We found out on February 12, 2026.
Gardner had been showing signs for weeks — unusual bruises in places that didn’t make sense, ongoing paleness, him telling us “my heart hurts,” and dizziness that went beyond normal toddler clumsiness.
On February 2 we left the ER with a virus and pneumonia diagnosis. Nine days later the school called saying he had a fever and looked terrible. We went straight back to the ER. His blood came out coagulated, his vitals were concerning, and after a hematologist got involved we were told it was leukemia. We received the official diagnosis of B-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia the next day and started chemotherapy on February 13.
When they told us, it felt like the floor disappeared. One sentence — “your son has leukemia” — shattered everything. I remember the shock, the fear, and the sudden realization that life as we knew it was over. There was no slow easing into it. It was instant and complete.
Life has changed in almost every way. Our days revolve around clinic visits, hospital stays, medication schedules, blood counts, and protecting him from germs. Holidays look different. School looks different. Even simple things like going to the beach or the park have to be carefully weighed. The biggest change, though, is the constant undercurrent of vigilance and the way this diagnosis has reshaped our entire family.
What has surprised me most is the strength that shows up in the middle of the hardest moments — Gardner’s ability to still laugh, sing, and find joy, the way our community has carried us, and how much deeper our faith has become. I never expected to learn how to live in the middle of something this heavy and still find reasons to be grateful.
We’re still in the thick of it, but we’re still here. One day at a time.
