred, his gaze unfocused, and his body was jerking in a way that sent chills down my spine. Panic set in as I realized something was terribly wrong. I called Mark at work, trying to keep my voice steady as I said to the receptionist, “Please get him. I think something is really wrong with Leo.”
Mark rushed to the phone, and as I described what was happening, he suggested I contact the pediatrician. But I knew it was more serious than that. I made the decision to call 911. The agonizing minutes that followed felt like an eternity until the paramedics finally arrived, flooding our home with questions: Had Leo ever had any medical issues? Had he ingested anything unusual? The answer was no to all, except for one: he had been ill recently. They concluded it might be a febrile seizure, which provided me with a momentary sigh of relief—until I remembered he hadn’t had a fever.
My father arrived to look after the other boys while they loaded Leo onto the stretcher. I was grateful I could accompany him in the ambulance, wishing I had a camera to capture this bizarre moment, which I knew Leo would find amusing once he recovered.
On our way to the hospital, I chatted with the EMT about kids and preschools until Leo’s condition worsened, and the sirens wailed. It was then I understood that something much graver was unfolding.
At the hospital, more questions followed: Had he sustained a head injury? I hesitated but eventually mentioned a fall he had during hockey lessons three months prior. Surely, that was it, right? I was desperate for it to be just that.
After a CT scan, the ER doctor delivered the devastating news, “It’s a tumor.” My mind went blank, yet raced at the same time. I could still hear the doctor’s voice, but it felt muffled, echoing down a long tunnel. All I could think was that we were supposed to be at a picnic right now, cleaning up the park—a day that Leo had planned. How could a little boy with such enthusiasm have a tumor?
“How does a five-year-old get a brain tumor?” I blurted out, my voice trembling. The doctor simply returned to focusing on Leo.
I called Mark with the heartbreaking news. There was a brief silence, as if he was trying to process it all. “I’m coming,” he finally said, his voice steady.
People often say that stressful events flash by in a blur, but I can recall every agonizing moment that followed. I remember meeting the neurosurgeon, waiting for the biopsy results, and the moment my heart sank when we learned that Leo’s cancer was inoperable and terminal.
This is not a scenario any parent anticipates. Just three weeks prior, Leo was a happy, vibrant child who had received a clean bill of health from the pediatrician during his kindergarten check-up. Yet, there were those severe headaches he had experienced—three times he had vomited from the pain. I had dismissed them as migraines or allergies, just about to call the pediatrician for advice. It wouldn’t have made a difference; the surgeon suspected the tumor had likely been growing since birth.
That day changed everything for us. Leo bravely fought cancer, but he lost his battle on June 10, 2010, just six years old. The laughter and joy in our home diminished, and Leo’s brothers struggled to cope with the absence of their beloved sibling. Sometimes, I feel lost without him, unsure of how to find happiness again.
Three months after Leo’s passing, I discovered I was pregnant again. The fear of bringing another child into the world was overwhelming, but somehow, I found strength. This new baby has brought a sense of healing to our family, a tiny reminder of Leo, and perhaps the answer to my prayers for change. Without him, I know I would still be grappling with deep sorrow.
I can’t say whether losing Leo has made me a better mother, but it has shifted my perspective. The small annoyances—messes on the floor, noise, and chaos—don’t bother me like they used to. Now, my definition of a perfect family revolves around love, laughter, and cherishing each moment we have together. There will always be an emptiness where Leo’s spirit once filled our lives, but I strive to hold onto positive thoughts about the future. I try to ignore the ache of a dream family that feels irreparably shattered.
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In summary, life can throw unexpected challenges our way, shattering dreams we hold dear. Yet, through love and resilience, we can find new paths to happiness.