Noah was a beautiful boy full of laughter and fun. He brought so much joy to my life in his 17 months. He enjoyed dancing to music, books, swimming, and being outdoors. He loved playing with his twin brother, family dog, Elmo, falling asleep to ocean sounds, bananas, sweet potato puffs, and cheese pizza. From his first to final days, his fighting spirit touched the lives of everyone he met.

 
I loved being a mother of twins. Each day there was a new challenge and watching them grow up and play together was fascinating. Even as newborns, their twin’s presence was a source of comfort to each other. They held hands many times while I nursed them, woke up from naps laughing and babbling with each other, swapped toys and seemed to communicate in a way that I did not understand. They were best friends.

 
After their first birthday, Noah started having several ear infections that never cleared up. He had begun to develop a palsy on one side of his face and was admitted to the hospital where they put tubes in his ears.

 
With each medical condition that came Noah developed the worst case scenario. His “ear infection” was diagnosed as mastoiditis which required surgery to remove the bone behind his ear. The doctor called us in the middle of Noah’s surgery to tell us that this was the worst infection he had seen in over 25 years.

 
At that point I had never been so terrified in my life. When the doctor finally came out he said that Noah was OK and that we would look back at this one day and laugh.

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Suspicious cells had developed from the sample they took from his mastoidectomy. Noah had a scan that showed a tumor had developed in his abdomen that had metastasized to other parts of his body. Noah was diagnosed with Stage 4 neuroblastoma. Cancer had never entered my mind as even a remote possibility.

 
Noah was so sick going into his first round of chemo. He did not babble, would not smile, could not sit up on his own or even hold his head up. I was trying to prepare myself that Noah may never get to come home again.


But Noah began to surprise everyone a week after he finished chemo. He could hold his head up on his own and began to sit up with support. He waved bye bye, smiled, fed himself and began playing with toys again. He seemed like his old happy go lucky self. We felt like our prayers had been answered and Noah’s health was turning around.


We took Noah home for several days before his next round of chemo and just seeing his twin was a tremendous help with his recovery. Noah began to sit on his own, crawl and pull himself up. The twins were so happy to be together again. My husband and I were having a hard time with Noah’s diagnosis, but we quickly became adjusted to a “new normal.”

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Noah continued to do well, so we traveled to another hospital to collect cells for a bone marrow transplant several months later. They collected three times the amount needed. This seemed like great news at the time. I was so excited the whole way home. Noah was too. He was dancing and eating cheese pizza for dinner that night, full of smiles and laughter.

 
Just two days later, Noah had a scan that showed the tumor had grown significantly and had developed in many new areas. The oncologists told us that they would not be able to keep Noah alive for much longer. If we continued with chemo, it could speed up his death and would be painful.

 
Tom and I made the choice to stop treatment and not do another round of chemo. We love Noah more than we love ourselves and did not want him to suffer for us in the hope that he may live just a few days longer. The nurses moved us to a conjoining room with a kitchenette and a room that Liam could stay in. Our dog slept at Noah’s feet each night and sat vigilantly by his side during the day. We did art projects using the boys’ hands and feet for keepsakes.

 Noah died 10 days later peacefully in my arms.

Noah