Jett has always shared a love for Disney.
It’s a joy that runs through his whole family, especially with his three sisters, who can sing Disney songs and quote movies right alongside him.

When his loved one arrived a few days ago, Jett’s eyes lit up with a request: he wanted to watch Encanto.

Without hesitation, Disney+ was pulled up, and soon the room was filled with the magic of songs, colors, and laughter.

One movie became two, and two became three.
Encanto was followed by Pirates of the Caribbean—Jett’s favorite—and then Robin Hood, the classic adventure that made him grin from ear to ear.


It wasn’t just a movie night.
It was an escape.
It was a moment of normalcy in a life that has been anything but normal.

Later that night, when the screens went dark and the day wound down, Jett sent a simple text.

They chatted about Disneyland, dreaming of the day they could walk down Main Street again, trading Disney pins, laughing, and riding Pirates of the Caribbean together.
For Jett, the dream wasn’t just about a theme park—it was about freedom, about joy, about the reminder that life still holds magic.

The next morning, the scene was much quieter.
When his loved one peeked into his room, Jett was curled up with his phone, completely absorbed.
There was something about that moment that was deeply endearing.


So much of Jett’s world is dominated by hospitals, treatments, and the unknown.
But here, he was just a boy, doing what boys his age do—scrolling, playing, laughing to himself.

For his family, those glimpses of normalcy are priceless treasures.

Tomorrow, Jett has a check-up.
It’s the routine of their lives now—bloodwork, exams, discussions with doctors.
And the following day, the 11th, something far heavier awaits: chemo begins again.

Chemo.
The word that hangs heavy in the air, carrying both hope and dread.
Hope, because it is the medicine that fights.
Dread, because it also brings so much pain.


His family knows what lies ahead—nausea, exhaustion, endless hours in a hospital chair.
And yet they also know Jett.
He is more than his illness.
He is strength wrapped in a boy’s smile.

His love for Disney isn’t just a hobby.
It’s a lifeline.
It’s the magic that keeps him dreaming when reality feels too heavy.
He talks about Disneyland with the same certainty that others talk about tomorrow’s sunrise.


To him, it isn’t a question of “if” but “when.”
“When we go back, we’ll ride Pirates first.”
“When we go back, I’ll trade pins until I find the perfect one.”

“When we go back, we’ll stay until the fireworks light up the sky.”

That belief—that unwavering faith that joy is still ahead—is what carries him and his family through the darkest days.

The chemo will come.
The pain will come.


But so will the magic.
So will the laughter.
So will the dreams that keep his heart alive.

For now, they cling to moments like this past movie marathon.

The glow of the TV.
The sound of Jett’s laughter filling the room.
The texts about Disneyland, simple but full of hope.
The sight of him lying in bed, just being himself, sweet and endearing.

Tomorrow, the hospital.
The next day, chemo.
But tonight, dreams of Disney.


Dreams of rides and pins and fireworks.
Dreams that no illness can ever take away.

And in those dreams lies the strength to keep moving forward.

Because Jett is not just a patient.
He is a boy with a heart full of magic, a spirit full of fight, and a future worth believing in.