“Grace in the Storm: Lilah’s Fight Against Brain Cancer”.2417

💛 Grace in the Storm — Lilah’s Fight Against Brain Cancer 💛

There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after.
For our family, that moment came on the day our sweet 19-month-old daughter, Lilah, had a seizure.

It was February 24th.
I was in the hospital giving birth to our baby boy.
One life beginning — another suddenly fighting to stay.

While I was still in my hospital bed, my phone rang.


It was my husband’s voice on the other end — shaky, scared.
He told me Lilah had been rushed to the emergency room after a seizure that wouldn’t stop.

Doctors ran tests. Scans. And then came the words that shattered everything we thought we knew about safety and normalcy:


“There’s a mass in her brain.”

Our baby — not even two years old — had a brain tumor.

She was transferred immediately to a children’s hospital.
There, an MRI confirmed what every parent prays never to hear — it was a tumor.


We spent the night on hospital chairs, whispering prayers and bargaining with the universe.

On March 3rd, our tiny girl — her hair still smelling like baby shampoo — went in for brain surgery.


She was so small on that hospital bed, surrounded by wires and machines, but somehow she looked peaceful.
Maybe she knew what we didn’t — that she was stronger than any of us could imagine.

The surgery lasted for hours.
Every second felt like an eternity.

And then, finally, the doctor walked in.

“We got it all,” he said gently.
“The entire tumor has been removed.”

I remember collapsing into my husband’s arms — tears of relief, exhaustion, and fear mixing together.

Lilah’s recovery was nothing short of miraculous.
Within days, she was opening her eyes, reaching for her stuffed bunny, babbling softly like nothing had happened.


The nurses called her “the little fighter.”

But then the results came back.

The tumor was Grade 4 — the most aggressive kind.
Rare. Fast-growing. Unpredictable.

The words hung heavy in the air.


It wasn’t over.
The surgery had removed the tumor, yes — but the fight was only beginning.

There’s no manual for this kind of news.
No roadmap for parents told that their child has the fastest-growing form of brain cancer.

We sat together in silence for a long time.
Then my husband reached for my hand and whispered, “We’ll fight. Every day. Every breath.”

So that’s what we’re doing.

We don’t know what the future holds.


There will be treatments, tests, scans, and sleepless nights ahead.
There will be fear, yes — but also faith.

Because faith is what gets you up when the ground has fallen away.


Faith is what keeps you breathing when you want to scream.
Faith is what keeps you hoping when doctors use words like “aggressive” and “uncertain.”

To honor Lilah’s fight — and to help remind ourselves of the light in all this darkness — my husband and I designed a t-shirt for her.


We wanted something simple but powerful.

We decided not to put her full name on it, but we included her middle name — Grace.
Because grace is exactly what she embodies.

Grace through fear.
Grace through pain.
Grace through the unimaginable.

Every time I see that word printed across the front, I think of her smile — small but fierce — lighting up the hospital room.


I think of the way she reaches for her brother’s hand, even as she battles a disease far too big for someone so little.

We’re selling the shirts now, not just as a fundraiser, but as a way for people to carry a piece of her spirit with them.


To remind the world that even in the hardest storms, grace can still shine through.

If you’d like to stand with her — with us — the link to order is on my page.

Lilah’s journey has already changed us forever.
She’s taught us what real strength looks like — the kind that comes wrapped in tiny pajamas and curls up in your lap asking for apple juice.
She’s taught us to appreciate the smallest things: the sound of her laugh, the weight of her body when she falls asleep in our arms, the simple gift of one more morning together.

We don’t know what tomorrow will bring.
But we know this — we won’t stop fighting for her.
We won’t stop praying for healing, for mercy, for miracles.

Please, if you’re reading this, keep our little girl in your prayers.
Pray for her doctors, for wisdom and steady hands.
Pray for her body, that it continues to heal and grow stronger.
And pray for our hearts — that we can keep finding grace even in the hardest moments. 💛

One day, when she’s older, I’ll tell Lilah how many people wore her name.
How many strangers whispered her name in their prayers.
How many hearts she touched before she could even spell her own.

Until then, we’ll keep holding her close.
We’ll keep believing in miracles.
And we’ll keep reminding ourselves that even in the darkest valleys, our little girl — our Grace — is the brightest light we’ve ever known.

🕊️ Please keep Lilah in your thoughts and prayers — for healing, for hope, and for strength for every step ahead.

Amelia’s Battle: A Little Girl’s Fight Against Brain Cancer.1969

Everything began innocently enough. Sudden bouts of vomiting, which we initially dismissed as a passing illness, turned out to be the beginning of our greatest nightmare. Our plans, our dreams, and the sense of normalcy we had cherished were shattered in an instant. At first, the doctors reassured us that Amelia was perfectly healthy. They sent us home, telling us that there was nothing to worry about. But deep down, something didn’t feel right.

After repeated concerns and worsening symptoms, we finally reached the Emergency Room. Swift referrals, urgent tests, and an MRI followed. Then came the appointment with the specialist—the moment that changed our lives forever. The doctor’s words echoed in my mind and still do to this day: Amelia has a brain tumor.

No parent can truly prepare for the moment when they learn that their child is seriously ill, let alone that the illness is potentially fatal. In Poland, we were given only a 20% chance of survival. Twenty percent. Too low, far too low. That is when we realized that time was not on our side and that to give Amelia a fighting chance, we would have to look beyond our borders. There are clinics abroad with advanced expertise in pediatric brain tumors, and we knew that this was our best hope.

A few days later, Amelia underwent surgery to remove the tumor. We clung to hope, believing that it might not be malignant, that we could return home with our little girl and leave the word “cancer” behind forever. We thought it was a bad dream, one that would end as abruptly as it had begun. We hoped, prayed, and refused to let despair enter our hearts.

But the reality was far harsher than anything we had imagined. The diagnosis came back: glioblastoma multiforme, Grade IV—the most aggressive form of brain cancer. How does one accept such news? How does one explain to a seven-year-old girl that her life has been irrevocably changed? In a single instant, our lives stopped. The world as we knew it vanished. Watching my child suffer, knowing she faces a battle far beyond her years, is a pain no parent can describe. Tears are never far from my eyes, and yet I must remain strong, for her.

Amelia should be sitting at her school desk, laughing with her classmates, learning, playing, growing. Instead, she lies in a hospital bed, attached to an IV drip delivering chemotherapy. She is facing the fight of her young life, and every day is filled with both physical pain and emotional trials. As her mother, I made a solemn promise: I would fight for her health, for her life, and for every dream that should belong to her childhood.

The first step in this battle was reaching out to specialized clinics abroad, clinics that have expertise in treating complex pediatric brain tumors. We gathered Amelia’s medical records, scans, and all the documents necessary for evaluation. We searched for hope where it was most likely to be found—outside of our borders, where cutting-edge treatments offered a better chance for survival than what we had here in Poland.

Every parent hopes that their child will be spared the harsh realities of illness, but Amelia’s reality is harsh indeed. With only a 20% chance of survival in Poland, doing nothing was never an option. We understood immediately that the fight would be long, exhausting, and extremely costly. Treatments abroad involve not just the medical procedures themselves but travel, accommodation, and long-term rehabilitation—all of which require financial resources far beyond what our family could provide alone.

Yet, despite the obstacles, we refuse to give up. Every moment of progress, every positive scan, every small sign of resilience in Amelia, fuels our determination. She is seven years old, and yet she shows strength and courage that belies her years. Each smile she gives, each small gesture of hope, reminds us why we must continue this fight. She deserves a future filled with laughter, learning, friendship, and freedom from disease.

I cannot do this alone. Without the support of generous and compassionate people, our chances are greatly diminished. That is why I am reaching out to you. Every donation, every share, every message of support is a lifeline for Amelia. These contributions allow us to access treatments that could extend her life, reduce her suffering, and give her a chance at the childhood she deserves.

The journey ahead will not be easy. There will be more hospital visits, more treatments, and more challenges than we can imagine. But we approach each day with courage and hope, and we are committed to doing everything possible to give Amelia the best chance at life. Her strength inspires us, and her fight reminds us why hope is never wasted.

We believe in miracles, in the power of medicine, and in the compassion of strangers willing to help. Amelia is more than a patient; she is a little girl with dreams, talents, and a life yet to live. She deserves the opportunity to grow up, to play, to learn, and to thrive. And with your help, we can make that possible.

I plead for your support. Please help us in this fight for our daughter’s life. Every contribution, no matter how small, brings us closer to giving Amelia a chance to survive, to recover, and to enjoy the many years of life that she still deserves. Together, we can face this devastating diagnosis, together we can bring hope where there was fear, and together we can help Amelia reclaim the life that cancer has so cruelly interrupted.

Amelia’s courage gives us strength. Her resilience fuels our hope. And your support will provide the tools and treatments necessary to give her a fighting chance. We cannot do this without you. Please, join us in this fight. Give Amelia a chance to live, to laugh, and to grow.

Time is precious. Each day is a step in this battle. And with every step, we hold onto the belief that love, determination, and the generosity of others can make the impossible possible. We are asking not only for help but for hope, for a future, and for the opportunity to watch our little girl blossom into the vibrant child she was always meant to be.

—Aneta, Amelia’s Mother