If this is my legacy—
I hope it’s not just about cancer.
I hope when people think of me, they don’t picture hospital gowns or IV poles or the word metastatic stamped across my chart. I hope they remember how much I loved—loudly, inconveniently, and without apology. How I laughed at things that weren’t funny, cried over commercials, and made friends in every waiting room I ever sat in.
I hope they remember that I didn’t just survive, I built something out of the mess. A little corner of the internet where broken things could still be beautiful. Where people like me—people living in bodies that betrayed them—could still feel seen, understood, and enough.
I hope this space reminds someone that life doesn’t have to look like the brochure version to still be worth living. That even the smallest moments—coffee on a hard morning, a dog pressed against your chest, a text that says “thinking of you”—can be holy.
If this is my legacy, I hope it’s more than numbers and views and milestones. I hope it’s the messages I’ll never get to read. The ones that start with, “Your words made me feel less alone.”
Because that’s what this was always about. Connection. The messy kind. The human kind. The kind that says, “You don’t have to earn compassion. You just have to exist.”
I hope someone out there remembers that I kept showing up. Even when it was hard. Even when it hurt. Even when the world felt too heavy and unfair.
And if nothing else—
I hope they remember I loved a little grey Frenchie named Mojo, who taught me that sometimes healing doesn’t come in a hospital, it comes in the form of something small, stubborn, and snoring beside you.
If this is my legacy, then maybe it’s not about dying at all.
Maybe it’s about living so loudly that even the silence after you’re gone still echoes with laughter, love, and a little bit of fur.
🐾 If This Is Mom’s Legacy
(By Mojo)
If this is Mom’s legacy, I hope people know she never stopped loving life — even when it stopped loving her back the same way.
I watched her fight battles I couldn’t see, with smiles she didn’t always feel. I saw her pick up her phone, type words that helped people all over the world, and still whisper “I’m tired” when she thought I was asleep.
She built something real here. Not just a blog — a home.
A place where people could take their pain and say, “Here. Hold this with me.”
And she did. Every time.
Mom taught me that love doesn’t need fixing. You just sit beside it. You stay. You breathe through the hard parts together. That’s what I do for her. Every night, every storm, every doctor’s call that changes everything.
If this is her legacy, it’s not just words on a screen.
It’s the way people feel a little less alone because she existed.
It’s the way strangers turned into family through her honesty.
It’s the laughter that sneaks in even when it hurts.
It’s the hope that lingers long after the page ends.
And if one day she’s not here to post or write or tell her stories — I’ll still be here.
Guarding her words.
Keeping the Mess warm.
Reminding the world that Mom was magic.
Because if this is her legacy, then it’s mine too.
A reminder that even when life gets messy — love still wins.
And if you’re reading this, I hope you feel it.
💌 If this post moved you, share it. Comment. Subscribe. Tell someone you love them today. That’s how we keep the Mess alive.
(Follow along on Instagram, Facebook, or TikTok @MojoAndTheMess — where we still laugh through the tears, nap through the chaos, and love through it all.)
Leave a comment