Lori B., OK

My mom contracted COVID-19 shortly after a family vacation in September 2022. Her persistent cough prompted her to make a doctor's appointment, where they discovered a lesion on her lung that required a biopsy. Hours after the procedure, we received the devastating news through her patient portal: cancer.

I remember that day vividly—the fear etched on her face, her tears flowing as we gathered as a family to process the news. We were completely shocked and terrified. A few days later, she was officially diagnosed with stage 1A non-small cell lung cancer. The wait for treatment to begin felt interminable. She started with five rounds of SBRT radiation, but one year post-treatment, the cancer returned with a vengeance, spreading to her lymph nodes, bones, spine and brain. She endured six rounds of whole-brain radiation, 35 rounds of radiation to her chest and neck, and six rounds of chemotherapy.

The lung cancer triggered endocarditis, causing her heart valve to tear into 23 pieces, resulting in 23 strokes. Despite this unimaginable battle, my mom continued to fight. However, on April 5, 2024, at 6:01 a.m., we watched as she took her final breath. I felt her heart stop beneath my hand. In that moment, a part of me died with her. Words cannot capture the void her absence has left in my life.

Following her diagnosis, a dear friend introduced me to Charlie Gagen from the American Lung Association—a connection for which I remain profoundly grateful. I had always hoped that my mom's story and her life would serve a greater purpose.

Cancer stole so much from our family, but it never conquered my mom's radiant smile, dimmed her inner light, diminished her love for her people or prevented her from comforting us even as she was dying. She found profound peace in nature—camping, sitting by the river, listening to crickets at dusk or simply enjoying her morning coffee on the deck. She expressed her love through cooking for her family; her legendary fried onion burgers were unforgettable, and her chicken dishes were so delicious we would playfully fight over the last piece.

My mom's infectious sense of humor lives on through generations. More importantly, she instilled in all of us—family and friends alike—a strong work ethic, boundless love, genuine humility and enduring hope.

Since her passing, I've had the privilege of attending Lung Force Advocacy Day at the Oklahoma State Capitol. On that poignant day, I made a solemn promise to myself: I would dedicate my efforts to making a difference for other families affected by lung cancer. And together, with collective action and compassion, we will be the difference that changes lives.