My name is Brandi, and I’m writing this with a heaviness I can barely describe. Today, my family heard the words no one is ever prepared for: my mom has 6 months to a year left. Her doctor told us the treatments aren’t helping anymore. The oxaliplatin has been brutal — tearing her down faster than the cancer itself. After days of prayer, tears, and facing the truth none of us wanted to face, she made the heartbreaking decision to stop that part of treatment. She will continue Panitumumab and her chemo pills, but those will only slow things down. They won’t save her.



And now, with the time she has left, she wants one thing. Not comfort. Not luxury. Not a vacation or a bucket‑list dream. She wants togetherness. Her final wish is to go to California to see my sister Autumn and her family. We are trying to get my brother there too, along with his daughter — my mom’s granddaughter — so she can have every one of her children and every one of her grandchildren in the same place, at the same time, while she still can.



But there is another layer to this that makes it even harder: She cannot fly. Her risk of blood clots is extremely high, and her doctor made it clear that flying is simply too dangerous for her. That means we have to drive her — across states, across hours, across her exhaustion — because it is the only safe way to get her there. She isn’t asking for comfort. She isn’t asking for ease. She isn’t asking for anything except the chance to see her family whole one last time.



I work part‑time at a front desk job, and it barely covers my bills. There is no extra money for travel, lodging, gas, or the costs of getting everyone together. And yet this is the only thing she asks for. The only thing she talks about. The only thing her heart is holding onto as her body grows weaker. We are running out of time to give her this.



Any support to help us fulfill my mom's final wish would mean the world to our family. Thank you for reading and considering a donation.