From Pain to Purpose

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 good days—when Sofia was laughing or playing or singing along to her favorite songs—there was always this weight, this looming awareness of the range of outcomes that may lie ahead. After she passed away, that weight didn’t disappear for me. It only shifted. It became grief, pain, and a silence so heavy it felt like a presence of its own.

Over time, I’ve learned how to carry that pain. I learned to function with it, to live with it, to fold it into who I am. But relief? That had been absent for me. Until now.

When I started planning this event, it wasn’t just about organizing a fundraiser or throwing a fun community day. It was about honoring a promise I made to Sofia during her final days—a promise to keep her memory alive, to make sure people remembered her joy, her courage, and her spirit. I had poured myself into every detail, driven by that promise and the pressure I put on myself to get it right.

This day—this beautiful, overwhelming, heart-filling day—was the first time I could quantifiably measure whether I was doing that. Whether I was living up to what I told her I would do. And in that moment, hugging Consuelo, I knew that I was. I felt it in my chest. I felt it in my bones. I even felt it in the warmth of the embrace—as if Sofia herself was part of it, wrapping her little arms around me too.

So I lingered in that hug. Longer than I normally would. Long enough to take it all in. Long enough to gather myself before stepping back into the crowd.

To everyone who joined us on Saturday—thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Your presence meant the world. Seeing you there, sharing laughs, stories, and memories, helped turn this vision into something truly unforgettable.

To the many amazing volunteers that helped us manage the concession stand, art stations, scavenger hunts and more—thank you! You allowed Sam and I to enjoy the richness of the day without worry or distraction.

And to those who couldn’t be there in person but have supported us in countless other ways—thank you as well. Your generosity, encouragement, and love have been felt every step of the way.

This incredible day—and the real impact it will soon have on so many deserving children—wouldn’t have been possible without you. Truly. You’ve helped keep Sofia’s spirit alive in the most powerful way: through joy, community, and kindness.

Our rock painting table was busy all day long. Most of these rocks now added to a rock garden our neighbors started for us while Sofia was first admitted to the hospital. It's getting fuller but we still have room for more from future events.

Spiderman signing autographs

My oldest daughter, Kaitlynn, getting her ladybug tattoo from Consuelo.

A picture of just one corner of our storage room that is currently holding the 100s of gifts you all purchased in advance through our Amazon registry. We will add even more with the proceeds from the event. Our first delivery to BC Children's Hospital is next Friday, June 6th. You are all amazing--THANK YOU!!!