Today, I Held This Paper… and It Felt Heavier Than It Looks

Today, I held this paper with both hands… and it felt heavier than it looks. Not because of its size—but because it carries everything I’ve lived through in silence.

The needles.

The nausea.

The days I only wanted to be held.

The nights when Mom tried to be strong… but I could still see her eyes shining, holding back tears.

There were toys around me, but not every day did I feel like playing. I learned what “being brave” really means far too early. I learned to wait. I learned to measure time differently—not by weekends or birthdays, but by appointments, tests, and chemo sessions.

And today… it’s over. My last chemo session is over. I made it.

I can’t fully explain what it feels like to let hope back into your chest. I just know that, for the first time in a long time, the word “tomorrow” doesn’t feel scary.

If you’ve read this far… please leave a kind word for me—and for every child still fighting. Sometimes, a single message can become a light in someone’s darkest room. 🙏🤍