What The Stats Don’t Show

I don’t think there’s a way to prepare someone’s heart for devastating news such as brain cancer. One minute you’re worrying about school, sports, deadlines, what outfit to wear tomorrow- and the next minute, your world is cracked wide open.
Everything changes. Everything.
Suddenly, texts are filled with updates about MRIs and treatment options instead of weekend plans. Family vacations turn into hospital visits. You watch friends and family try to hold themselves together while carrying a pain no one should ever have to know.
Brain cancer doesn’t just affect the patient who is diagnosed- it steals from their entire family. You watch them become more guarded, tired, and sometimes more distant-not because they don’t care, but because they are surviving. Some days, they don’t want to talk about what they’re going through; others, that’s the obstacle they want to discuss.
And you? You just stand there sometimes, not knowing what to say.
How do you comfort someone whose little sister is fighting for her life? What do you say when your friend’s phone buzzes in class, and you can see the stress in their eyes before they even read the message?
You pray a lot. Sometimes with words, sometimes just with tears. You ask God to heal. You ask Him for comfort. You ask God to restore. And when you don’t know what to ask, you just say “Please, Jesus.” Because you know He can understand the pain, we can’t even speak.
This isn’t the kind of battle you can fight for someone else, but it is one you can walk through with them. You learn that being there in silence is sometimes more powerful than the perfect words. You realize that your presence is what’s important. That love doesn’t always fix the problem, but it does stand by you through the problem.
May is Brain Cancer Awareness Month, but for families going through this, it is not just a month. It is every day: every scan, every surgery, every “we need to talk” meeting with a doctor, every time a ten-year-old has to be brave when they should be riding bikes or having sleepovers.
So I’m speaking up for them, for every patient, for every family and friend affected by this disease, for the ones you don’t see behind the statistics.
Brain cancer isn’t rare when it’s your reality.
And love, faith, and friendship matter more than ever when you feel out of hope.
If you are walking alongside someone in a battle like this, keep showing up, keep praying, and keep loving them without conditions, expectations, or fear.
Because when you can’t heal the hurt, you hold the hand- and that matters more than you know.