Olivia was diagnosed with Leukemia on November 3, 2024 and immediately started a chemo regime.
In early February, Olivia had been admitted to the hospital following her previous round of chemotherapy. The treatment left her with a dangerously high fever, severe dehydration, and unable to keep anything down. From that point on, things quickly deteriorated. It felt like every possible complication or side effect of chemo found its way to her. While in the hospital, she developed an infection in her port, and it spread rapidly. Her small, tired body just couldn’t fight anymore.
In the final week, doctors made the decision to sedate Olivia in hopes that rest would give her body a better chance at fighting the infection. I knew I needed to be there — if only to hug Katherine and be by her side. I flew in on a Thursday evening, and the next morning, I drove to Primary Children’s Hospital with my mom, dad, and Daniel. On our way there, my mom received the call. The hospital staff was urging family to come and say their goodbyes.
When we arrived, I barely recognized Katherine and Joel. They looked like ghosts of themselves — exhausted, heartbroken, and hollowed out by worry and grief. But Katherine clung to hope. She told us, with fierce conviction, that Olivia was still fighting and she was going to pull through.
Throughout the morning, more family arrived. Tim, Mary, Aaron, and Kelsie joined us, and we spent much of that time in the Ronald McDonald House family waiting area. My cousin Jenny came, offering quiet support. Olivia was in the ICU, and only a few visitors were allowed in at a time. When my mom and I finally went in, Olivia was still fighting. But the nurses needed the room, so we stepped out. By the time we got another chance to see her, our time was limited — Joel’s sister and her husband had just arrived.
That day is now a blur in many ways, but there are moments burned into my memory forever. I’ll never forget seeing Katherine collapse to her knees, utterly shattered, crying out for her baby girl. Watching her plead for Olivia’s life was the most heart-wrenching thing I’ve ever witnessed. It broke all of us.
As more family gathered, the waiting room grew crowded. A hospital social worker kindly moved us to a quiet, private meditation room where we could be together in peace.
Later that day, after the most impossible decision no parent should ever have to make, Katherine and Joel chose to remove Olivia from life support. That was when we were able to say our final goodbyes. I went in with Aaron, and though much of what I said has faded in the fog of grief, I remember holding Olivia’s hand and telling her how much Carson, Tanner, and Logan loved her. As I said those words, a single tear rolled down her cheek. That was it for me. I broke down and had to turn away, overwhelmed by the weight of it all.
I told her how much the boys loved making her laugh, how much joy she brought to all of us, and I asked her to be our guardian angel now. Saying goodbye to Olivia was, without question, the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
At the same time, Marilyn and JP were on the road, racing to get to the hospital after driving six hours. JP dropped Marilyn off at the doors and rushed up with her to Olivia’s room. They made it just in time — within the final hour. Two minutes after Olivia was removed from life support, she passed away.
She fought with a strength beyond her years. And though her time with us was far too short, the love she gave and the light she brought into our lives will stay with us forever. She's leaving a big hole in our hearts.
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