Sasha — The Light That Wouldn’t Go Out 🕊️💛
This morning, the world stood still.
Our sweet, extraordinary Sasha took her last breath — wrapped in our arms, held by the hands that had loved her through every battle.
She looked at us, whispered for us to hold her tight — and then tighter — and we did, until her chest rose one final time.
And just like that, the bravest heart we have ever known was still.
The silence that followed was deafening.
It felt as if the world itself had stopped breathing with her.
The air in the room turned heavy, pressing down on our chests until every heartbeat hurt.
Walking out of that hospital without her — leaving her physical body behind — felt impossible.Every instinct screamed that she was still there waiting for us, that somehow, if we turned around, she would still be smiling, still calling our names.
After her soul left her body, we stayed beside her.
We lay next to her as her small frame began to change, still warm, still our baby.
We stayed through every minute we were allowed, holding her until the moment she had to be prepared — just to keep her close a little longer.
It was the last thing we could give her — our presence, our love, our hands refusing to let go.
Sasha had told us to fight — with everything we had, with every tool, every ounce of hope, every breath.
And we did.
We fought like warriors because that’s what she asked of us.
Chemotherapy.
New immunotherapy.
Integrative medicine.
Every option, every trial, every treatment that promised even a sliver of time — we took it.
But within days, her tumors grew.
We shifted course again — to a new targeted immunotherapy, and two new chemotherapies.
We held our breath, praying this time would be different.
But within a week, new scans came back — and the words that followed shattered us.
More tumors.
On her liver.
On her kidneys.
On her pancreas.
And her lymphatic system — spreading, wrapping tightly around her lungs, slowly squeezing them closed.
We watched the numbers on the monitor rise, her CO₂ climbing higher each day as her lungs struggled to keep up.
And then, something miraculous happened.
Her body, her brain — the same one that had endured so much pain — began to protect her.
As her CO₂ rose, her brain gently carried her away from the agony, away from the fear.
It shielded her from pain.
For the last week of her life, our girl felt none of it.
She came off almost all pain medications, resting peacefully, breathing softly.
And of all the ways we could have lost her, this — this gentle fading — was a mercy we didn’t know to hope for.
After all the nights of screams and tears and helplessness, we were blessed with a passing that was peaceful.
A release.
A soft goodbye after so many days of excruciating pain.and will always be — a miracle wrapped in fragility.
Her body was delicate, but her spirit… her spirit could move mountains.
She smiled through pain.
She laughed through exhaustion.
She comforted us when we should have been comforting her.
There was something eternal in her — something too radiant for this earth.
Our children — all of them who walk this road — are the fiercest warriors the world will ever know.
They carry strength that adults can’t even begin to comprehend.
They endure what should break them, and somehow, they shine brighter through the cracks.
Sasha taught us that the soul’s strength knows no limit — that love can exist even in suffering, that courage can live in the smallest body.
But oh, how it hurts to live in a world without her.
There are no words to describe the sound of her absence.
The house feels too quiet, too hollow.
Her laughter still echoes in corners, her voice lingers in the air like music we can’t quite turn off.
We keep expecting to hear her call from the hallway, to see her peek around the corner with that mischievous grin.
Instead, there is silence — and an ache that fills every inch of space she once occupied.
And yet, even through this unbearable grief, a new fire burns inside us.
Because watching what Sasha endured — the treatments, the side effects, the limitations of therapies created in the 1950s — makes us realize something bigger.
It makes us angry.
It makes us ache for change.
Our children deserve better.
They deserve modern, targeted, compassionate medicine — not recycled protocols older than their grandparents.
If Sasha’s story can light even the smallest spark for progress, then her light will never go out.
Oh, my baby girl…
How do I keep breathing without you?
The clock no longer keeps time; it only measures the distance between us.
Every minute feels like a mile, every hour another reminder that you’re not here.I will count them all — every second — until the moment I see you again.
Until I can hold you tight — and then tighter — just like you asked me to.
You were love, in its purest form.
You were grace, strength, and laughter all wrapped into one small, shining soul.
And though your body is gone, your light — your beautiful, unstoppable light — will keep burning in every life you’ve touched.
Rest easy, my brave girl.
You fought harder than anyone should ever have to.
And now, you are free.
Until we meet again, Sasha.
We’ll keep fighting for you.
We’ll keep loving you.
And we’ll keep counting the minutes — until forever meets us again. 🕊️💛
Alison: The Warrior Princess Battling Leukemia.1374
Alison: The Warrior Princess Who Danced Through Cancer
Alison is a little girl with a heart full of magic and a spirit that seems uncontainable. She loves her dog, Brooks, with an affection that can melt anyone’s heart. She also loves princesses—all of them. Her collection of Disney princess dresses is practically unmatched, and for Alison, each one is more than just a dress: it is a portal to a world where she can imagine herself brave, magical, and strong.
When she got the chance to spend a week in Disney, she even had tea with the princesses in person, an experience that brought her joy beyond words and filled her family’s hearts with happiness watching their little girl sparkle. Alison also has a motor that doesn’t stop; she is always running, always moving, always filled with energy and curiosity.
So it was especially concerning to her father, Jason, when Alison didn’t immediately run into his arms like she normally did when he picked her up after work. A few days passed, and the usually high-energy, unstoppable Alison could not even gather the strength to get out of bed.
Her parents initially suspected it might be an iron deficiency, but even after giving her iron drops, nothing seemed to improve. The pediatrician, recognizing the unusual fatigue and pallor, recommended a blood test.
That Tuesday morning would mark the start of a life-changing journey. In the All Children’s Hospital (ACH) emergency room, at just three years old, Alison was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL). The news hit her family like a tidal wave.
her red blood cell count was dangerously low, so low that Alison was rushed to Sarasota Memorial Hospital in an ambulance to receive a blood transfusion en route. The urgency of the situation, the fear in her parents’ eyes, and the fragile strength of their little girl created a moment of raw reality no parent ever wants to face.
After the transfusion stabilized her, Alison and her family returned to ACH, where she spent the next two weeks undergoing surgery for bone marrow and lumbar spinal fluid tests. This was followed by weekly chemotherapy treatments for the next nine months, a regimen that would be both physically and emotionally taxing for a child as outgoing and spirited as Alison.
For a girl who loves life, movement, and social interaction, the hardest part of treatment has been staying home. In March, Alison could see the Ferris wheel from the local fair rising outside her window.
Her heart longed to go, to run, to laugh, to play—but she was too vulnerable to disease and could not risk going. Daycare, which once would have been a staple of her week, was also out of the question. Still, Alison found joy in spending time with her grandparents and close family friends, who became her companions, her cheerleaders, and her comfort in those isolated months.
Alison’s courage and strength inspired her grandfather to give her a special title: “warrior princess.” This moniker is especially meaningful to her family because of their rich Serbian heritage, where bravery, honor, and resilience are celebrated traits.
To her grandfather, Alison embodies these qualities every day, facing a challenge far beyond her years with a heart that refuses to yield.
Despite her strength, there were moments of uncertainty. While Alison was progressing with her treatment, her family hoped that her chemotherapy dosage could be reduced to lessen side effects and make life slightly easier for her.
Yet doctors advised that reducing the dosage would be too risky. Then came a beacon of hope: a new clinical study called AALL0932, which Alison qualified for.
This protocol would cut back on the chemotherapy she was receiving, and she would only need to return to ACH every 12 weeks. For a little girl who has endured so many hospital visits, this was a monumental relief. Alison is the first to test this new treatment, and her family eagerly anticipates October 5, 2020, the day this treatment phase concludes.
Alison’s bravery has not only inspired her family but also the community around them. She has become the face of fundraising efforts by employees at her father’s company, S-One.
These efforts included a successful auction in April and May, raising $3,900 for pediatric cancer research, a lemonade stand in front of the corporate building on June 20, and a 3K walk for employees and their families in September during Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Each event not only raised funds but also awareness of the challenges families like Alison’s face every day.
Today, Alison is doing well in treatment. Her curly hair, which she had lost during chemotherapy, has grown back, and her radiant smile continues to light up every room she enters.
Her family reflects on the journey with gratitude and awareness of the financial toll of childhood cancer.
Jason, her father, explains, “Even with the best insurance possible, I still have to pay out of pocket for Alison’s monthly medication. There are just so many little payments outside of your normal healthcare that people don’t even realize…. every little bit really helps no matter how big or small it is.”
For Alison’s family, the mission of Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation resonates deeply. It represents the kind of support that makes a real difference in the lives of families experiencing childhood cancer
. From fundraising to providing financial assistance, the foundation embodies hope, relief, and solidarity for children like Alison who are courageously navigating their battle.
Alison’s story is not just about the challenges of cancer—it is about resilience, family, community, and hope. It is about a little girl who, despite her tender age, faces each day with courage, imagination, and an unbreakable spirit. She reminds everyone around her that even in the most difficult circumstances, there is room for joy, laughter, and small victories.
As Alison continues her treatment and moves through the AALL0932 protocol, she does so with the strength of a warrior princess, supported by her loving family, devoted medical team, and an entire community cheering her on. Each dress she twirls in, each smile she shares, and each step she takes is a testament to the power of courage and hope in the face of adversity.
Alison’s journey teaches us that even the youngest among us can exhibit unimaginable strength, that love and support can transform fear into resilience, and that hope—no matter how small—can light the way through the darkest times. For Alison, every day is a new chapter, a chance to embrace life, love her dog Brooks, wear her princess dresses, and show the world that a warrior princess never gives up.
