Amy was a radiant presence in every space she occupied — a spirited little redhead whose laughter could fill a home and whose spirit was larger than her petite stature. She had a passion for ballet and sports, enjoyed singing in the school talent show, and loved running barefoot in the grass with her friends. Fishing trips with her dad were a favorite, where she could expertly bait the hook without ever chipping her pink-painted nails.
“She was an unstoppable force,” her father, Ren, expresses with pride. “Amy could achieve anything she aimed for.”
However, even the most unstoppable forces can encounter storms that are too powerful to withstand.
The Diagnosis
Shortly after her seventh birthday, Amy began to exhibit subtle signs that something was amiss. Her balance became unsteady, her speech occasionally slurred, and one morning, she woke up unable to smile. Her parents took her to the doctor, and within days, their world was turned upside down.
Amy was diagnosed with Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma (DIPG) — one of the most aggressive and devastating forms of childhood brain cancer.
DIPG targets the brainstem, which regulates breathing, heartbeat, and movement. It is inoperable, untreatable, and invariably fatal.
“No family, no child, should ever have to endure the horrors of this disease,” Ren states quietly.
In that moment, Amy’s parents learned there was no cure — only time.
Fighting the Unthinkable
The Queensland Children’s Hospital became Amy’s second home. Her days were filled with radiation treatments aimed at slowing the tumor’s growth — treatments that could not save her but might grant her more days to live, more opportunities to dance, to laugh, to be a child.
For a time, it appeared to be effective. The radiation formed what doctors referred to as a “hard shell” around the tumor — a temporary barrier that allowed Amy to regain some of her sparkle. She laughed again, played again, and filled her hospital room with songs and crafts.
Her parents clung to hope with all their might.
“She was still Amy,” Ren recalls. “Still stubborn, still funny, still making us all smile even when she felt terrible.”
But the shell eventually shattered.
The tumor, like a crack in an egg, burst open — and the disease spread throughout her body, advancing faster than anyone could halt it.
Holding On to Moments
As the months went by, Amy’s body weakened, but her spirit remained unyielding. Her laughter still resonated through the hospital corridors. Nurses cherished her — not just for her bravery, but for her kindness. Even on her worst days, she would create cards for other children, draw hearts for the nurses, and tell her parents she loved them “to the moon and back — and then some.”
“She didn’t want us to cry,” her mother once shared. “She wanted us to smile for her. That’s the kind of child she was — always thinking of others.”
Amy’s family celebrated every milestone, no matter how small — a good scan, a day without nausea, a few steps without assistance. They lived hour by hour, cherishing every giggle, every hug, every bedtime story.
Her Last Birthday
Amy turned nine surrounded by her loved ones. Her parents decorated the house with pink balloons and fairy lights. There was cake, music, and laughter — everything she desired.
But behind the smiles, they all understood. The disease had taken control.
Just sixteen months after her diagnosis, Amy passed away — leaving a silence that felt too heavy for words.
Her family’s hearts were broken. The world seemed quieter, emptier. But then, something remarkable began to unfold.
Hidden Treasures
In the months and years that followed, as Amy’s parents gradually learned to navigate life without her, they began discovering little notes — folded pieces of paper hidden in drawers, books, lunchboxes, and coat pockets.
Tiny treasures penned in her careful, wobbly handwriting.
Some were simple:
“I love you, Mum.”
“You’re the best, Dad.”
“Be happy.”
Others resembled messages from beyond:
“Don’t cry too much. I’m okay.”
“Keep smiling.”
“I’ll always be with you.”
Each note felt like a whisper from Amy’s heart — a reminder that her love hadn’t vanished. It had merely transformed.
Ren states that finding those notes aided their healing. “Even after she was gone, she was still looking after us. That’s who Amy was.”
The Legacy She Left Behind
Today, Amy’s family continues to honor her memory by raising awareness for DIPG — a disease that takes too many children too soon. They speak her name, share her story, and advocate for better research and treatments in her honor.
Through their grief, they’ve discovered purpose — and through Amy, they’ve found courage.
“She taught us what it means to live with joy,” Ren reflects. “Even when you know time is limited.”
Amy’s light — her laughter, her kindness, her fiery spirit — lives on in every person her story touches.
And every time her parents uncover another one of her hidden notes, they smile through tears, remembering the little girl who refused to let love fade.
Because Amy’s story isn’t about loss.
It’s about love — fierce, fearless, and everlasting.
