Lizzy’s world had once been cartwheels, ballet shoes, and the impossible dream of gliding across the ice in a sparkling dress. Missouri evenings were for giggles with her older siblings, not hospital alarms and medication charts. When her leg first began to ache, everyone hoped it was just growing pains. Instead, it was osteosarcoma, and childhood instantly became chemo, surgeries, and learning to walk again on a titanium rod.

Through every wave of agony, Lizzy kept choosing joy. She asked about other kids on the ward. She worried about her siblings’ feelings. She smiled at nurses while her body fought a losing war. When doctors finally said there was nothing more to do, her family focused on love: whispered stories in dim hospital light, hands held through the night, final goodbyes over glitchy screens. Lizzy’s life was unbearably short, but the way she met the unthinkable—with courage, tenderness, and fierce love—left a permanent mark on every heart that knew her.