I don’t know all the words yet.
I don’t understand the big conversations, the medical terms, or why the adults lower their voices when they think I’m not listening. I only know one thing for sure: my mommy is sick, and the word cancer feels far too heavy for a heart as small as mine. 💔

The grown-ups whisper in corners. Doctors speak softly, choosing their words with care. They talk about plans, treatments, and hope—but those words float past me like clouds I can’t quite reach. What I do understand is much simpler, and much deeper.

My mom is my safe place.
Her voice is the sound that makes everything feel okay.
Her hugs are where the world makes sense again. 🤍
When she holds me, the fear quiets down, even if only for a moment.

At night, when the house is still and the lights are dim, I talk to God in my own little way. I don’t use fancy prayers. I just speak from my heart. I ask Him to make my mommy better. I ask Him to let her stay with me for a long, long time. 🌙✨

Sometimes I imagine God listening very closely, like a parent kneeling down to hear a child’s secret. And in those moments, I feel a tiny spark of peace—just enough to fall asleep believing tomorrow might be brighter.

If you’re reading this, please pray with me.
Every prayer matters. Every kind thought helps. Each one makes me feel a little less alone in a world that suddenly feels too big… and a lot more hopeful than you could ever know.