On October 26th, 2010, at 9 weeks old, Phoebe Rose was diagnosed with high risk MLL + Infantile Leukemia. On November 18th 2015 , she took her last breath. This is her story of hope and love in the face of cancer and despair. Phoebe always brought the joy and continues to inspire us to make a difference. It is best read from the beginning. Thank-you for visiting.

Monday, August 7, 2017

Happy 7th Birthday Phoebe

Phoebe's seventh birthday is tomorrow. Instead of blowing up balloons and decorating the house in anticipation of my sweet seven year old Phoebe waking up in the morning, today I planted flowers at her grave and tomorrow we will have her favourite foods, release balloons, and search for a sign that she knows how much she is loved and missed. My heart aches.

I wish I could watch her grow. I wish I knew what kind of cake she would want me to bake. I wish I could see her blow out the candles. I wish Mae and Penny could have their sister. I wish. I wish. I wish.

I wonder often what she would be like. How tall would she be? Would she be riding a bike without training wheels? Would she still love the beach? Would she like school and be excited for grade 2? Would she have the same favourite foods? Would she still like us to put her to bed? What kind of books, music and movies would she like? Would she still love to dance? Would she help feed and change Penny? What would her and Mae talk about for hours at bedtime?

This grief is harder and heavier than I ever could have imagined. There is a constant and dull ache, but some times it hurts so much I can barely stand it. Like a relentless storm, it wakes me up in the middle of the night or stops me in the middle of the day. It leaves me breathless, broken, and longing for just one more moment with Phoebe. Just one conversation - I have so much to tell her. One cuddle. One moment just to hear her laugh. Once moment to hear her voice. One chance to tell her how much we love her and miss her. One chance to tell her that we would have done anything to save her and we tried as hard as we could.

In the absence of these moments, I plant flowers, search for signs, release balloons, light candles, and celebrate the birth of my sweet Phoebe Rose. She came into this world fierce, strong, and determined and that day is one of the happiest and best days of my life. I can still remember every single moment and in many ways it feels like it was yesterday. I am so grateful that I got to be Phoebe's mom, even if we only had 5 years. I soaked up the beauty and the feistiness of Phoebe and I took none of it for granted. I wish with everything I have that we could have watched her grow up and it still feels impossible that we can't.

And so, on this second birthday without our precious Phoebe we will hold Mae and Phoebe's baby sister Penny close and do what we can to honour Phoebe's life. What Phoebe went through is not okay, it never will be, but we are working hard to make things better for other kids and families who are affected by childhood cancer. I think Phoebe would be proud.

Spread some love and kindness in honour of our sweet Phoebe tomorrow and share your random acts of kindness with us on social media. We would love to know that people smiled and were happy on Phoebe's birthday.

Let's start a movement of kindness, love and HOPE in memory of Phoebe.

And, if you would like to join us to golf on August 12th - it's not too late to sign up and we still have room for golfers. It's going to be an amazing day and all funds raised will fund childhood cancer research and help us fulfill our promise to Phoebe - to make it okay. For more information please visit www.phoeberoserocks.com

"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces I would still plant my apple tree". Martin Luther.

We love you so much, Phoebe.











Tuesday, June 20, 2017

While buying groceries yesterday, the cashier and I started talking about how close it is to school getting out for the summer. 

It was hot yesterday and I probably looked tired. She looked at me and said, I bet mom isn't looking forward to school ending. Then; well you just have the one and a baby, so you won't have kids fighting. I have three all grown up, she said, and they always fought. 

Oh, how I miss my feisty Phoebe. 

I smiled and said that I can't wait for school to get out for the summer. That I love having my kids at home. She said - well I bet you won't be saying that in August. I smiled again, but this time said nothing. She looked at me, again noticing the baby I was carrying, and said that waiting to have kids so far apart was smart. No fighting, she said again.  

I smiled again, but on the inside, I was screaming. I wanted to tell her that I have three kids too. That I didn't wait. That I had it perfect once. I wanted to tell her all about Phoebe. How she should be 6, but instead I just smiled and pretended everything is okay. 

I miss Phoebe so much. I miss her feisty personality. I miss her laugh. I miss her little voice. I miss how she felt in my arms. I miss every single thing about her. I wanted this woman to know that I would do anything to have it perfect again. That even fighting, tired out from summer, frustrated kids, are perfect if they are here and healthy. That we shouldn't take anything for granted. 

It has been a long time since I have posted a blog. We are still here and "we" are now 5. Mae and Phoebe have a baby sister named Penelope. 

Little Penny (that's what we call her) is a bundle of happiness and laughter and she brightens our days. She is like a ray of sunshine and she reminds us to look for the joy, just as her big sister Phoebe would have wanted. It is so nice to see Mae's face light up with pure happiness and love again. Penny looks just like Phoebe, but also like Mae. She has Phoebe's wise eyes and Mae's big smile. 

Learning that I was pregnant brought a huge range of emotions - mostly joy, but also sadness. Perhaps the hardest part was knowing that Penny will never get to meet her big sister Phoebe. She will know her, we will make sure of that, but it will be through photographs, stories and videos. I know that Phoebe would have been a wonderful and attentive big sister - I imagine her laughing like crazy at some of the things Penny does and it breaks my heart again and again that she was never given a chance. 

As we waited for Penny's arrival, Jon and I completed the impossibly hard task of emptying Phoebe's drawers and closet. Phoebe shared a room with Mae, but her clothes and things were always in the playroom. Packing her little things into boxes and bins was heart crushing and so much harder than I imagined. It took months. We came across clothes and toys that brought back beautiful and happy memories, but many of the clothes in her drawers were never worn; they were size 5 dresses, shirts and pants tucked away in anticipation of the return of a little girl that never came. 

We miss her so very much. 

The thought that Phoebe should/would be turning 7 in August takes my breath away. How can that be when I still can't believe she's gone? I wonder what she would be like. What music would she sing along to? How tall would she be? She seems so far away, yet I think of her multiple times a day. I worry that my memories of her are getting blurry - that one day I will no longer be able to close my eyes and see her perfect face or hear her laughter. I worry that as time marches on, she will slip farther away, and because of this I feel like I lose her over and over again, every single day. 

I now understand why people say that the second year is harder than the first. The numbness has faded and has left behind a desperate need to keep Phoebe close; to keep her from slipping away even more. We live in the past because this is when Phoebe was here, but as more time passes, it becomes harder. Life just doesn't allow this and so we straddle the here and now with the time when we had Phoebe. As the world and everyone around us keeps moving forward, Phoebe remains forever five years old. The things she will never see or do just keep adding up and each one breaks my heart. They each represent something else we have lost and at times the loss and ache is constant. 

And so, we do something everyday to honour and remember Phoebe. We talk about her. We laugh. We hold Mae and Penny close and love to watch them thrive and grow. We work to fulfill our promise to Phoebe; to make it okay.

In April, the Phoebe Rose Rocks Foundation became recognized by Revenue Canada as an official registered charity. Our mission and goal is to fund promising childhood cancer research, specifically research of cancers that have a low prognosis, while supporting families who need to travel for treatment. We have big plans and have been working hard. We are partnering with Childhood Cancer Canada to fund a national research grant competition that will focus on hard to treat cancers. The cureless. We want to drive research into areas that have seen little progress. We are volunteer driven, which makes it possible for us to give all that we raise, and we are still fueled by hope, only now our hope is for other families. We wish nothing more than for no other family to feel the pain we feel everyday. 

Our second annual golf tournament is coming up on August 12th at Mont Cascades golf course in Cantley, Quebec. We are busy planning a great tournament, we have amazing prizes (like 2 return tickets to any WestJet destination), and all funds raised will be matched by Childhood Cancer Canada. An incredible oppurtunity for us to double our impact.

Please join us. Tell a friend. Help us make a difference. There is strength in numbers. 

To register to golf or sponsor a hole please visit: 

https://golfmontcascades.golfems2.com/event/phoebe-rose-rocks-foundation-second-annual-tournament















Monday, November 7, 2016

One year

On Friday, we will have spent an entire year without our precious Phoebe. A year. I'm still not sure how this is possible. I still think I must be having a nightmare. I still expect to see her, hug her, hear her voice - I still look for her everywhere.

Yet, we get up everyday and greet the day. We take good care of Mae and love her with everything we have. We honour Phoebe's life and legacy with everything we do. We put one foot in front of the other despite how painful and exhausting this can be. We look for the joy, as Phoebe taught us. We have come to understand that our hearts will never fully heal, but in those places where we are broken, I imagine that the great big love we have for Phoebe is building pathways around this pain, helping us to breathe in and out, and find our way. I know that Phoebe would want exactly this. 

As time passes, the reality that Phoebe is not here has become painfully clear and because of this, at times, the grieving process is so much harder. The reality that, in this lifetime, we will never see Phoebe again, never hear her sweet voice in the present, hold her, kiss her, hug her, listen to her wise stories, watch her grow, and hear her beautiful laugh - is unbelievably hard to accept. How is this possible? I can't accept it. I will live with this reality, but I will never accept that I don't get to watch Phoebe grow up with all of the beauty, chaos, and worry that would surely come with this. I would do anything to be given the gift of seeing the beautiful person Phoebe would become, year after year. I would do anything to argue with my teenage Phoebe. I would do anything for just one more day. 

This year has allowed us a lot of time to think. I have learned that grief is not a neat little package of stages that we work through to a conclusion of acceptance and then move on. I have learned that losing a child is not something that can be overcome, rather it is a weight that can only be carried. It is a lifetime of missed moments and within those moments; heartache. I imagine and I hope that I will get better at carrying this weight, but I know that, for as long as I live, every occasion or moment that Phoebe is missing from, everything, be it Christmas, birthdays, first days of school, walks to the park, bike rides, bed time, Halloween, days at the beach, or just simple mealtimes - her absence, and this weight, are simply unbearable. 

As the date of Phoebe's death approaches, I am overwhelmed with flashbacks to those finals days, moments and hours. The last night we spent together. The last week. Phoebe's last breath. Moments of heart shattering desperation and helplessness. Moments of clarity and peace. Moments that no parent or child should have to endure. I wonder if we could have done more. I worry that we didn't do enough. I wish we had more time. We had been hearing terrible news regarding Phoebe's health for years. We had many talks with doctors about end of life before it was our time, that when it was Phoebe's time, we were very much in the dark. Everyone in the ICU knew that Phoebe was dying, except us. We still believed and hoped and prayed for one more day. We even tried to get Phoebe home, but in the end - just like everything else - Phoebe left us on her terms. 

We miss her every single day. Every moment. She is present in everything we do, yet her absence is profound and painful. She is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time and it often takes my breath away.

Mae talks about her love for Phoebe and her sadness every single day. At bedtime, she wishes out loud for Phoebe to come back - even if just in her dreams. She worries and wonders if Phoebe is okay. She talks to Phoebe and hears her voice and despite her sadness, despite all of our sadness - we continue to look for and choose joy and hope. Phoebe would want exactly this. 

On November 18th (and every day because the world needs it) please spread some extra love and kindness in honour and memory of our sweet Phoebe. Surprise strangers with a random act of kindness, tell them Phoebe sent you and ask them to pay it forward. We would love for you to share your kind acts with us on facebook or twitter @phoeberoserocks. Say Phoebe's name, share her story. Give the best gift and sign up to donate blood. Make a donation to childhood cancer research - you can give to our run for St.Jude at http://fundraising.stjude.org/site/TR/Heroes/Heroes?px=2109846&pg=personal&fr_id=59186

Hug your kids and your loved ones - hug them tight and then hug them again. Never miss an opportunity to tell those you love just that. Be thankful. 



Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Gold on the Hill

I was asked to share Phoebe's story at the 4th annual Gold on the Hill event for Childhood Cancer Awareness. Here is what I said ... 

I have thought a lot about what to tell you today. In October 2010, my daughter, Phoebe, was diagnosed with infant leukemia. I wondered - should I tell you all of the shocking statistics surrounding childhood cancer? That it is the leading cause of disease related death of our kids, yet receives only 3% of federal funding? Should I explain that there are children in Canada who are sent home on hospice because they are unable to access clinical trials out of province? Should I describe how financially, emotionally and physically devastating a childhood cancer diagnosis is on a family? I thought that instead, I would tell you about Phoebe - her story and her life, because they speak volumes to how we need to do better for children with cancer in Canada. 

Phoebe was 9 weeks old when she was diagnosed and we were told that she had a 15% chance of surviving her disease and harsh treatment. Imagine knowing that your baby's chances of dying far, far outweigh those that she will survive. It was, and will always be, completely devastating. 
 
But, we believed that Phoebe would be okay and we promised to do everything possible to save her. Phoebe's treatment was 6 months of mostly high dose chemotherapy - spent entirely in the in patient unit at CHEO, and a bone marrow transplant at SickKids. We spent a total of 9 months in-patient at the hospital and by the time we were finished with transplant, Phoebe was completely tube fed, she had lost the ability to sit up by herself or bear weight on her legs. She completely lost her voice – but through it all she smiled, and we believed that this was her cure. That it would all be worth it in the end.  
 
10 days after we returned home from SickKids, we learned that Phoebe had relapsed. The cancer was back and she was given weeks to months to live. We were told at this time that there was nothing else we could do and we were advised to bring Phoebe home and keep her comfortable.
 
This was in 2011 and Phoebe was about to celebrate her first birthday. For the first time, I think we realized just what we were up against. High risk infant leukemia has very few, if any, long term post transplant relapse survivors. There was simply no data, no research, nothing to suggest that she could be cured, but we were desperate to try. We still believed that she would be okay. 
 
We found one clinical trial in Toronto and traveled back to SickKids. We were so weary and the idea of putting Phoebe through more treatment after what the chemotherapy had done to her tiny body was daunting, but our doctor described this new trial as exciting – he said the drug was targeted, gentle, and promising and that was all we needed to move forward. Phoebe would be the first Canadian child to receive this investigational drug - a first in its class immunotherapy, and unlike chemotherapy, she experienced no side effects. It rid her body of 60% of disease - not enough enough as 30% remained, but to us it was a success. It gave us hope and it opened our eyes to how important and game changing targeted and immunotherapy therapy is.
 
This drug and this point in Phoebe’s journey is also pivotal because it marks the very last time we were able to access or receive any innovative treatment in Canada. This was in 2011.
 
We moved on from SickKids and traveled to St.Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis - a unique hospital in the US where treatment is provided without question to families who don't have insurance coverage. Phoebe received another clinical trial, not offered in Canada, using Natural Killer cells and an innovative transplant with cells harvested from me. Both were successful and she remained in complete remission for over a year.

When Phoebe relapsed a second time, we were at home in Ottawa. We had started to put our lives back together and Phoebe had learned to walk, run, jump, ride a tricycle, sing and talk non stop. CAR-T cell therapy was being developed in the US and we applied to OHIP for funding and were promptly denied. At the time this treatment was being heralded as the breakthrough cure for leukemia, but we weren’t able to access it. Instead, we returned to St.Jude where Phoebe received another clinical trial and she remained in remission for 18 months.
 
Phoebe learned to ride a bike with training wheels, we enrolled her in kindergarten, and for the first time in 4 years, I retuned to work as a teacher.
 
When Phoebe relapsed for a third time, our heart ache and devastation turned to pure fear. We had tried so many things. We were terrified we would lose her, but when we looked at her she was a picture of health. She had no symptoms of disease, her blood work was perfect. For once we had caught it early. Hope prevailed when we realized that for the first time there was a treatment being developed that was targeted to Phoebe’s very specific type of leukemia. This was a first of its kind therapy for a disease that has seen no advances in treatment or surivial rates in over 15 years. It was only available in the US, but SickKids was trying to open it. We applied for funding from OHIP – explaining that this was Phoebe’s only option, that it was targeted to her disease, that Phoebe simply couldn’t wait for it to open in Canada, that research into this disease is crucial – and we were denied.
 
I remember feeling completely helpless, deflated, desperate. How could this be happening? We were told that OHIP, and this is true for every provincial health insurance policy, will not cover any treatment that is considered experimental despite how promising this treatment may be. This also means that Canadian kids cannot access treatment on early phase clinical trials within Canada if the trial is outside of their home province. We asked every single person we know to write a letter to their MPP, and Ontario’s Minister of Health. Many people who are here today wrote letters. It took almost 3 months, countless letters, interviews on CBC with Phoebe’s doctor from CHEO, more media coverage, and some behind the scenes work and finally we heard that the treatment would be approved and we were covered to travel to Denver.
 
For us, however, that 3 months wait changed everything. It impacted our lives and created waves of complications that we would never overcome. Phoebe was no longer a picture of health with perfect blood work. She relied on blood and platelets to survive and she developed pneumonia due to a weak immune system overrun with leukemia. She began the clinical trial fragile and weak and it didn’t work.
 
When we left Denver and headed back to Memphis and St.Jude to begin another clinical trial, the pneumonia that Phoebe had developed followed us and she suffered more lung infections. The clinical trial was successful and Phoebe was in remission, but we had no choice but to stop treatment and the leuekemia returned.
 
We tried many other clinical trials and chemotherapy at St. Jude to keep the leukemia at bay. We were desperate for more time, but we were never able to make it home again. Phoebe died in the ICU at St.Jude on November 18th 2015. The ripple effects caused by a broken health care system followed us and we were always months behind. We missed a spot in the only curative transplant therapy by two months. It is an incredibly heavy and hard burden to bear and we will never truly know how things could have been, but I do know that if Canada had a system in place to allow children like Phoebe timely access to out of country and out of province treatment on clinical trials – it would have made a difference. No child should be left to wait for treatment as their disease rages out of control. No child should be denied access to treatment when this treatment may extend their life or possibly cure, and geography should never play a role in cancer therapy. It is simply unethical. Parents should not have to enlist the help of every single person they know to gain access to therapy. It should not be a fight, because we all know that when your child or loved one has cancer – there is too much fight already.
 
Phoebe was a joy to be around, smart as anything and so wise, she found light where many only saw darkness – but having cancer as a child, she made clear to us – this was not okay.  I can still hear her little feisty voice telling us “this is not okay” and I can hear her asking us to “make it okay”.
 
Ours is an incredibly sad story and I thank you for listening. But it is also a story of hope. It is a story of a little girl who believed that anything is possible and her family that believed right a long with her. It is a story of research, progress, and innovation – a story of what can happen when we all work together. Phoebe was given a terminal diagnosis in Canada in 2011 because there simply was nothing available here to help her. She lived four and a half years past this diagnosis thanks to research, clinical trials in the US, and a lot of advocacy. This meant that Phoebe was able to celebrate 5 birthdays, not just 1. she learned to read, swim, ride a bike, she went camping and to her favorite beach. Her big sister will remember her. We had 5 years and although this will never be enough, it is something.
 
The Canadian government directs just 3% of funding to childhood cancer research and Phoebe’s story – this is what 3 % looks like.,
 
When Phoebe was here, we used to say that we would “shout it from the rooftops” – we shouted from the rooftops that she was cured when we were so very happy to have good news. And then, as it became clear to us that there was no cure, we shouted from the rooftops the sheer injustice of it all. Then Phoebe died and our shouts became whispers, pleading with the world to just make it okay. And now that Phoebe is not here, we try as best as we can to continue to shout it from the rooftops that we must do better for our kids, but we need your help. As we learned from Phoebe’s journey and our massive letter writing campaign – we are so much stronger together.
 
Please remember what you have heard here today. Remember our kids and their stories. Take them with you and tell your friends, your family, your elected officials, your neighbours. Shout it from the rooftops that we need to do all we can to as Phoebe would say "make it okay". 

Thank-you. 
 
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Mae's letter to the Prime Minister

Months ago, Mae decided she wanted to write to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau to invite him to Gold on the Hill, the childhood cancer awareness event held annually on Parliament Hill. This year's Gold on the Hill will be on Saturday September 17th at 6pm.

Mae sat down and wrote. She poured her heart out and we talked a lot about Phoebe. The letter she crafted is beautiful and completely heartbreaking and we are so proud of her for sharing her pain and her love so openly.

The letter has been shared almost 1000 times on Facebook. It reached the Prime Minister's director of communications and many people wrote to their MPs to ask their help in making sure it reached the Prime Minister. 

We have since received a call from the Prime Minister's office and although the PM is unable to attend the event, he has offered to speak with Mae on the phone and his office has offered their help with the event. Mae is anticipating this call and has many things she would like to say. She is proud of what she has accomplished in memory of Phoebe and if you ask her she will tell you, that "it's not okay that Phoebe only got five years with us". 

Progress, thanks to little Mae and her big,  beautiful heart that is so full of love and longing for her sister, Phoebe.






Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Phoebe should be turning 6 this Monday. She should be blowing out candles, opening presents, and inviting her friends over to run through the sprinkler and play with her new toys. She should be racing her bike up and down the street, running to keep up with Mae, and laughing until her belly hurts. She should be helping her Daddy make her favorite foods and picking out the most complicated birthday cake. She should be getting ready for grade 1. She should be here, but she's not.

Instead of planning a party and loving every minute of it, we struggle with how to mark this very special day. How do you celebrate a birthday for a child that is so loved but not here? How do we honour and celebrate Phoebe's life? How do we let her know that she is loved beyond measure and missed every single moment? How do we include Mae in all of this and hold back tears? How do we make it joyful when all I want to do is pull the covers up and cry.

We miss her so much. 

How do you parent a child who has died? I struggle with this every day. I struggle with the need to be Phoebe's mom, to care for her, to mother her even though she is not physically here. And while this is true, to me she is here in every other sense. She is here in my thoughts, my heart, my life. She is mine and I am hers and that will never change. And so, I mother her. I keep her things safe. I carefully frame and display her artwork. Photographs of her fill every room of our home. We plan to create a garden for her, complete with a carved stone by her Daddy. We plant trees. Her drawings still hang on the fridge, like she just created them. I imagine her lying on her tummy with her legs in the air - coloring and drawing. I picture her standing tall against the door frame to see how much she's grown. I imagine her telling stories and singing songs with Mae. She is present in our lives, in our house - but then she's not. She is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I tend to the plants at her graveside - I water them and after I do, I sit down and talk to Phoebe. Sometimes I sing to her. Sometimes I read. To some this may seem crazy, some people tell us we should move on, but there is no moving on from this and to me, all of this is all I can do to keep from going crazy. We spent every single moment with Phoebe while she was here. We did not leave her side. We relished every second we were able to be with her. Now that she is gone,  we still need to be with her, but we struggle with how. 

We started the Phoebe Rose Rocks Foundation (we are almost all set up with approval from Revenue Canada) so that we can help other families, because no one should ever suffer like Phoebe did, because we need a cure, because Phoebe asked us to "make it okay", but truly I also started it because I need Phoebe's legacy - her life and her memory, to continue. It is another way that I can parent my child who should be here, but is not. 

This new life we have is so hard. It's painful. Each day we wake up with the realization that Phoebe is really gone. Sometimes at night, when Phoebe visits me in my dreams, I can imagine for a brief moment that she's here. I soak in this moment, but then, the sun comes up and I am hit hard with the painful reality that she's not. She should be, but she's not. 

Grief is heavy and hard and it fills every space. Every single crack. It is all encompassing and keeping it in check is exhausting. I spend most of my days pretending that everything is okay. It's not. How could it possibly be okay? No one wants to hear stories of children with cancer and when people ask that innocent question of how many children we have - no one is expecting - two, one should be here, but she died. And so, on the outside we are "fine". We ride bikes with Mae, we play at the park and shop for groceries - we need to do this because the world just keeps turning, but on the inside we ache. I ache physically and emotionally from the sheer effort of pretending. My body literally hurts. My heart hurts. I can't catch my breath. I fight back tears.

And so, this Monday August 8th there will be no excited little girl anxious to start her day as a 6 year old. Phoebe will not instruct us on what she would like for her birthday breakfast and dinner. Instead we will prepare her favourite foods knowing so well that sushi, bean salad and pulled pork will never be the same. We will honour our sweet girl however, like we do every day. We will honour her memory and her life and we will continue to do all we can to make it better.

We will do as Phoebe taught us and look for the joy. We will surround ourselves with the quiet and peace of nature with the hopes of finding our girl. And of course there will still be joy because Mae wouldn't have it any other way and because joy is always found in the memories we cherish of our sweet Pheebs. 

But we will never be the same.

Thank-you to everyone who has sponsored a hole, donated, provided items for the silent auction, and signed up to golf at the first annual Phoebe Rose Rocks Golf Tournament. We are looking forward to a great day and excited to give back and raise money for childhood cancer research. All money raised will be donated to Dr.Jason Berman's lab in Halifax, Nova Scotia and we hope to raise enough to direct to MLL+ leukemia research. For more information on Dr.Berman's groundbreaking lab and research, please visit http://bermanzebrafishlaboratory.pediatrics.dal.ca

To register to golf, donate, or sponsor a hole please visit https://golfmontcascades.golfems2.com/event/phoebe-rose-rocks-foundation-first-annual-tournament




Thursday, July 28, 2016


"It was a fine cry - loud and long - but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow". Toni Morrison 

It has been more than 8 months without our sweet Phoebe Rose. How is it possible that so much time has passed? Time does not heal all wounds, or at least not wounds like ours that can't possibly heal, and in many ways - with each passing day, it is more difficult to live without Phoebe. It is painful. We cling to the beautiful memories we have and do all we can to keep these memories alive and to honour Phoebe's life and continue her legacy of hope. One way we are doing this is the Phoebe Rose Rocks Foundation and we hope to have official charitable status from Revenue Canada in 2-3 months. 

Phoebe's 6th birthday is coming up - she loved her birthday, but was very particular about how it was celebrated. It could only be celebrated once and always on her day. She also planned very far ahead and while she was here, she requested a mermaid cake and I know she would have loved to blow out the candles. This year, instead of planning a party, we are organizing a golf tournament in her memory. Please help us honour our sweet girl and help other children with cancer by registering for the tournament. 

Please follow this link to register: https://golfmontcascades.golfems2.com/event/phoebe-rose-rocks-foundation-first-annual-tournament

Cancer is the leading cause of disease related death for Canadian kids. Many cancers affecting children still have little hope of a cure. Phoebe tried every single treatment available, many of which were 50 year old chemotherapies, and she only ever had, at best, a 20% chance of beating her disease. This is not okay. 

All proceeds from the tournament will go to childhood cancer research, like the research that gave us 5 years with our precious Pheebs.

We love you and miss you so much, sweet Phoebe Rose.