Marc, 37 — Firefighter
Marc, 37 — Firefighter
In the face of danger, Marc ran into a burning building to save an elderly man and a small boy.
He didn’t hesitate, knowing the risks, but his courage never faltered.
Now in the hospital, despite the pain, he says with unwavering strength:
“If I had to do it again, I would.”
Beside him, his mother holds his hand, heart swelling with pride.
This is the essence of courage: standing tall in the face of fear,
embracing the pain, yet choosing to protect others.
His sacrifice reminds us all that heroes walk among us every day.
They don’t seek recognition — just the chance to make a difference.
Drop a to honor Marc and all the brave souls who protect us.
Isn’t Margarett the cutest little 3-year-old?
Margarett just received the kind of news no child, no family, should ever have to hear. Her cancer has spread everywhere — to her lymph nodes, flared up in her lungs, and returned to her liver. The road ahead is unimaginably hard, and now, the focus is on love, comfort, and making the most beautiful memories possible, as options are incredibly limited.
It’s incredible how children like Margarett can still radiate joy despite the pain. Her spark, her sass, and that contagious smile remind everyone of what true strength looks like. She’s tiny, but her spirit is absolutely mighty.
Anything we can do — whether it be prayers, donations, or simply sharing Margarett’s story — would mean everything. Her family is holding on to love, and we want to help surround them with it.
Nine-year-old Brie has spent five years fighting stage 4 cancer.
Her mother, Kendra Bird, has opened her heart to the world, sharing every heartbreaking step of their journey. Not for attention. Not for praise. But because, as Kendra says, silence is far more painful than truth.
On their Instagram page, @briestrongerthancancer, Kendra writes openly about the slow, devastating process of losing her child. Her posts are raw, trembling, filled with a love too big to keep inside.
Brie was only four when the diagnosis came: “Stage 4.” Childhood ended. Hospitals began.
Kendra wrote it all down — the good days, the terrifying ones, and how Brie still smiled when she had the strength. She wrote because she was scared to forget, and because she didn’t want any parent walking this road to feel alone.
Five years later, Brie’s body is tired. She sleeps most of the day, no longer eats, and is on oxygen nearly constantly. And Kendra is fighting to accept the truth she knows too well.
“I want the miracle so badly… but I feel my mind trying to tell my heart to surrender.”
Earlier this month, they celebrated Christmas early — Brie’s last wish. They lit the tree, wrapped presents, and filled the house with warmth one more time.
Then, one morning, Brie whispered, “Someone’s talking to me from heaven.” An older voice. Gentle. Calling her name. It was the last clear thing she said.
Kendra writes now, through tears — angry at outdated treatments, angry at a system that has failed thousands of children. “Eight thousand children have died since our journey began,” she writes. “And now, we are about to lose ours too.”
But even in despair, the love in her words refuses to dim. Brie still finds moments of joy — like when Ariana Grande sent her a gift in August, and Brie’s tiny voice burst with excitement.
Now, each breath feels like a countdown. Kendra holds her daughter’s hand, hums to her, and stays present in every fragile moment. She writes because love this deep demands to be witnessed.
“This is my journal,” she says. “I don’t want to forget what this feels like.” And she won’t.
Neither will the millions who have watched little Brie fight with more strength than most adults ever will.
Her journey is nearly over. But her love — and her mother’s — will outlive every statistic.
