I never imagined I would be writing words like these. There is no guidebook for this kind of pain, no preparation for watching your child face something no child ever should. Yet I write because my daughter, Laylay, deserves her story to be told. She deserves to be seen not as a diagnosis, but as the brave, beautiful little girl she is — a warrior fighting a battle far bigger than her tiny body.

For weeks, something felt off. It didn’t begin with alarms or dramatic symptoms. It started quietly — fatigue, changes in behavior, discomfort that lingered just long enough to make my instincts uneasy. At first, doctors believed it was a common ear infection. We treated it diligently, trusting that time and medication would bring healing. But the infection returned. The pus came back. Her energy never fully recovered. And deep in my heart, I knew something wasn’t right.

When Instinct Becomes Reality

We followed every instruction. Antibiotics. Ear drops. Vitamins. I tried to stay calm, convincing myself this was temporary, manageable, something we could overcome quickly. And for a brief moment, it seemed to work. Laylay smiled again. She laughed. She climbed onto the couch and played with her toys. My heart finally exhaled.

Then everything changed.

She grew weak. She struggled to stand. She limped. Her tiny body seemed weighed down by something invisible and relentless. When the doctors delivered the words that shattered our world — a tumor on her brain, fluid pressing against it, a life-threatening situation — I felt time stop. No words can fully describe the fear, shock, and helplessness that flooded my body. My sweet girl, my heart outside my chest, was facing the fight of her life.

Thrown Into the World of the ICU

Suddenly, we were living in hospitals. ICU rooms replaced our home. MRIs, scans, surgeries, and the constant hum of machines became our new normal. Surgery was necessary to drain the fluid from her brain. Watching my daughter be taken into the operating room was the most terrifying moment of my life. She was so small. So vulnerable. And I could do nothing but wait, pray, and hope.

Every minute felt endless. Every second carried the weight of fear and uncertainty. This was her fight — but our hearts were bound to every breath she took.

A Fighter Even in the Darkest Moments

Even in the ICU, Laylay’s spirit refused to disappear. She has always been strong. Always spirited. Always full of personality and light. And somehow, even surrounded by tubes, monitors, and sedation, that same strength shone through.

A flutter of her eyelids. A tiny movement of her hand. A response to my voice.

Each moment reminded me she was still here. Still fighting. Still my little girl.

Christmas came and went inside hospital walls. No decorations. No gifts. No familiar warmth of home. Just prayers whispered beside her bed and quiet tears shed in hallways. It wasn’t the holiday we imagined, but it was filled with something deeper — hope that refused to fade, even when fear tried to take over.

The Long Road of Uncertainty

Over the following days, Laylay underwent multiple MRIs and additional surgeries. Fluid was drained. Pressure relieved. Yet the tumor remained. Each procedure carried risk. Each decision weighed heavily. The waiting never got easier.

Still, Laylay endured.

Every blink. Every twitch of her fingers. Every sign of awareness felt like a miracle. Watching her go through so much pain broke my heart, but witnessing her resilience filled me with awe. She was stronger than anyone could have imagined.

Motherhood Redefined

This journey has tested me in ways I never knew possible. I have a one-year-old son at home who needs me too, and balancing life between hospital rooms and home has stretched me to my limits. Exhaustion settles deep into my bones. There are moments when I feel like I have nothing left to give.

And yet, every time I look at Laylay, I find strength I didn’t know I had.

Motherhood, I’ve learned, isn’t only bedtime stories and scraped knees. Sometimes it’s standing in an ICU, clinging to hope, and fighting alongside your child in ways you never imagined. It’s faith, love, and endurance intertwined.

Faith, Community, and Gratitude

The medical journey is far from over. Medications and sedation carry risks. Seizures are a concern. Feeding is a challenge. More surgeries are planned to access and remove the tumor. Every step forward feels fragile.

Through it all, the support we’ve received has been a lifeline. Family. Friends. Strangers. Prayers, donations, messages of encouragement — each one has carried us through moments that felt impossible. I am deeply grateful for every ounce of love extended to our family.

More Than a Diagnosis

Laylay is not her illness. She is laughter. Mischief. Joy. Light. She is a daughter, a sister, a fighter, and a reminder that miracles still exist. Every small movement she makes is proof that she is still here, still fighting, still loved beyond measure.

I have learned to celebrate the smallest victories — a blink, a yawn, a squeeze of my finger — because they mean life. Hope is no longer an abstract idea. It is a lifeline.

A Promise From a Mother’s Heart

Mommy will be here every step of the way, Laylay. You will not fight this alone. One day, you will run, laugh, and play as the little girl you were always meant to be. Until then, we will take this journey one breath, one prayer, one day at a time.

I ask everyone who reads this: please keep Laylay in your prayers. Hold her in your heart. Every prayer matters.

Laylay, my love, my light, my greatest accomplishment — Mommy loves you beyond words. Together, we will fight. Together, we will heal. And together, you will thrive.