Magic Didn't Last

Yesterday was April 14th.  For the second year in a row, I’ve found that the lead-up to this date - the anniversary of Sofia's death - is much harder than the day itself. There is a phantom weight to the first two weeks of April. My body seems to remember the timeline before my mind even acknowledges it. It is a slow, heavy retracing of steps—a return to the vigil. Last year, I thought this "anticipatory grief" might be a fluke of the first anniversary. Now I see it for what it is: the mind’s way of traveling back to those final moments to make sense of a finality I wasn't ready for at the time. The Haze of the Protector When I look back at those last days in the hospital, I don’t see sterile walls or clinical bustle. I see a soft glow. I remember an utter, heavy stillness that felt like it shielded us from the rest of the world. In those moments, I wasn't "grieving" yet. I was a protector. My entire world had narrowed down to one goal: providing Sofia a...

If you've navigated loss or grief, you understand its rhythm—it moves like the ocean. One moment, there is perfect, absolute calm. The next, you are caught in a chaotic storm, struggling simply to gasp for air between the relentless, crashing waves. Recently, the weather has turned against me. I've found myself increasingly overwhelmed, forced to retreat and search for calmer waters hoping the storm passes. I experienced a similar pattern around this time last year as well so it would be logical to simply see this as a symptom of the holidays approaching and a reminder that we will be creating new memories without the ones we miss so deeply. For me though, I’ve been exploring my own feelings at a deeper level and our grief counsellor from Canuck Place recently shared the perfect line to describe how I’ve been feeling: Duality of Grief. Duality of Grief If you don’t mind, I’ll circle back to the first lines from this post. Grief moves like the ocean. Calm in one moment and chaot...

It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly four months since my last blog post. Summarizing the past few months in a short piece is no easy task, but I’ll do my best to catch you up. Hope In Every Spot I want to pick up where I left off last time. It was a few days after our first event and I was feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. The impact from that day has stayed with me ever since. In early June, we delivered our first batch of gifts to BC Children’s Hospital, and we’ve continued making regular deliveries since then. Our next drop is this Friday. Thanks to your generous donations, we should have enough for drops throughout the rest of this year. In addition to the regular drops, on July 16, we celebrated Sofia’s birthday by delivering 27 special gift baskets—one for each bed on the Oncology floor. Each basket contained a plush lion representing strength, a handmade crochet ladybug symbolizing hope, along with gift cards, activities, stickers, bookmarks, and toys. These were given to th...

It was around 3 o’clock on Saturday—just a couple of hours into an event I’d been planning for nearly a year. The park was full—kids were running and laughing, parents were smiling and chatting, and the energy in the air felt perfect. Our rock painting table was a hit, and the Dream Party hero characters had just arrived, drawing even more excitement. Our first scheduled attraction, though, had just finished: face painting with Sam’s sister, Consuelo, and her daughter Raine. Consuelo and Raine went above and beyond. They brought joy, patience, and magic to every child who sat in their chairs. Not only did they do a phenomenal job, but they stayed longer than they had promised, making sure every little face that wanted to be transformed got their turn. I took a moment to thank Consuelo for everything, and as we embraced, I felt something I hadn’t felt in almost two years: a deep, powerful sense of relief. Relief is not something you feel while your child is battling cancer. Even on the ...

Usually, when I sit down to write one of these, I have a clear sense of purpose — a theme that's been sitting with me, something I need to get out. Writing is often the final release that lets me move forward. But this time is different. There’s no single thread tying it all together. Just a lot on my mind, and maybe I’m hoping that getting the words out will help me move through it. Hope In Every Spot I want to start with an update on our “ Hope In Every Spot ” event. We’re six weeks out, and honestly, we're feeling really good about where things stand — especially considering this is our first time fundraising in Sofia’s honor. If you read my last blog or follow me on Instagram, you already know the heart behind this: we're raising money and collecting donations to give thousands of dollars worth of toys, activities, and gift cards to children and families battling cancer at BC Children’s Hospital — just like Sofia once did. Since announcing the event, we’ve had an Amazon...

Even in the earliest days of Sofia being sick, it was clear to me that I needed to do more with my own time on earth.  As I spent more days at Children's Hospital, that feeling only grew stronger. I saw incredible people selflessly volunteering their time for kids and families they had never met, and I knew I wanted to do the same. A pet therapy program where people volunteer their time to bring their dogs to the hospital to provide some much needed comfort to kids (and their parents) Therapy clowns named Fizzie and Cosmo would visit a couple days a week. They could make Sofia laugh like no one else The Child Life volunteers, often teenagers and young adults, volunteered their time to play with the kids in hospital or their siblings. Carter must have done at least 100 scavenger hunts with these incredible people Smoothie Sundays where volunteers from West Coast Kids Cancer Foundation would whip up super tasty smoothies in the T8 kitchen for patients, family members and staff I...