There are moments in life when strength is not a choice — it’s a necessity.
When a child faces pain that would crush most adults, and somehow still finds a reason to smile.
When parents who have already lost so much wake up and choose faith over fear, one more time.
That’s what makes Will Roberts’ story impossible to forget.
He’s just fourteen.
A boy from Alabama who loves PlayStation, beef jerky, and making his little sister laugh.
But for the past year, Will’s world has revolved around something far darker — a relentless enemy that refuses to let him go.
Cancer.
It took his leg.
Now, it’s come back for more.
But if cancer is relentless, so is Will.
A Battle No Child Should Fight
When Will Roberts was first diagnosed with
osteosarcoma — a rare and aggressive form of bone cancer — his parents, Jason and Brittney, heard words no parent should ever have to process.
Surgery. Chemotherapy. Amputation.
In the early months, it felt like a nightmare they might wake up from.
But reality was colder than that.
The tumor in Will’s left leg had grown too large to save the limb.
Doctors had no choice but to amputate above the knee.
Will’s father, Jason, remembered the moment they told him.
“He didn’t cry,” Jason said. “He just nodded and said, ‘Okay. Let’s do what we have to do.’”
He was thirteen years old.
Most kids his age worry about homework or video games.
Will was learning how to walk again — this time with one leg and a prosthetic.
And somehow, he did it with humor.
He joked about naming his prosthetic “Lightning McKnee.”
He raced his sister, Charlie, down the hallway of their house.
He made his parents laugh when they thought they’d forgotten how.
“Will’s always been the light in the room,” Brittney said. “Even when everything hurts, he still manages to make everyone else smile.”
When the Cancer Came Back
For a few months, things seemed hopeful.
Will’s scans were clear, his energy returned, and his family dared to breathe again.
But cancer doesn’t always stay gone.
In late summer, the doctors at MD Anderson Cancer Center
in Houston found new growths — this time in his pelvic area and femur.
The news hit the family like a freight train.
“It felt like we were right back at the beginning,” Brittney said. “Only this time, we knew what was coming.”
The surgery, originally expected to be small, turned into something massive.
Doctors made a 15-inch incision stretching from one side of Will’s hip to the other and down the inside of his thigh.
Tubes now run from his neck, arms, and nose.
“It’s heartbreaking,” Brittney wrote in a post. “What was supposed to be a short procedure turned into a battle. His body is covered in lines and scars, and I can’t stop thinking about how he’ll feel when the anesthesia wears off.”
Even after all they’ve endured, the Gorodetzkys’ — no, the Roberts family’s — faith remains their anchor.
“This is the part of childhood cancer that never gets easier,” Brittney said. “And yet, somehow, he keeps finding strength.”
A Mother’s Breaking Point
Last night, Brittney wrote again — this time from the quiet of their temporary home in Houston.
“To leave Will tonight was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” she began.
She described walking through the house they had stayed in months earlier when Will was recovering from his first surgery.
Everything was exactly as he’d left it — his PlayStation controller on the couch, his beef jerky on the coffee table, water bottles scattered across the room.
“It just stopped me in my tracks,” she wrote. “Last night he said, ‘I just wish I could stay here with y’all.’”
She paused.
“Coming back tonight without him broke me. Charlie and I got to our room and just hugged and cried together. Cancer sucks. It really does.”
It’s the raw, unfiltered pain that comes with watching your child suffer — the kind of pain that doesn’t end when the surgery is over.
But even in that heartbreak, Brittney ended her message the same way she always does:
“With faith.”
“I know I’ll feel better when I see that strength rise up in him again,” she wrote. “Today was just tough.”
The Surgery Ahead
Will’s doctors have scheduled another surgery.
This one will attempt to freeze two cancerous spots in his leg, if they’ve remained stable.
It’s one more mountain in a landscape full of them.
But if you’ve followed Will’s story, you know — he’s not the kind of kid who gives up.
He’s faced more in 14 years than most do in a lifetime, and he’s still here.
Still smiling.
Still cracking jokes.
Still believing in the God who’s carried him this far.
“Will’s tough,” Jason said. “He’s not afraid. He’s tired, sure. But he’s never afraid.”
The Cost of Courage
Behind every childhood cancer story are parents holding their breath through nights that feel endless.
The Roberts family knows this better than anyone.
They’ve lived in hospital rooms and temporary housing for months.
They’ve memorized the rhythms of machines, the codes of beeping monitors, the sterile chill of waiting rooms.
But they’ve also built something else in that space — a sense of gratitude most people never reach.
“We’re blessed,” Brittney said. “Blessed to still have him, blessed to see his smile every day. Blessed that God trusts us with this journey, even when it hurts.”
Faith doesn’t take the pain away, but it makes it bearable.
It’s what allows them to say things like, “We’re okay,” even when they’re breaking inside.
It’s what lets them look at Will — pale, stitched, exhausted — and still see light.
What Faith Looks Like in Real Life
People talk about miracles as if they always come with trumpets and blinding light.
But sometimes, a miracle is quieter.
It’s a boy who opens his eyes after surgery and whispers, “I’m okay.”
It’s a mother who still prays after she’s run out of tears.
It’s a father who finds the strength to keep smiling so his son won’t be scared.
Will’s story isn’t about denial — it’s about defiance.
The kind of courage that comes from knowing the odds and fighting anyway.
And the Roberts family doesn’t walk this road alone.
Friends, neighbors, and strangers have rallied around them — praying, donating, sending messages of love and encouragement.
One local pastor said, “Will has touched more hearts from his hospital bed than most of us will in our whole lives.”
The Hardest Kind of Hope
When you live with childhood cancer, you learn to hope differently.
Not for guarantees.
Not for miracles wrapped in neat endings.
You hope for moments.
A smile after surgery.
A day without pain.
The sound of laughter in the hallway of a hospital.
You learn to find grace in the in-between — the hours between test results, the seconds between fear and faith.
“Will doesn’t talk much about dying,” Jason said quietly. “He talks about living — about getting better, about playing with Charlie, about going home. That’s what keeps us going.”
The Power of Prayer
For those who’ve followed Will’s journey online, one phrase appears over and over: Pray for Will.
It’s more than a hashtag — it’s a movement.
Thousands have joined the family in prayer — from small-town churches to people who’ve never met the Roberts family at all.
Brittney often says that’s what gives her strength at 3 a.m. when the fear creeps in.
“I feel those prayers,” she said. “It’s like a warmth that wraps around us when everything feels cold.”
The Long Road Ahead
Doctors have warned that the road ahead will be long and painful.
More surgeries. More recovery. More unknowns.
But when you talk to Will’s family, they don’t sound defeated.
They sound grounded — tethered to something bigger than pain.
“Will’s story isn’t over,” Brittney said. “We don’t know how long we have, but we’re not living like it’s the end. We’re living like every day matters.”
And that, perhaps, is the heart of it.
Every scar tells a story.
Every breath is a victory.
Every sunrise, a chance to believe again.
One More Prayer
If you ask those closest to the Roberts family what they need most, they’ll tell you it’s simple:
Pray.
Pray for strength.
Pray for healing.
Pray for peace in the hardest hours.
Because behind the statistics and medical terms is a boy — a boy who still laughs, still dreams, and still believes in tomorrow.
A boy named Will Roberts — who refuses to break, even when everything around him does.
As his mother wrote last night, through tears and faith:
“We take it one day at a time. I know I’ll feel better when I see that strength rise up in him again. Today was just tough.”
And maybe that’s all any of us can do — keep showing up, keep believing, and keep praying for the light to rise again.
