My name is the Leanne. For the past year and a half, I feel like I haven’t just been living life—I’ve been standing in the middle of a storm, trying to catch falling glass with my bare hands, praying I don’t bleed out.
Let me tell you about my mom. She is the kindest, softest soul you will ever meet. She is a fighter, but right now, she is fighting a monster. In April of this year, 2026, she was diagnosed with Glioblastoma—an aggressive, devastating brain cancer. The moment the doctor said those words, my world stopped spinning. Without a second thought, I stepped away from my job. My mom needed 24/7 care: managing her medications, taking her to oncology appointments, helping her walk, and holding her hand when the confusion and fear set in. I would do it a million times over because she is my mom. I don’t regret the choice to care for her, but the world doesn’t hit pause just because your mother is dying.
The bills didn’t stop. And because I had to step away from work, we have fallen desperately behind on our rent.
We are currently facing an eviction notice. We have until next week to come up with $5,000 (Sept & Oct Rent), or my terminally ill mother and I will literally be forced out onto the street. I have tried every foundation, every emergency grant, and every government program I can find. I’ve reached out to family, but the truth is, everyone is drowning right now.
Our family’s luck over the last year has been a tragedy of Biblical proportions.
Last year, we lost my older sister. The devastation shattered our family. But the cruelest irony is that this isn’t even the first time my mom has had to bury a child—four years ago, we lost my little sister. How a mother survives losing two children, I will never understand.
Then, just as we were trying to breathe through that grief, my brother-in-law (my older sister’s husband) passed away in June. Suddenly, four kids were left without parents, two of them still under the age of 18.
As the middle daughter, I became the glue. I spent my days planning my sister’s funeral, then helping to plan my brother-in-law’s funeral, scrambling to help get my niece and nephews situated, and trying to keep the shattered pieces of my family from blowing away in the wind.
And right in the middle of this nightmare, my mom got sick.
My husband has been my rock. He has stepped up, working as hard as humanly possible, but his income alone cannot sustain us. Next week, my mom starts another round of chemotherapy—a treatment that is desperately needed, but astronomically expensive. And rent is due again.
I am completely out of options. My pride is long gone. Right now, I am stripped down to just a daughter who loves her mother more than anything in the world, and who is terrified that her mom is going to spend her final months fighting for her life in a hospital bed only to come home to a locked door.
We need $5,000 by next week to save our home and avoid eviction. If you can spare anything—even a few dollars, a share, or a prayer—it would mean more than words can ever express.
Thank you for reading our story, and for seeing us in our darkest hour.