In paediatric oncology, many children grow up with us—families become part of our daily life, and we walk with them through moments of hope, fear, and profound love.

One of the most unforgettable journeys was with Patient X, who entered our care at the age of three and remained with us for seven years. X was his parents’ only child, and over time, they became part of our family in the unit. Their calm presence, resilience, and deep trust left a lasting impact on our team.

When the time came to make the difficult decision to designate X as DNR, it was an emotional moment for everyone. We were especially worried about how the news would affect his parents—particularly his father, who had a cardiac condition that made us fear the emotional stress might be too heavy for him. As the physician spoke with X’s parents, the team stood nearby, each coping with the moment in their own way. Some nurses entered with them, holding the mother’s hand and trying to give her strength. Others quietly stepped aside—not out of lack of care, but because their hearts could not bear to face the parents at such a heartbreaking moment. A few stood firmly by the door, ready to offer support whenever needed.

When the mother broke down in tears, we held back our own and focused entirely on surrounding her with compassion, presence, and calm reassurance. Adding to the emotional weight was the knowledge that a DNR decision usually requires transferring the patient fully to the palliative care team, meaning X and his parents would no longer have appointments in our unit. The thought of them leaving a team they had been attached to for years made the moment even heavier for all of us. His mother requested to remain with our team, unable to imagine leaving the nurses she trusted. X also had his favorite nurses—the ones he allowed to touch his line, give his medication, and bring out his bright smile.

We coordinated closely with the palliative care team to ensure he stayed in a familiar, comforting environment. A week before his passing, his mother wished to celebrate his birthday but cried, unsure how to say “happy birthday,” knowing what lay ahead. The team gently reassured her, and we organized a small celebration filled with balloons, gifts, and his beautiful smile—a memory we will always cherish.

Two weeks later, X passed away. On that same day, his mother called our care coordinator, Y, who had just returned home from her duty. Without hesitation, she went back to the hospital to be by his mother’s side. Some team members later visited the family, while others sent their condolences—each person grieving deeply. Shortly later, his mother shared a video X had recorded just minutes before his passing, asking her to send it “to all the people he loved.” It was his final and most beautiful gift to us.

To this day, X’s mother remains in close contact with our team. She continues to send us his photos and videos, sharing memories that keep his spirit alive. In every message, she reminds us that her prayers for us have never stopped. Her continued connection is a heartfelt reminder that the bonds created through compassion and humanity do not end with loss—they remain forever alive in hearts they touch.