Lift Will’s Spirit

Let me introduce our little family. I’m Charlotte — just Mum to two amazing children. My son Will is 14, and my daughter Eden is 8.

Will has an inoperable brain tumour. It’s buried deep in the centre of his brain, in a place doctors simply can’t reach. It’s caused pressure on his brain, stolen the sight in his left eye, and taken the peripheral vision in his right. But it hasn’t taken his spirit.

Will was just six years old when he was first diagnosed, back in 2017. Eden was only a few months old — still in baby grows — when our world changed forever. What followed was 22 long, exhausting months of chemotherapy. He finished treatment in January 2019.

Unless you’ve lived it, it’s impossible to fully understand what chemotherapy does to a child — or to a family. It changes everything. Will was immune-deficient and had to be shielded from the everyday world — from friends, school, birthday parties, hugs, even fresh air some days. A simple cold could mean days in hospital. Chickenpox could turn into life-threatening sepsis. It was isolating, frightening, and relentless.

But somehow, we got through it. In early 2019, we heard the words we had been praying for — the tumour had stopped growing. We got six beautiful years of calm, of normality. We had birthdays, Christmases, family walks — just ordinary days made extraordinary by how fragile and precious they felt. We thought, maybe, just maybe, we’d outrun it.

But in April this year — 2025 — we were told the tumour has started growing again. And worse still, it is infecting other areas. It has travelled around Will’s brain and spine using the cerebral fluid, leaving nodules in its path, a membrane that should not be there. Once again, we are facing chemotherapy to stabilise the tumour again and attack the membrane — this time, 74 weekly doses.

He has completed four so far.

We are right back at the beginning of an enormous mountain. Except now, Will isn’t six — he’s 14. And while the fight is still brutal, the emotional weight is heavier now. At 14, he just wants to be a teenager — to blend in, to laugh with friends, to feel normal. Instead, he’s losing his hair, missing school, navigating low moods, avoiding germs, managing a strict diet, and bracing for weekly hospital visits, needles, and exhaustion.

It’s devastating to watch. But still — he shows up. He smiles. He cracks jokes with nurses. He hugs his little sister when she’s sad and comforts me when I’m struggling. He is the bravest soul I know. And I don’t say that just as his mum — ask anyone who’s met him. Will is remarkable.

He’s already been told that he’ll be granted a Wish after treatment ends. And true to who he is, he hasn’t thought once about what he wants — instead, he’s been dreaming up the perfect Wish for Eden. That’s the kind of brother he is. That’s the kind of boy he is.

I’m setting up this GoFundMe because I want to give something back to him. To them. I want Will to have days out when he’s feeling well. I want him to experience laughter and joy in the spaces between treatments. And when this is all over — when we’ve climbed this mountain again — I want to take them on a holiday. Something special. Something they’ll never forget. Something full of life, colour, and memories — the kind we all need to hold on to after living through the darkest days.

Will is due to finish treatment just before sitting his GCSEs. I can’t imagine a more deserving reason to get away and breathe.

I won’t pretend this is easy to ask. Like many of you, I dream of giving my kids the world on my own. I wish I didn’t need to ask for help — but right now, I do. Because this isn’t just about a holiday. It’s about hope. It’s about giving Will something to look forward to on the hardest days. It’s about reminding Eden that even though she’s not the one in hospital, her world has changed too — and she matters just as much.

If you’ve read this far, thank you — truly. If you feel moved to donate, I can’t thank you enough. And if all you can do is share this, that means the world, too.

From our family to yours — thank you, thank you, thank you. We’re not at the top of the mountain yet, but with love, support, and a little help, we’ll get there.

With all my heart,

Charlotte