Bryson’s Journey: 1,027 Days of Courage and Love
Last night, at exactly 5 p.m., the world stood still for a fleeting moment, or perhaps it was just our hearts that did. Bryson, our brave little warrior, won his battle. June 18, 2020 — September 26, 2025 🪿🪽.
For 1,027 days, he faced challenges no child should ever face. And now, he is free. Free from cancer. Free from pain. Free from fear. Yet even in his passing, his story continues to teach, inspire, and remind us of the power of resilience and love.
It all began in 2020, on a day like any other. Bryson was diagnosed at an age when he should have been learning to crawl, to speak, to explore the world with curiosity and laughter.
Instead, our world shifted in an instant. We were handed a diagnosis that changed everything: cancer. The word itself is heavy, crushing, and impossible to reconcile with the innocence of a child.
From that moment, life became a blur of hospitals, medications, and constant vigilance.
Chemotherapy sessions were scheduled with clinical precision, each one leaving our little boy weak, nauseated, and weary. But Bryson endured them all, often smiling through the pain, showing a courage that astonished even the most seasoned doctors.
Early on, we learned that courage is not the absence of fear. It is standing tall in the face of it. And Bryson embodied this truth.
Even when his tiny body was wracked with pain, when his little hands trembled, and when sleep eluded him for nights on end, he held on.
Every flutter of his eyelids, every quiet breath, every tiny squeeze of our hands was a testament to his unyielding spirit.
There were days when the treatments seemed endless. The chemo left him exhausted, the injections hurt, and the side effects made him cry out in ways that tore at our hearts.
Yet even in those moments, there was a spark — a glimmer of the boy we knew before cancer, a reminder that inside this tiny body was a soul determined to fight.
We celebrated every milestone differently. Sitting up for the first time after a long illness felt like winning a championship. Taking a few steps with assistance became an act of triumph.
Laughing during playtime in the hospital room was more precious than any ordinary childhood memory. And with each milestone, we realized that life is measured not in years, but in moments — moments of joy, courage, and connection.
Through the 1,027 days, there were setbacks. Relapses that brought crushing fear, days when his body didn’t respond, nights when the machines beeped in endless rhythm, reminding us of the fragility of life.
The fear was constant — fear of what might come next, fear of the unknown, fear of losing him. And yet, Bryson continued to fight, often surprising us, often defying expectations. Doctors would shake their heads in disbelief, marveling at how a child so small could endure so much.
Alongside the medical battles, there were emotional battles. Fear, grief, and exhaustion weighed heavily on all of us. Every day, we grappled with the reality that our child’s life depended on our vigilance, on the expertise of doctors, and on the fragility of circumstance.
Yet through it all, there was love — an unbreakable, relentless force that carried us forward. We held him through every procedure, whispered stories and songs into his ears, and reminded him, over and over, that he was never alone.
There were mornings when the sun seemed to shine a little brighter simply because Bryson smiled. There were nights when we clung to hope as tightly as he clung to our hands.
Each new day brought uncertainty, but also the possibility of a miracle. And Bryson, with every fiber of his being, taught us that miracles come in the quietest, smallest moments: a calm breath, a flicker of an eyelid, the gentle grasp of a tiny hand.
Bryson’s courage was not just in his survival. It was in the way he faced every challenge with dignity and strength.
Even when he was scared, he tried to be brave. Even when he was in pain, he tried to comfort us. His presence was a constant lesson in resilience.
Throughout the journey, we were supported by a community of angels. Friends, family, strangers — their prayers, messages, and acts of kindness became threads woven into the fabric of Bryson’s fight.
Each word of encouragement, each prayer, each gesture of support reminded us that courage is not fought alone. It is shared, multiplied, and nurtured by love.
The milestones of his journey were etched in our hearts. The first time he held a toy after a long bout of treatment.
The first laugh that broke through a day of silence. The first night he slept through without pain. Each of these was a victory, each of these a triumph of spirit over circumstance.
Even in the darkest moments, there was light. The hospice nurses, doctors, and caregivers were not just medical professionals — they were companions on a journey that tested the limits of human strength.
They witnessed Bryson’s defiance of expectations, his quiet victories, his moments of joy amidst unimaginable suffering. And we learned that courage is contagious, that hope can flourish even in the harshest of places.
And then, the final chapter arrived. September 26, 2025. The days leading up to it were filled with the same love, the same vigilance, the same determination to make every second meaningful. And at 5 p.m., Bryson’s journey ended — not in fear, not in pain, but in freedom. Cancer free. Pain free. Fear free.
Even in our grief, there is gratitude. Gratitude for every moment we shared. Gratitude for every lesson Bryson taught us. Gratitude for the love he inspired, the courage he embodied, and the hope he instilled. Bryson’s fight was not just his own. It lives in us, in everyone who knew him, and in every memory he created.
Bryson will forever remain our little warrior. His legacy is one of resilience, love, and unyielding courage. He showed us what it means to fight with heart, to love without reservation, and to live fully even when life is hardest.
And though our arms feel empty now, our hearts are full. Full of memories, full of love, full of gratitude for the extraordinary life of our extraordinary boy.
I will forever fight for him — in memory, in spirit, in every story I tell, in every act of love I extend to others in his honor.
Bryson’s journey may have ended, but his story will never fade. It will inspire, remind, and teach. Every breath we take, every heartbeat, every moment is now a tribute to him. And we will carry his courage, his love, and his spirit forward, forever.
Bryson, thank you. Thank you for showing us the true meaning of strength. Thank you for teaching us what it means to fight. Thank you for reminding us that life, even when fragile, is worth every second. You are free now, and yet, you will live in our hearts, eternally.
Cancer free. Pain free. Fear free. And forever loved.
“Kostek’s Fight for Life: A Child Battling Cancer with All His Strength”.1940
I’m writing these words with trembling hands, sitting once again at my son’s hospital bed. I watch Kostek sleep, his small chest rising and falling under the weight of countless tubes, monitors beeping softly around him. He is only eight years old, but the strength he carries inside him could fill an army.
Because of his severely weakened heart, Kostek receives chemotherapy at only 50–70% of the recommended dosage. Even at these reduced doses, the drugs take a devastating toll on his tiny body. Just nine days after his latest round of chemotherapy, he spiked a high fever and his blood counts plummeted to critically low levels.
We rushed him to the hospital once again. The doctors worked quickly—blood transfusions, platelet transfusions, and special therapy to boost his white blood cells and neutrophils. His blood pressure dropped dangerously low, making everything even more frightening. We spent September 6–10 in the hospital, holding our breath through every test.
The only sliver of good news came when the ultrasound confirmed that his heart was still working properly. After several days, we were discharged and sent home to recover. His next chemotherapy cycle was supposed to begin September 15, but the doctors postponed it by a week to give his exhausted body more time to heal.
This is our life now—living between hospital corridors, transfusions, and tests. Each day feels like a marathon we didn’t sign up for. Even when we are drained, we cannot stop. We cannot give up. Kostek fights so bravely, so fiercely; he wants to live more than anything.
We are begging you: please continue to help us. The cost of treatment is enormous. Every donation, every share, every prayer is a lifeline for our son.
How It All Began
Kostek is eight years old. For most of his life, hospital rooms have been his world. This nightmare started in October 2020, when we first heard the diagnosis no parent should ever hear: rhabdomyosarcoma—a malignant tumor in his right leg. From that moment, everything became a fight.
We wanted to save our son at any cost. Chemotherapy, surgery, radiation—whatever it took. In the age when most children cry at the sight of a single needle, Kostek endured needles several times a day. Nine cycles of chemotherapy, surgery, and 23 rounds of radiation—all within a few months.
We clung to hope. We thought that if we just followed the treatment plan, we could win. But three months after finishing therapy, the cancer came back—this time with metastases in his lymph nodes. Clinic after clinic turned us away, saying there was nothing more they could do. Our hope dimmed with every rejection.
And then, unexpectedly, a clinic in South Korea offered help. It was our only chance. We sold everything we owned—even our apartment—to pay for the treatment. With the help of kind strangers, we raised enough for the first therapy in Korea. It gave Kostek a chance at life again.
But the cancer never truly left us. In the following years, new tumors appeared—one on his testicle, which had to be removed, and another in his retroperitoneal space. Quick intervention with chemo and radiation managed to stop the growth and save him, but only temporarily.
Another Blow
At the end of February this year, the control scans revealed yet another tumor in his right leg. A biopsy removed it completely, but within weeks it had grown back—larger than before. It feels like the cancer is always one step ahead, no matter how hard we fight.
The doctors aren’t giving up. They have reviewed Kostek’s entire medical history and created a new treatment protocol tailored just for him. It includes chemotherapy, targeted radiation, and light-regime dosing because his body is so exhausted it couldn’t survive full strength anymore.
We are grateful for their determination, but every day our savings disappear. After years of selling everything and fundraising constantly, we have nothing left. The cost of this new treatment is staggering.
A Childhood Stolen, But Not His Courage
Kostek has seen and felt more pain than any child should. He knows the smell of antiseptic better than the scent of a playground. He recognizes nurses’ footsteps the way other children recognize their friends’. He rarely complains, but we see the toll it takes on him.
And yet, even in the hardest moments, he smiles. He jokes with the nurses. He asks about school and dreams of riding his bike. He wants to live like other kids—to go to school, to play outside, to be free from fear.
Every blood test, every transfusion, every sleepless night is a fight for another day with him. We have one goal: to give Kostek a chance at life, at a normal childhood, at a future beyond hospital walls.
Our Plea
Parents will do anything for their children. I would walk on my knees from door to door across the world if it meant saving him. But I can’t leave his side. I don’t know if each day will be our last together.
Treatment in South Korea remains our only hope. Without it, Kostek will die. That’s the truth we live with every day.
Please—anyone reading this—help us. Every donation, every share, every prayer matters. Every euro, every złoty brings us closer to saving his life.
This is not just about medicine or numbers on a page. This is about a little boy who wants to live. This is about giving him a chance to grow up, to be more than a patient.
We are asking you from the bottom of our hearts: stand with us. Help us fight for Kostek. Help us give him a future.
Why Your Help Matters
- Every donation covers medication, hospital stays, and life-saving transfusions.
- Every share spreads Kostek’s story to someone who might be able to help.
- Every prayer lifts our spirits and strengthens our resolve.
We cannot do this alone. But with you, we have hope.
From the depths of our hearts, thank you for loving Kostek as if he were your own child. Thank you for every message, every contribution, every moment you spend thinking of him.
Because of you, Kostek still has a chance.
— Kostek’s Parents