I was sure it was the flu. Or strep. Maybe even seasonal allergies. Never in a million years did I think one phone call would change so many lives forever.
The team at Dana-Farber/Boston Children’s Cancer and Blood Disorders Center jumped into action before we even parked the car. Information was coming at us rapidly — diagnosis, immediate treatment and long-term treatment. Words like ANC, port access, clinic days and nurse navigator meant absolutely nothing to us at that point.
That day was exactly three months before Vivian was going to turn 10. She was finishing fourth grade with one of her favorite teachers — right in the middle of a happy, healthy, regular childhood.
No mother should ever have to look her beautiful 9-year-old in the eyes and say, “You have cancer.”
Despite the shock and fear of the diagnosis, Vivi handled those first weeks with incredible strength. She endured difficult treatments, attended school over Zoom and stayed inside while spring came and went. She faced hair loss, she got weak and lost her appetite all while she watched her friends head off to summer camps and activities she couldn’t join.
We made it through that summer, through the fall and into winter. Our days were filled with long drives into Boston, constant calls with doctors and nurses, and countless appointments. There were bumps along the way, but nothing that felt impossible and things were going ok.
There was only one real restriction for Vivi: no horseback riding. Riding was her greatest joy, but during treatment it was simply too risky. On a freezing cold day in January, during a routine clinic visit, Vivian got the news she had been waiting for. She could ride again.
She was ecstatic. She couldn’t stop talking about which horse she wanted to ride first, which one she might show that season, and all the plans she had for getting back in the saddle.
Later that same afternoon after all of her labs came back, our medical team brought me into a small room and closed the door.
Vivi had relapsed during treatment- the feeling was worse than her initial diagnosis. The only thing that really stayed with me from that conversation was: “There is a 40–60% chance we can make her better. Her cancer is aggressive.”
From that moment, everything moved quickly. Every day brought a new challenge and Vivi faced each one with remarkable courage. She rarely complained and did everything that was asked of her. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that could have endured what she did during those months.
She kept trying to participate in school whenever she could. She tried to remain the same loving friend and sister she had always been, even when long hospital stays made her feel disconnected from the world outside.
Over the fifteen months of her fight, we spent 219 nights at Boston Children’s Hospital, countless procedures, tests, medications, chemotherapies, intensive care, radiation and scans.
Vivian’s little body endured more than most of us could ever imagine.
On the morning of August 22, 2025, her body could not do any more. The morning sun was pouring into our hospital room on the sixth floor. It was quiet except for me reassuring her that it was ok to let go...I would take care of her sister, her dog and her horse... and thanking her for teaching me how to be a mom...and making sure she knew that she was the best thing that ever to happened to our family. Silently, all I wanted to be sure of is that she had no fear, I didn't want her to have ever a moment that she was scared. Just a mother and her firstborn daughter.
Vivian took one final breath.
My sweet angel girl stayed with us for 11 years, 1 week, and 1 day.