Jeremiah’s Legacy

Jeremiah’s Legacy "Jeremiah Ambrose was our brave 6-year-old who faced DIPG with a superhero’s heart. He loved Spider-Man, monster trucks, penguins, and football.

We share his story to honor his spirit, to keep his light shining and to spread awareness about DIPG!

I can’t promise a cure. I can’t promise answers to questions that even doctors are still searching for.But from day one,...
02/26/2026

I can’t promise a cure. I can’t promise answers to questions that even doctors are still searching for.

But from day one, Jeremiah’s Legacy has stood on three unwavering commitments:

To stand firm in faith trusting God in the unknown, believing He is still working even when we cannot see it.
To fund research that moves us closer to breakthroughs.
To wrap families in relentless support so they know they never fight alone.

I remember one night sitting in a Taco Bell drive-through in Memphis. Jeremiah was deep in the fight of his life. The steroids made him constantly hungry the kind of hunger that doesn’t go away. We were waiting on his meal when he noticed a homeless man outside.

Without hesitation, that little boy fighting cancer, exhausted, and starving said he wanted to give the man his food. When we asked him why, he simply said, “Because he’s hungry.”

Even in the middle of his own battle, Jeremiah saw someone else’s need first.

That is the heart behind this legacy.

🎗️💛

We could not have done it without you. In 2025, $1,389 was raised in Jeremiah's honor which helped The Cure Starts Now ...
02/17/2026

We could not have done it without you. In 2025, $1,389 was raised in Jeremiah's honor which helped The Cure Starts Now fund their $1M Big Fat Grant, awarded to a joint research project led by Seattle Children’s and St. Jude. It was also possible to award 22 additional grants in 2025 alone. That is 23 new, promising projects pushing science forward and reminding families in the fight that they are not alone. This work exists because of your love and your refusal to sit back and do nothing. An effort you should be incredibly proud of.

Thank you for standing with us, helping share Jeremiah's story, and for being an integral part of unlocking the cure for all. 🎗️🫶🏼

We love you all so much 🥹

Most days I replay the sound of Jeremiah’s little voice talking about his future.Jeremiah had plans. OH HE HAD PLANS! He...
02/17/2026

Most days I replay the sound of Jeremiah’s little voice talking about his future.

Jeremiah had plans. OH HE HAD PLANS!

He wanted to play flag football. He talked about running fast, about pulling flags, about being “the best at it.” I can still see the determination in his eyes.

He wanted to play football for Ohio State his daddy’s team. He said it like it was already decided. Like one day we’d be in those stands watching him in scarlet and gray.

He couldn’t wait to be in third grade. Just so he would be on the other side of the school with the big kids. He did not enjoy being with the “little kids” even though he was a little kid. 😂

And at just six years old, my baby already knew he wanted to be a dad. He talked about his future babies. The way he would love them. Protect them. Be there for them. Let them have all the candy.

How do you hold those dreams as a parent when you also hold the numbers that are against you?
When you sit in rooms with doctors and hear statistics that don’t match the hope in your child’s eyes? Im sure they thought we were crazy and didnt grasp what they were telling us, but we did.

You smile.
You nod.
You dream anyway.

Because that’s what parents do.

We dream the impossible dreams with them. We believe when it doesn’t make sense. We trust the God we serve even when our hearts are breaking in places no one can see.

I trusted Gods plan then. I trust his plan now. But trusting doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

There is a special kind of ache that comes from packing away football dreams, third grade dreams, daddy dreams. A silence that follows where a silly, fun little boy used to live.

My arms still feel empty.
My heart still feels shattered.
And I would give anything to hear him say, “Mom, watch this.”

Forever my baby.
Forever six.
Forever carrying the dreams he didn’t get to live. 💛

No parent should ever have to decide whether their child will undergo a brain biopsy. No parent should have to weigh whi...
02/15/2026

No parent should ever have to decide whether their child will undergo a brain biopsy. No parent should have to weigh which medication might cause the least harm, knowing none of them promise real help. No one should be forced to choose between side effects and slim chances. No one should have to watch tears roll down their kids face while they tell you they’re scared before a port placement. No one should have to wonder if they should try alternative treatments simply because there are no proven options.

And in 2026, no family should ever hear the words that their child has an incurable cancer. No family should be given a death sentence for their kid.

And yet, families are asked to make these impossible decisions every single day while being told there are no studies that show anything truly changes the outcome.

We have to do better.

These children deserve more than experiments without answers. These families deserve more than hope built on “maybe.” They deserve real research. Real progress. Real options.

We have to do better for these kids. And for the parents who are carrying decisions no one should ever have to make.

Please visit our website jeremiahslegacy.org and if you feel led to donate it is greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

NEW MERCH ALERT 🚨 Created with purpose. Inspired by love 🫶🏼Rep the Legacy.Honor his fight. Support the mission. You can ...
02/12/2026

NEW MERCH ALERT 🚨

Created with purpose. Inspired by love 🫶🏼

Rep the Legacy.
Honor his fight.
Support the mission.

You can visit jeremiahslegacy.org to order! 💛💛

02/04/2026

One day closer my baby. 💛🎗️

Today February 4th is 'World Cancer Day' 17 months ago, I wouldn’t have even known that. 17 months ago, I would have sha...
02/04/2026

Today February 4th is 'World Cancer Day'

17 months ago, I wouldn’t have even known that. 17 months ago, I would have shared a post like this, and kept going. 17 months ago I would have never thought cancer would enter our world, especially with our healthy little guy!

There is no scarier thing to hear than the words 'your child has cancer'. We are led to believe it's rare, that it won't happen to us.…We now know that's not true.

I am learning many things as a cancer mom. One of THE most important was to TRUST MY GUT. YOU are your child's advocate, YOU know them better than anyone. No degree, No research program, No matter how many years working with cancer patients will ever qualify anyone to know your child better than you! If you think something's wrong act on it, kick up fuss, make a noise...YOU at this point are all your child has.....🎗️

Some cold hard facts about brain cancer

🧠Brain tumors are the biggest cancer killer of children and adults under 40

🧠DIPG is rare, being diagnosed in around 300 kids per year

🧠Almost 11,700 people are diagnosed each year with a primary brain tumor, including 500 children and young people – that's 32 people every day.

🧠Over 5,000 people lose their lives to a brain tumor each year.

🧠DIPG primarily affects kids 4-11

🧠Brain tumors reduce life expectancy by on average 20 years – the highest of any cancer
Just 11% of adults survive for five years after diagnosis

🧠Brain tumors are the leading cause of cancer related deaths in children

🧠Research offers the only real hope of dramatic improvements in the management and treatment of brain tumors. Standard treatments haven't changed for over 30yrs.

AND THE SCARIEST ONE.....
🧠Only 4% of the federal government research funding goes toward pediatric cancer.

Get involved, donate, find a cure TODAY. Some kids don't have the luxury of your tomorrow.....

Every dollar goes 100% directly to helping families like ours, research, and bringing us closer to finding THE CURE.

You can donate to our mission with the link below.

https://www.zeffy.com/en-US/donation-form/donate-to-make-a-difference-13894

As always we love you all so much 🎗️💛

Every day I see these alarms.I cant delete them.Ativan.Morphine.Zofran. Steriods. The list goes on. Around the clock.The...
02/03/2026

Every day I see these alarms.
I cant delete them.

Ativan.
Morphine.
Zofran.
Steriods.
The list goes on.
Around the clock.

These alarms once ruled our lives. They told me when to wake J up gently. When to measure with shaking hands. When to pray it would ease his pain just enough so he didnt yell “I cant do this anymore”. When to whisper “I’m here, sweet man” even when my voice felt like it might break me in half.

They are just alarms to anyone else.
To me, they are a proof of love in its rawest form.

They are the sound of hospice.
The sound of doing the hardest thing I’ve ever done for the person I loved the most.
The sound of parents fighting for their child’s comfort while their own hearts were quietly breaking.

I can’t delete them because they remind me that Jeremiah was here.
That he was held.
That he was loved fiercely and completely.

And somehow, even in the heartbreak, there is hope.
Because his life still echoes.

In the love he gave.
In the strength he showed.
In the way he changed us forever.

These alarms don’t just remind me of how he left this world they remind me of how deeply he lived, and how his legacy continues to shape everything I do.

Some things grief doesnt allow me to erase at the moment.
Some things stay not because they don’t hurt, but because they carry love forward.

Forever his mama.
Forever honoring his legacy.
Forever loving him. 🤍

Praying for the families of these sweet boys. 🫶🏼🎗️
02/03/2026

Praying for the families of these sweet boys.

🫶🏼🎗️

When we first got Jeremiah’s diagnosis, I told myself if this nightmare is true and if anything ever did happened to him...
01/28/2026

When we first got Jeremiah’s diagnosis, I told myself if this nightmare is true and if anything ever did happened to him, I could never leave the house we lived in, the house he grew up in, the one that held every single memory of him. But the moment he passed, our house wasn’t a home anymore. All the beautiful memories got tangled up with the unimaginable ones, and suddenly the walls felt heavy, too heavy. It’s a weight I never wanted, one I wish didn’t have to live here.

Our house holds so many memories like him crawling down the stairs with an oversized blanket wrapped all the way around him ready to play hide and seek with the dog. Or those early mornings when he’d walk into the bedroom at 7 AM shoes ALWAYS on the wrong feet, wide awake and ready to start the day. And afternoons outside when he never wanted to come inside always asking for “one more loop-de-loop” on his bike, chasing joy in every little moment. He was so carefree and so fun!

After a lot of prayer and hard conversations we chose to move. It wasn’t because we wanted to leave the memories behind, theyll always be with us, it was because staying here holds too much weight for us to carry every day. The house still holds our memories, but we needed space to breathe, to heal, and to find new hope.

Packing up our home in the middle of grief means facing memories over and over. Tonight, it was Christmas presents, presents our little guy never got to open or play with. One gift especially, the color-changing monster trucks, he showed me videos of these monster trucks over and over and over. It took me forever to find the exact ones he wanted. I was so excited when I did find them and even more excited to see his face when he’d open them, I knew he would instantly want to go straight to the bath. But they were never opened… never touched.

Now the mom guilt hits like a punch in the throat “Why didn’t I just give them to him when they got here?” “Why did it matter they were for Christmas” I know, deep down, I could never have known how little time we had left nor how fast he would decline. But that doesn’t stop my heart from beating itself up over it. It doesnt stop the hurt.

I’m holding on to his monster trucks. I’ll keep them safe, praying that God blesses us with grandsons, so many that my heart can’t even imagine and that someday, those trucks will be a sweet gift from their Uncle J. A way for a piece of him to live on, to keep loving, even when he’s gone.

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Irmo, SC
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