It’s early on a Saturday morning, and like so many of you, I’m still waking up to a world that feels heavier without 11-year-old Branson Blevins in it. His passing just days ago has left a quiet ache in the hearts of thousands—parents, friends, strangers who became family through prayer, and people who followed his journey with hope that he would beat every odd placed against him.

In moments like this, words often feel too small. But today, I want to say thank you.

Over the past 15 months, I have written extensively about Branson—his fight with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, his courage, his faith, his laughter even on hard days, and the ripple effect his bravery sent across communities and continents. Yesterday, when I shared the heartbreaking news of his passing, the post reached more than

3 million people and received over 20,000 comments. I can’t respond to every one of them—but I’ve spent this morning reading as many as I can, and through your words, I am reminded of something deeply powerful:

Even in grief, there is goodness.
Even in heartbreak, there is hope.
Even in loss, love remains.

Your comments have echoed truths we sometimes forget when sorrow is loud:

💛

God does not cause pain—but He never leaves us in it.
💛 A short life can still be deeply meaningful.
💛 It’s not about the number of years lived, but the lives touched in that time.

💛 When we lose a child, our faith feels shaken—not because we lack it, but because we are human.
💛 Heaven is not far away—it is where love rests when it leaves earth.

Many of you wrote things like, “He healed—just not in the way we were expecting.” Others said, “He is whole now, and safe in the arms of Jesus.” And time and time again, I read this sentiment:

“We are thankful for what Branson gave the world in the time he had.”

As I read through thousands of your messages, my faith—which felt bruised—began to rise again. Your compassion has reminded me that grief is not the enemy of faith; sometimes, it is the doorway to deeper trust.

Yes, we may feel angry that a child was taken so soon. Yes, we may question why it wasn’t someone older, someone who had already lived a full life. Many of us prayed, “Take us instead.” That is love in its rawest form. But your words have reminded me that even when we do not understand, we are not abandoned.

Branson’s life may have been short in years—but it was vast in impact, rich in love, and powerful in purpose.

He taught people across the globe how to fight with courage.

He showed us how faith can remain even when the body weakens.
He united thousands in nightly prayer.
He proved that one child’s story can make strangers care deeply for one another.

He reminded us to live fully and love fiercely.

Today, I am grateful—for every prayer spoken, every tear shed, every message sent, and every heart that held his story close. The Blevins family has asked for space as they prepare to bring Branson home to Robertsdale, AL—but they have also expressed deep appreciation for every message of support.

So as we continue to grieve, let us also honor his life by carrying forward what he inspired:

✅ Love harder.
✅ Pray deeper.
✅ Show up for children fighting battles they didn’t choose.

✅ Support families walking through hospital hallways with shaking hands and silent prayers.
✅ Believe that even when healing doesn’t come on earth, it still comes.

Thank you—truly—for helping remind me, and so many others, that faith is not lost in sorrow. It is often strengthened through it.

Fly high, Branson. You lived with courage. You loved with light. You mattered more than you could ever know.

🙏 With gratitude, with faith, and with a heart still healing—thank you for walking this journey with us.

Photos courtesy of Nichole Blevins.