I grew up in a home filled with empathy, generosity, love, and kindness. It took my parents twelve long years to conceive me. Writing that down now makes me understand why gratitude and compassion were so deeply woven into our family life. Imagine yearning for something your whole life and waiting over a decade to finally receive it—only to be blessed with a single child. Safe to say, my parents were, and still are, profoundly grateful.
It wasn’t until just weeks before I became a mother that I truly grasped the ripple effect kindness can have on others. I was 34 weeks pregnant when my husband, Cade, began struggling with asthma-like symptoms—shortness of breath during exercise and even while lying down. Despite visiting the same medical center repeatedly over three months, the advice he received was always variations of inhalers and antibiotics. After the fifth visit, frustrated and desperate for answers, Cade booked an appointment with my GP. That Saturday morning, she requested an X-ray. On Monday, we woke to raindrops dancing on our rooftop and the familiar, comforting kicks from inside my belly. We went about our Monday routines, unaware that August 24, 2015, would forever alter our lives.
The X-ray revealed an abnormality, prompting a call back for a CT scan. When our GP called with the news, all I remember was collapsing to the floor of my classroom, clutching my belly, my body numb with shock. We had so little information, yet the urgency in her voice and the seriousness of the situation made it clear this was grave. By that afternoon, we were sitting with a lung specialist, learning about a 15-centimeter shadow on Cade’s right lung. The following weeks tested every ounce of perspective and gratitude I had ever known. Sleepless nights and toddler tantrums faded in significance against the fear that my husband might not meet our unborn child. I didn’t search Google, but I knew lung cancer was a leading cause of death in Australia. What should have been a joyful time preparing for our first baby became a whirlwind of doctors’ appointments, endless tests, and relentless fear and tears.
On September 11, 2015, Cade was diagnosed with Follicular Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. From that moment, we were overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness surrounding us. Family, friends, colleagues, even strangers, went above and beyond—daily. Meals were prepared, fundraisers organized, messages of support arrived constantly, and most comforting of all, Cade never attended a treatment alone. Through the pain, uncertainty, and heartache, we found solace knowing we wouldn’t face this alone.
Two weeks after Cade began treatment, our beautiful daughter, Piper, was born. Cancer became the starting point of our gratitude journal, teaching us to notice the miracles and magic in everyday life, to focus on what truly matters, and to remember that there is always someone yearning for your everyday reality. It gifted us perspective that will last a lifetime.
After Cade’s treatment, we discussed the possibility of expanding our family. We were given the green light, though told it could take years. We tried with hope, not desperation, and miraculously, I became pregnant on the first attempt. On September 11, 2017—exactly two years after Cade’s diagnosis—we welcomed our son, Hudson. Later, we added another daughter, Teal, completing our family.
Throughout this journey, we have met extraordinary people and learned that so much we take for granted is actually a privilege. Having our senses, access to healthcare, education, parents—we are fortunate in ways many are not. Every heartbeat, every sunrise, every ordinary moment is a gift.
In our home, kindness is a cornerstone. We know first-hand the power it holds, and we strive to model it for our children daily. Kindness doesn’t have to cost money—a letter to a friend, a dropped kindness rock, sending artwork to grandparents, making a meal for someone, or planting a tree—all are acts that ripple outward.
We nurture empathy and gratitude in our children by example. Every morning, I ask them two simple questions: “What can I do to fill your bucket today?” and “What can you do to fill someone else’s bucket?” Picture books, like Have You Filled a Bucket Today? by Carol McCloud, spark conversations about feelings, empathy, and kindness. Children often need gentle guidance to see beyond themselves, and we try to make that part of everyday life. We also recognize that love is experienced differently by each person. To visualize this, we draw our “love buckets” on the fridge at eye-level, sometimes even creating sensory boxes to encourage acts of kindness.
Gratitude is equally central. I keep a journal, noting the small and large blessings alike. Our minds cannot focus on positive and negative thoughts at once, and intentional journaling helps cultivate perspective. Daily challenges, stress, and the mental load of motherhood can obscure what truly matters, but I strive to focus on the good. My dad’s words echo in my mind: “Your kids don’t want a perfect mum, they want a happy one.”
At dinner each night, Piper often leads a gratitude session. We celebrate everyday moments—the sunrise, a smile from a stranger, a shared laugh—and praise empathy, kindness, and thoughtfulness whenever we see it. Happiness stems from gratefulness, not the other way around.
Words can never fully express our gratitude. Love and kindness are never wasted—they can transform hearts and lives. One small act, given at the right time, can change someone’s day, outlook, or life. Imagine the world if everyone chose kindness. A friend once sent me a card with words that have stayed with me: “The most beautiful people are those who have known defeat, suffering, struggle, and loss, and have found their way out. They possess compassion, gentleness, and a deep, loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
We continue to carry this lesson forward, striving to notice the ordinary miracles, share kindness, and cultivate gratitude, knowing these are gifts that will endure far beyond any hardship.
