Praying for a Miracle: Cylus’s Fight Against Cancer’s Cruel Grip.1825
This is a vulnerable post — one I never imagined I’d be writing, one I wish with everything in me I didn’t have to share. But silence doesn’t make the pain go away, and updates are part of this journey.
For the past few days, I haven’t been able to find the words. Between hospital halls, test results, and sleepless nights, every ounce of my energy has gone to Cylus.
Today, with a rare moment of stillness, I want to tell you what happened — because he deserves to be seen, prayed for, and lifted by every heart that can hold him.
The past week has been grueling. We had been focusing all of our strength on resolving the kidney stone issue that already left Cylus exhausted and in pain.
We thought that would be the fight of the week. But Sunday night, without warning, our world tilted again in the most terrifying way.
It started during a football game. Cylus woke up, and I noticed something odd — his left eye was closing more slowly than the other.
At first, I wanted to believe it was nothing, maybe just fatigue or irritation. But instinct told me otherwise. We tested him at home, asked him to smile, to blink, to respond. The difference was undeniable. His body wasn’t responding the way it should.
Through Friday and Saturday, he had complained of headaches, left eye pain, and ear pain.
I thought maybe it was sinus pressure or related to everything else going on. But within an hour of waking, the change was undeniable and terrifying: the entire left side of his face had stopped responding.
We didn’t wait. We rushed to the ER, hearts pounding with dread. The possibilities no parent ever wants to hear whispered around their child’s name began swirling: a stroke, a brain bleed, a mass pressing on vital structures.
The CT scans ruled out some of our greatest fears. No stroke. No brain bleed. No obvious spread into his brain. But we were admitted immediately, and within just 24 hours, his face remained paralyzed.
An MRI was ordered, and waiting for those results felt like an eternity. The halls of the hospital seemed quieter than usual, though I know it was my heart amplifying the silence. When the doctors finally came with answers, our lives tilted once more.
Cylus has a new mass. It is at the base of his skull, on the left side, pressing directly on his facial nerve. That is why his face has stopped moving, why his eye, his smile, his expressions are frozen.
And yet — we were told something that gave us both relief and devastation. belive, because the cancer has not spread to his brain, and no new masses beyond this one were found. Devastation, because this mass is new, aggressive, and already wreaking havoc on his body.
We are moving forward with MIBG therapy. It begins tomorrow. Four days of liquid radiation. Four days of isolation.
Four days of watching our boy endure what no child should ever endure, in the hope of buying more time, more life, more hope. The doctors described it as “nuking” his progressing cancer. That word stuck with me — so violent, so raw, and yet so necessary.
I have shared before the traumas Cylus has endured in this journey. He is refractory. His cancer is relentless, progressing despite every effort, every treatment, every prayer we’ve whispered in hospital rooms.
He has endured new lesions in his pelvis and femur. He suffered a knee fracture. He has battled COVID.
He has lived through a kidney stone that would bring an adult to tears. And now, he faces facial paralysis from yet another tumor pressing on nerves that should never have been threatened.
There has been no grief like this. No torment like watching cancer invade your child’s body piece by piece, stripping away their abilities, their smiles, their light — and yet leaving them still fighting, still brave, still somehow your little warrior.
Every day we pray. Every night we beg. Please God, let this work. Please give us this miracle.
We are praying with every fiber of our being. From the depths of our souls, from the rawest corners of our hearts, we are pleading for this treatment to be the one that turns the tide. We are on our knees, not just asking, but crying out: please, let this work.
The truth is, cancer doesn’t just attack the body. It invades every part of life. It steals moments, it robs innocence, it shatters the illusion of safety.
If creates a new normal where parents live by scans, blood counts, and treatment cycles. Where children live with tubes, ports, isolation, and pain. Where families cling to hope as their only lifeline.
And yet, in the middle of all this, there is still light. Cylus is still here. He still laughs at times, even with a face that won’t fully move.
He still holds our hands. He still fights every single day. His courage humbles us. His resilience teaches us. His spirit carries us forward when our own strength falters.
We are not walking this road alone, and we know that. The love from family, friends, and even strangers who have become part of this journey is the only reason we can keep moving.
Every message, every prayer, every donation, every gesture of kindness has been a lifeline. It is not just support — it is survival.
To those who have stood with us, thank you. We could not do this without you. And yet, we must ask again: please keep praying. Please keep believing. Please hold Cylus in your hearts as he begins this next brutal stage of treatment.
Tomorrow begins four days of radiation that will isolate him, weaken him, and terrify us all. But it may also save him. It may buy us more time. It may bring the miracle we desperately need.
I don’t know what the days ahead will look like. I only know that we will keep fighting alongside him. We will keep whispering love into his ears, holding his hands, sitting through the long nights, and believing in the possibility of healing.
Cylus’s story is not over. This is a dark chapter, yes, but it is not the final page. We still believe in light. We still believe in miracles. And we will keep believing until the very end.
So tonight, with a mother’s heart cracked wide open, I ask: please pray for my baby. Please lift his name to God. Please hold us in your thoughts as we walk through this fire once again.
Because at the end of the day, what we want is simple: to see our boy healthy, smiling, and free from this relentless disease. To watch him run again. To see him laugh without pain. To know that his childhood was not stolen entirely by cancer.
Thank you for standing with us. Thank you for loving him, for believing with us, and for reminding us that we are not alone in this fight.
Please God. Please let this work.
A Promise Kept: Father and Son on the Force.1702
A Promise Kept: Officer Gould and His Son’s Journey from Note to Badge
In 1998, a small piece of paper carried a boy’s biggest dream. The handwriting was uneven, the letters pressed with the earnestness only a child can muster. The note was simple, almost ordinary:
“When I get bigger, I’m going to be my dad’s partner and catch bad guys and burglars.”
The words were addressed to his father, Officer Gould—a man whose life was defined by his uniform, his service, and his steady example at home. To his young son, his father wasn’t just a police officer; he was a hero. And for a boy who adored his dad, what could be better than standing beside him, fighting the same battles, protecting the same people?
At the time, no one knew how prophetic those words would become.
Childhood Dreams
Like many children, Gould’s son grew up watching his father prepare for work. The sound of the Velcro on his vest, the shine of the badge, the reassuring way he carried himself—it all left a deep impression. Every goodbye hug before a night shift was laced with unspoken worry, but also with pride.
The boy’s note wasn’t just a passing whim; it was a declaration of love, admiration, and a promise that he wanted to follow the same path. While others dreamed of becoming astronauts or athletes, his dream was rooted in something closer to home: to one day stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his dad.
Life moved forward, as it always does. The note was tucked away, a sweet memory stored in the family’s keepsakes. Years blurred together with birthdays, school projects, teenage milestones, and the inevitable challenges of growing up.
Through it all, Officer Gould remained a steady presence—teaching his son about discipline, kindness, responsibility, and what it really meant to wear a badge. He didn’t push him toward policing. He didn’t need to. The example he set spoke louder than any lecture.
The Dream Comes True
Two decades later, the boy was no longer small. Standing at an impressive 6’7”, he had grown into a man whose determination matched his height. And by 2018, the boy who once wrote a promise had fulfilled it.
On Father’s Day of that year, the Gould family celebrated more than just the bond between parent and child. They celebrated a dream realized. The local police department shared a photo of father and son side by side in uniform—two officers, two partners, one shared legacy.
The image immediately stirred hearts. To anyone outside the family, it was touching. But to Officer Gould, it was a full-circle moment—one of those rare times in life when the past, present, and future converge into something unforgettable. He had spent years guiding, teaching, and protecting his son. Now, here his son stood—not behind him, but beside him, ready to serve, ready to protect.
The recreated photo was more than a sentimental gesture. It was proof of the power of mentorship, the strength of family values, and the quiet way love shapes destiny.
More Than a Job
For Officer Gould, watching his son put on the same uniform brought pride, but also humility. Every parent dreams of seeing their child succeed, but seeing his son choose the same demanding and often dangerous career was a mix of emotions. It meant trust in his father’s footsteps, but also acceptance of the risks that came with them.
And yet, the pride overshadowed the fear. This wasn’t just about tradition—it was about purpose. His son wasn’t wearing the badge to imitate his father; he was wearing it to honor the values his father lived by every day: integrity, service, courage.
For his son, the path wasn’t easy. Police training is grueling. The responsibility is immense. But with every challenge, he carried the memory of that note, the dream he’d held since childhood, and the image of his father walking confidently into each shift.
A Moment of Humor
Amid the gravity of their shared profession, there was laughter too. Standing side by side in uniform, it was obvious that Gould’s son had inherited not only his father’s passion but also a towering frame. At 6’7”, fitting into the patrol car became its own kind of challenge. Jokes spread quickly—how could a man that tall chase down burglars if he couldn’t even fold himself into the front seat?
The humor lightened the moment, reminding everyone that beneath the uniform, they were still father and son—still capable of laughter, still grounded in family.
Legacy and Love
The Goulds’ story resonated far beyond their police department. For many, it was a reminder of the quiet power of family influence. A father who lived his life with dedication inspired a son to do the same. A boy’s childhood promise, scribbled on a note two decades earlier, became reality in the most extraordinary way.
It wasn’t just about policing. It was about legacy—the kind that doesn’t come from wealth or fame, but from love, values, and example. It showed how mentorship isn’t always formal; sometimes it’s simply living in a way that inspires those around you.
The Photo That Said It All
The Father’s Day photo captured more than two men in uniform. It captured time itself—how quickly a boy grows, how deeply a father’s influence can reach, and how powerful it is to see a dream fulfilled.
The original note had been a promise. The photo was its fulfillment. And between the two lay twenty years of love, guidance, sacrifice, and shared life.
For Officer Gould, no award or recognition could match the feeling of that day. To see his son not only wear the badge but also embody the spirit of service was the greatest honor he could imagine. For his son, it was a chance to say, without words: I kept my promise, Dad. I’m right here beside you.
Epilogue
There will always be challenges ahead. Law enforcement is not an easy life. It is marked by long nights, constant risks, and sacrifices that few outside the profession can fully understand. But for the Goulds, those challenges are met together, as father and son, partners in both duty and love.
And somewhere in a family keepsake box, that little note from 1998 still exists—a boy’s handwriting, a child’s wish. A reminder that sometimes, the dreams we scribble in innocence have the power to shape the course of an entire life.
