My Last Flight Wasn’t Just a Goodbye
I didn’t know I was about to lose the one thing I built my life around: my ability to fly.
A year ago, May shattered me.
On May 1, 2024, I found out my cancer had returned—in the exact same spot even after a double mastectomy.
By May 10, I learned it had spread to my bones.
I didn’t realize until now, one year later, how deeply May had etched itself into my body and my spirit.
Grief has a quiet way of sticking around.
A Full-Circle Goodbye I Didn’t Know Was Coming
On April 26, 2024, I conducted a flight out of New Orleans—my hometown.
The place where it all began.
Where I did all my flight training.
Where I became a pilot.
That day, my dad came to the airport.
He saw the jet I was flying for the very first time.
He stood on the tarmac, proud and smiling, looking up at the plane that represented everything I had worked so hard for.
Neither of us knew it would be my last flight.
In fact, I thought I was starting a new job soon.
I had no idea what was silently happening inside my body—or how close I was to losing the career I loved more than anything.
Looking back, I’m so grateful he was there.
Grateful that somehow, without even realizing it, I got to close that chapter with him by my side, beaming with pride.
How Long Had It Been There?
After my double mastectomy in February 2020, I was told I had no evidence of disease.
But we never did a PET scan—insurance wouldn’t approve it.
There was no cancer in my lymph nodes, so my doctor didn’t recommend chemo or radiation.
She believed surgery had taken care of it.
But it hadn’t.
And this past year has forced me to sit with that truth.
To re-examine my story.
To figure out how to move forward when the path I was walking disappeared overnight.
Redefining Success
I’ve had to completely redefine what success means.
It’s no longer about titles, paychecks, or flight hours.
Success now means acceptance.
It’s learning to make peace with the possibility that I may never fly again.
That the cockpit—the place where I felt most alive—might be behind me.
And still… I’m okay.
Not because I have to be.
But because I believe something new and exciting is ahead.
Writing Became My Wings
These days, my words have taken flight.
Writing has become my wings.
I don’t always know where I’m going, but I’m showing up anyway.
Because it’s rooted in purpose.
Because I know it might help someone else feel less alone.
Living Well
Today, success means giving my family a good life.
It means raising my boys in a home full of love, silliness, and magic.
It means helping them grow up grounded, kind, and brave enough to chase their own dreams.
I live with the knowledge of death sitting beside me—not in a heavy way, but as a quiet reminder that life is for living now.
That this moment is the only one we’re guaranteed.
And that perspective?
That’s the gift.
I don’t get it right every day.
But I try.
I show up.
I keep going.
And that’s the lesson I want my kids to remember:
Not that I chased perfection, but that I chased meaning.
That I tried my best.
That I let the rest go.
Maybe Tomorrow’s Success Looks Like…
☕ A perfect cup of coffee.
📝 A few quiet hours to write.
💬 A moment of connection with someone who needed it.
There is success in all of that, too.
Thanks for being here.
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I’m glad your dad was there on the tarmac with you that day and you a photo to remind you of that moment.
Your story- this part of your story- is incredibly moving and inspiring. You truly have had your life turned inside out and then threatened to boot. I'm so glad your last flight was to where your career began - and to where YOU began. ❤️
Thank you so much for sharing, and for your amazing perspective. May we all adopt it!