On the morning of September 14th, Nathan’s mother woke to something she had learned to dread.
A new change in her boy’s fragile body.
Nathan’s arm felt colder than usual, and the skin showed strange, dark colors that hadn’t been there the night before.
The surgeon suspected a tumor had grown large enough to block blood flow to the arm.
It was a cruel progression of the disease — one that even words like “terminal” or “palliative” could never fully capture.
But Nathan still didn’t want to amputate.
Even when his surgeon told the family that amputation might offer him a little comfort, Nathan held his ground.
It would not add time to his life.
It would not undo the pain of everything he’d endured.
It would simply be another wound — another piece of himself lost to cancer.
Hospice and palliative care stepped in to help, gently offering ways to manage his pain.
But everything was still in talks.
There were still meetings, still choices, still that terrible balancing act between hope and reality.
As his mother sat across from doctors and nurses, she asked the question no parent ever wants to ask.
Was surgery worth it anymore?
She hated herself for even saying it aloud, but she had to be realistic.
If cancer didn’t take him, something else would.
Was it kinder to drag him into a hospital, to flood his heart with more fear, or to let him stay home where his bed, his toys, and his memories surrounded him with comfort?
For now, Nathan wasn’t in pain.
He was simply terrified.
Terrified of losing a piece of his body.
Terrified of falling into a depression deeper than the one he already fought each day.
His mother hated how common childhood cancer was.
She hated how “rare” didn’t mean safe.
She hated how the rarest things somehow found her little boy.
Nathan had been strong for so long.
He had weathered storms life should never throw at a child.
And now, more than anything, he needed prayers.
Prayers for comfort.
Prayers for peace of mind.
Prayers for a little lifting of the weight pressing down on his small shoulders.
By September 16th, the decision had become even harder.
Nathan’s arm was dying.
Without intervention, his body would slip into septic shock.
That could be how his life ended.
Amputation was still an option.
But from the very first day of this journey, Nathan had said “no.”
He had said it again and again.
And his mother had promised to respect his wishes.
Truthfully, she wasn’t sure his fragile body could survive such a massive surgery anyway.
She prayed to God for one more Halloween to dress up together.
One more Thanksgiving.
One more Christmas snow day.
One more birthday to watch him turn eleven.
But deep inside, she feared those things were slipping away.
One night, scrolling on TikTok, she saw a video.
It said, “I hope death feels like being half asleep and carried from the car to bed.”
She clung to that image.
She prayed that’s what it would be like for Nathan.
Soft.
Gentle.
No more pain.
She prayed that Nathan’s father, Mario, would meet him in the afterlife.
That they would spend endless days together.
That cancer would never follow Nathan there.
That he would run and jump and laugh and do everything stolen from him on earth.
“I love you endlessly, my little Nae,” she whispered at night.
“If I could have switched places with you, I would have done it in a heartbeat.”
The hospice team adjusted his medications.
Oxycodone every two hours to manage his breathing.
They called it “sleep talking,” the way Nathan drifted in and out, murmuring random words all day.
It was like watching his mind slip between worlds.
His arm changed more with each passing day.
The fingernails turned black.
The fingers themselves darkened, the palm a terrible red-black.
You could see where the veins had died.
His mother prayed for a better day tomorrow.
A day where he could rest more peacefully.
A day where his breathing was easier, where he didn’t seem so uncomfortable.
She didn’t want this to be over.
But she wanted her baby at peace.
And that desire felt like a knife twisting inside her heart.
“Your scars remind us how strong you’ve been,” she told him.
“But with me, you’ll never have to act stronger than you really are.
You can rest.
You can sleep peacefully.
I’ll always be by your side, no matter what life throws your way.”
Even on his hardest days, Nathan amazed her.
He still found ways to make them smile.
He still cracked little jokes.
He still blurted out random things that were so perfectly him.
He still told her he loved her every day.
He still asked her to put on videos so he could listen.
She was glad she had been able to fill his home with comfort and love.
Visitors held back tears for his sake.
He didn’t need their sadness.
He needed their strength.
Cancer had taken so much from him.
But it could never take away the joy he brought to their lives.
By September 29th, nights had grown harder.
Nathan woke crying.
His chest hurt.
He couldn’t breathe.
Even after morphine and anxiety medicine, the fear didn’t go away.
His mother thought she was watching his last breath.
Her heart turned to stone with terror.
Death was so scary.
How unfair that after everything, he still had to go through this.
October 3rd came with a strange calm.
The last few days had been smoother.
She read the Bible to Nae until he asked her to stop, wanting only the quiet of their home.
She told him again and again about the life after this one.
No pain.
No cancer.
No limitations.
Only freedom.
Only joy.
She prayed when the time came he would be wrapped not only in her arms but in the wings of his daddy.
She prayed God would welcome him with the most beautiful skies.
“My love for you has no limits, sweet boy,” she whispered.
“All I want for you now is peace.
You’ve had to deal with so much pain.
It’s unfair.
I love you.
I love you.
I love youuuu so much, Nae.”
Early on October 4th, Nathan gained his angel wings.
His mother imagined him making his way toward the gates of heaven, giving endless hugs to his daddy.
“I love you tremendously, my baby boy,” she said.
“I’ll miss you every day and with every breath I take.
You’re the light of my life.
I pray you’re at peace now and free of cancer.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.”
A Puppy’s Dream: Ziggy’s Hope for a New Family.549
Ziggy didn’t come into the shelter like any other dog. She came wearing a pink tutu, her small frame still holding the faint smell of her former home. It was a heartbreaking sight—a dog, once a beloved member of a family, now alone and confused, waiting for someone to love her again.
She was once someone’s baby. The kind of dog who was dressed with love, held with care, and cherished every day. But everything changed when her elderly owner, who had taken care of her all these years, fell too ill to continue. It was then that Ziggy was quietly surrendered to the shelter, her only possessions a bag of tiny clothes and the memory of a life that once was. She had been a companion, a source of comfort, but now she was just another dog in a shelter, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar smells.
Ziggy’s heart was full of confusion. She didn’t understand why her world had suddenly changed. Where was her owner? Why was she here alone? She had spent her days cuddled up, loved and cherished, but now she found herself in a cold cage, waiting, hoping for someone to come and take her home once more.
In the shelter, Ziggy’s sweet and gentle nature was evident. She would sit quietly, her eyes searching for a sign of the love she had once known. Despite the loss, she still carried the scent of home, the comfort of familiar things. She wore her pink tutu, not as a costume, but as a symbol of the love she had known—one last piece of the life she had lost.
As the days passed, Ziggy’s story became one of hope—a hope that someone would see the little dog in the pink tutu and recognize the love and care she still had to give. But it was also a story of loss. Ziggy had lost everything she knew—the warmth of her owner’s arms, the sound of her owner’s voice, the security of being part of a family. And now, she was just waiting for someone to hold her again, to make her feel safe and loved.
Ziggy’s story is a reminder of how quickly things can change, of how pets give their hearts completely to us, and how their love remains even when we are no longer there. She may have been surrendered quietly, but she still carried with her the memory of the love that once surrounded her. Now, she sits in a Florida shelter, waiting for the next chapter, hoping for a family who will love her the way she deserves.
Ziggy deserves so much more than this. She deserves a home where she can be loved and cherished again. If you’re looking for a companion who will give you all of her heart, she’s waiting.