Last night, Will started telling Jason about all the people he wanted to make sure to see again before leaving for California.
The moment Jason recounted it this morning, his mother immediately understood where Will’s mind had wandered.
The boy returned to the memory of his first friend who had fought alongside him—a friend who had “won” in a different way, a healing in heaven.
It’s always Branson.
Will met Branson at MD Anderson, shortly before the Branson family received news that treatment was no longer effective and they were forced to take him abroad.
From then on, Will always followed and read all the information about Branson.
He often asks, thinks about, and talks about how difficult it would be to leave behind everything he loves.
Far from siblings, family, familiar home, pets, and friends.
Will sees everything from a child’s perspective.
Unlike how adults think.
Adults will do anything to find a miracle.
But a child… only thinks about having to leave behind the things they love.
That’s what broke the mother’s heart.
Will didn’t talk about medication or complicated treatments.
He’s just “planning”.
A plan nobody wants to hear.
He said to Jason, “Just in case you don’t come back.”
A simple statement.
But it was enough to shatter the mother’s world when she heard it again.
She had never considered that possibility before.
Her mind was preoccupied with very “adult” worries.
Where would I live in California?
Do you have enough money to pay for it?
Is it possible to make it to retirement when you’ve used almost all your vacation days?
All things practical, heavy, and with no room for emotion.
Meanwhile, Will’s mind was completely different.
He thought about the possibility of never seeing the people he loved again.
He thought about having to leave his little dog Rebel, and Rocky too.
He thought about his grandmother.
Thinking about not being able to go out onto the road in front of my house to fish on days when I feel well enough.
I can no longer drive my favorite four-wheeled vehicle.
He was no longer allowed to be in his own room, the one filled with the “trophies” he was always so proud of.
Those are all the things that have helped Will stay strong all this time.
Even though my nose was bleeding.
Even though the body vomits as a side effect.
He’s still fighting.
Just to be alive.
The mother began to feel scared.
If Will no longer has the things he loves… will he still have the motivation to keep fighting?
What if the people who have been with us from the beginning are no longer around…
If I no longer had close friends like Brock and Cooper…
Will will still fight as fiercely as before.
A mother’s thoughts keep swirling in her mind.
No way out.
She shared all of that because everything had changed so quickly in just one day.
It happened so fast that no one had time to prepare.
A real tornado.
And in the midst of that whirlwind, something miraculous happened.
The medicine they’ve been waiting for… is finally here.
That’s half the miracle.
But that’s still not enough.
They still need another miracle—FDA approval so the drug can be used right where they live.
The mother didn’t want to uproot the whole family, didn’t want to leave everything behind just for a chance at life.
She knew that many other families were also walking this path.
And no one should have to sacrifice everything like that.
Doctors in California sent emails.
They announced that a quantity of medication had been “miraculously” allocated, enough to begin treatment for Will immediately.
April 24th.
The email stated: if possible, please be present on April 27th.
Just three days.
Three days to prepare for a journey that could last years.
Book your flight tickets.
Pack your luggage in a way that makes it light enough to board the plane.
But it also means carrying a whole life with you.
The moment she saw the email, the mother’s heart soared to the clouds.
The mountains, which seemed immovable, have begun to shift.
But then, the mood plummeted to rock bottom.
These trips are no longer like they used to be.
It’s not a trip to MD Anderson and then back home after another surgery.
This time it’s on the other side of the country.
Treatment three times a week.
For three consecutive weeks.
Then take a week off.
And repeat.
It could last for years… if this really is a miracle drug.
No more 10-hour round-trip bus journeys.
There is no longer a “home” in the familiar sense.
Tears began to fall from the mother’s eyes as she told Jason they only had three days left.
He needs to book the tickets right away.
Will looked at his mother and said, “Mom, I think this is something to be happy about.”
That’s right.
That’s something to be happy about.
But it’s also too big to handle in a single moment.
The mother told Will that she didn’t think things would change so quickly.
She needs time to accept it.
To understand.
To confront it.
Then things started to change again.
They won’t be coming on Monday anymore.
Instead, Will had to go to the clinic as usual to check if he was fit to travel.
Nosebleeds remain a significant risk.
The platelet count needs to be increased.
Will’s doctor sent an email.
She collaborated with doctors in California to develop the safest possible plan.
She asked all the necessary questions.
She didn’t miss anything.
Because she genuinely cared.
She loves this family.
And especially Will.
She said she wanted to see Will survive.
That a miracle is entirely possible.
They have now reached one-third of the miracle.
They had access to the medication.
The next step is to push for the drug to be approved and available for immediate use in the home country.
And above all… the greatest miracle.
Life.
The mother admitted she was very scared.
A fear that cannot be named.
She couldn’t stop crying.
Even though I know I “should” feel happy.
But so many unknowns lie ahead.
Too much risk.
Too many trade-offs.
The idea of the Roberts family living in Santa Monica… still seems too far-fetched.
It’s too hard to imagine.
But amidst all of that, one thing remains constant.
Will is still fighting.
There’s still hope.
Still holding on to every moment of life.
And for him, the most important thing…
This is not where you’re going.
But the question is whether the people you love are still by your side.
