President + Director

I met Katie’s mom, Amanda, more than 14 years ago. Our husbands were deployed together when my oldest was born, so Amanda became my “person”.  I had only been to one Lamaze class before my tiny baby decided to show up 6 weeks early. I told Amanda I was fine to have a baby by myself, and I would’ve been, but she insisted on staying anyway. I’m so glad she did. Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is just show up. 

Once you witness someone birth a baby, I think you are basically required to be family at that point.  So. We are family by default, and Courage for Katie is family by extension.    

When Katie was first diagnosed in 2015, I knew immediately that I would use “all my power for good”, as Amanda shared years later at Katie’s funeral. There was not a mountain I wouldn’t move. Not just for Katie, either; there have been many families over the last decade that just needed someone to show up. Thankfully, the Courage for Katie community always delivers - no matter what the ask is. 

long live all the mountains we moved

I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you

Katie’s mom

“I don’t know how you’re doing it.”

The short answer is, I don’t either.

The long answer is, I don’t feel like I am.

From the outside, it looks like I’m doing it. To my friends and the acquaintances I interact with, I am doing it. I went back to work. I cheered my kids through an entire summer swim season. I drove across the country with my best friend and her two dogs. I started running again.

From the inside….I’m not even sure where to begin. I slept in Katie’s bed for two weeks after she died. I’m still sleeping with her blanket. I struggle with vivid flashbacks of the last 24 hours of her life. I get them almost every night. I wake Joshua up in the middle of the night so he can hold me while I cry, and sometimes hyperventilate. I’m taking two medications for depression and anxiety.

In the physical sense, I am showing up for my kids. I suppose I am “doing it”. It just doesn’t feel like it to me. The guilt is overwhelming. Every single emotion is followed with guilt of some kind. Most days I feel like a failure.

I miss her. One of the things that I typically say to Joshua while I’m crying is, “I don’t want to be in a place where she isn’t.” Then the guilt of….why can’t I want to be where THEY are.

All of this to say….it’s harder than it looks. Some days it feels like it would be easier to just swim down. Im doing it because I have to. You might not know how, but you would do it too. I promise.

And I feel like my castle's crumbling down

And I watch all my bridges burn to the ground

And you don't want to know me

I will just let you down

You don't wanna know me now

Katie’s dad

I think about her everyday, wondering everything a father could possibly wonder about a daughter. The memories I have are it. There will be no new ones, ever. No sharing the joys, or sadness she would have experienced. That sucks. Instead, we celebrate her and strive to give the children and families that share her fate the opportunity to make the memories they can hold and cherish in her honor.

We were hesitant [to start a nonprofit] at first. After thinking about it more than we should, we know THIS, is the next chapter. It's our turn to support the families that hear the unimaginable words "your child has cancer".