A few months ago, I took my boys on a typical playdate. We went to my friend Sabrina’s house and played with her 2.5-year-old son, JP, and 15-month-old daughter, Gia. We had a blast! The boys spent hours chasing each other around the house and playing with trucks while Sabrina and I drank coffee and caught up on life.

Gia, on the other hand, spent pretty much the entire playdate getting into mischief. She kept poking my infant son in the face and, on occasion, would lay on top of him during his tummy time. Also, no matter how many times her mother told her to stay away from the dog’s food, she repeatedly knocked it over, spilling it all over the floor. And, of course, during all these bouts of mischief Gia kept on laughing, thinking she was so funny — which she totally was! I can’t tell you how much her spunky and sassy spirit cracked me up. Sabrina and I laughed at Gia’s antics, but meanwhile, Sabrina expressed concern that Gia had been getting frequent fevers. She thought it could possibly be teething, and I agreed it was probably something simple. At the end of our time together, we made plans for another playdate.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen for quite some time. Two weeks later, Gia was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia.

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Everyone was stunned. I mean, these things happen to other people, but not to me or my friends. I never thought I would know anyone whose child would battle cancer, let alone someone so close to me. I had seen pictures on Facebook of children who were suffering from cancer, but I quickly scrolled on — not because I meant to be insensitive, but because I didn’t want my heart to hurt. I didn’t want to feel sad by looking at pictures of sick children. I soon realized that these weren’t pictures of sick children; these were pictures of someone’s sick child.

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Over the last few months, I’ve learned more about childhood cancer than I ever thought I would. I now understand the terms “neutropenic” and “port” and “induction phase.” I’ve learned what ‘roid rage looks like in a 15-month-old, and I’ve seen a tiny bottle of chemotherapy that fits inside a medicine cabinet. Above all, I’ve learned how leukemia affects an entire family and how we can best support them as they endure the fight of their life:

Remember the parents

It’s very easy to say something insensitive when you don’t know what to say. If you don’t have the right words, you don’t have to say anything at all. Don’t give any cliched platitudes, like, “Everything happens for a reason.” Don’t try to explain why the leukemia developed. Simply offer a hug and say, “I’m so sorry this is happening. I love you, and I’m here for you.” After that, send food, gift cards, uplifting text messages, and all the encouragement you can. These texts or notes may not always be answered, but they make such a difference to help the parents keep their spirits up.

Remember the sibling

This is just as much JP’s journey as it is Gia’s — and this little boy is such a rockstar! He has endured early morning trips to the hospital, and he’s had to go home some days without his mother or his sister. He holds his sister’s hand during her treatments, and he plays with her while she’s getting her infusions. And all of this he does with patience and resilience. There are some treatment rooms that JP cannot go into for risk of infection, and there are many times when he has nothing to do at the hospital. So, if you send gifts to the patient, think of gifts for the sibling, too — activity books, puzzles, DVDs, anything that will help pass the time in the hospital.

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And above all, remember…

She’s still Gia.

Five months after Gia began her treatment, we brought our families back together — and all the children fell back into the same rhythm. The older boys ran off to play while Gia once again poked and prodded my baby. This time around, Gia had no hair on her head. But, after four phases of chemotherapy, multiple surgeries, and countless doses of medicine, she was smiling… as bright as ever!

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Thankfully, Gia is now in remission. However, she still has two years left of treatment to ensure the leukemia doesn’t return, and her family has a long journey ahead. But for now, Gia is a normal 21-month-old little girl who wants to play and learn and explore. And eat macaroni and cheese to her heart’s content.

So please, when you see a picture of a child with cancer, don’t immediately scroll past it. Stop, take a minute, and read their story. Say a prayer or send positive thoughts their way. Yes, their stories are sad and scary, but the strength these children have is nothing short of amazing. They have more strength than perhaps you or I will ever know. Above all, when they smile, it’s big enough to light up the state of Massachusetts. When they find a reason to smile, despite all they’ve endured, that is a joy that knows no bounds.

#FightLikeGia