I was fifteen when I lost my little brother Nonny, and I carry him with me every day. He was only eight, but he fought DIPG with a courage that still amazes me. The cancer did not take him—his strength, his spirit, and the love he gave were always bigger than the disease. I miss him in the quiet moments, in the places where his laughter used to fill the room, and in the times I still want to protect him.

As his sister Lala, I don’t remember him for his illness. I remember his bravery, his smile, and the way he stayed himself through everything. He may not be here the way he should be, but he is not gone. He lives in my heart, in my love for him, and in everything I do.