How Nora’s Strength and His Grace Foundation Helped Us Through the Darkest Days

When Nora turned two, we noticed something wasn’t quite right. She’d always been spunky and full of life, but then she became clingy, tired, and not quite herself. We thought it was just a phase, maybe the ups and downs of toddlerhood.

One August day, as our family was out running errands, Nora began crying in pain, clutching her stomach and saying, “Owie.” It was a sound no parent ever forgets. We rushed her to the ER at Texas Children’s Hospital, but after several hours, they sent us home, saying it was likely just gas.  The next two weeks were terrifying. She was declining quickly, sleeping too much, and refusing to eat or drink. I finally showed up unannounced at her pediatrician’s office, desperate for answers. Within minutes, her doctor ordered a scan. By that evening, our world changed forever.

“There’s a mass in Nora’s abdomen.”

I’ll never forget those words. My husband wasn’t allowed to be with me because of COVID restrictions, so I sat in the waiting room, shaking, trying to process what I’d just heard. Within hours, we were in an ambulance headed to the main campus of Texas Children’s Hospital.  Soon after, we heard the word we didn’t know would become part of our lives: neuroblastoma, a rare and aggressive cancer that had already spread to Nora’s bones and bone marrow. She was just two years old.

The next year was a blur of chemo, surgery, more chemo, and eventually immunotherapy when doctors realized her body wasn’t responding as expected. But nothing scared me quite like a bone marrow transplant. The very idea of it, making her so sick to save her, was almost unbearable.

When we arrived on the transplant floor, it was quiet and heavy. Then I noticed something, a bright, colorful basket sitting in the room. It was from His Grace Foundation.  Nora’s eyes lit up as she tore into it, finding toys, books, and comfort in a space that felt so scary. For me, there were small items that reminded me someone cared about me, too. In that moment, surrounded by beeping machines and hospital gowns, I felt seen.

Even in the isolation of COVID, His Grace Foundation kept showing up. They didn’t let a pandemic stop them from loving families through one of the hardest journeys imaginable. They asked about Nora’s siblings, what they liked, and what they were into, and then delivered personalized baskets to our home for them. It was such a simple act, but it said: You’re not forgotten.  That kind of compassion stays with you forever.

Nora went through two transplants. At one point, we were moved to the ICU in the middle of the night because her vitals had plummeted, and doctors weren’t sure if she’d make it. But she did. She’s our walking miracle.

Today, Nora is seven. She’s in second grade, tumbling through the house, doing gymnastics, and filling our home with laughter. She’s feisty, social, and brave like everything she was before, only now with a strength that defies words.

Our family is forever changed by what we went through, but also by the love we received along the way. His Grace Foundation wasn’t just there for Nora, they were there for us. They helped bring light to the darkest place we’ve ever been.

Now, we do our best to give back because when you’ve seen grace that is tangible, you can’t help but want to share it.

Nora may be her own hero; she used her own stem cells to heal herself, but His Grace Foundation was part of the village that carried us through.