A Mother’s Promise, A Daughter’s Light — Remembering the Joyful Spirit of Jizae
When she first brought her daughter to the hospital, she thought it was only a headache.
Just a simple, passing pain that any eight-year-old might have after school or play.
But that single trip changed everything.
Doctors ran tests, and within hours, a mother’s world fell apart.
They found something deep within her little girl’s brainstem — a tumor.
Not just any tumor, but one of the rarest and most aggressive known to medicine.
Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. DIPG.
They explained it gently, but nothing could soften the truth:
It couldn’t be removed.
It couldn’t be cured.
And most children didn’t live more than a year after diagnosis.
Her mother, Nini Alexander, listened in disbelief.
Her hands shook, her heart broke, and her voice cracked as she whispered, “No. That can’t be right. She’s just a child.”
That child — Jizae Tamar Gloss — was only eight years old.
Bright, goofy, full of energy, the kind of girl who could turn an ordinary day into an adventure.
She loved dancing, being silly, writing letters to her loved ones, and learning new things.
Everywhere she went, she brought joy — the kind of joy that made people believe life was still beautiful.
In the weeks that followed, Nini prayed harder than she ever had before.
She pleaded for time, for a miracle, for anything that could keep her baby with her.
“I can’t lose her,” she wrote. “God, please. I need her so much.”
The diagnosis became their new reality.
Hospitals turned into second homes.
Machines beeped where laughter once filled the air.
But through it all, Jizae smiled.
She made friends with the nurses, handed out drawings to other patients, and filled her hospital room with color and light.
When her mother broke down in tears, Jizae would gently pat her arm and whisper, “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t cry. We’re still together.”
Even the doctors couldn’t understand how a child so sick could laugh so easily.
One nurse said softly, “She’s special. She’s not afraid.”
For 17 months, Jizae fought with everything she had.
Radiation, medications, treatments — her small body endured more than most adults ever would.
Every day was a test of strength, and every night was a prayer whispered into the darkness.
Her mother stayed beside her through it all.
She learned to live between hope and heartbreak — watching her daughter’s smiles fade a little each week, yet still believing that love could keep her alive.
She refused to give up. “She’ll be that survivor,” she said. “She’ll make it through. I believe.”
But DIPG is merciless.
It steals movement first — the ability to run, to draw, to write letters.
Then it takes speech.
Then sight.
Then the ability to swallow.
And through it all, the child remains fully aware.
There’s no way to prepare a mother for that kind of pain.
By the end of 2024, Jizae’s health began to decline faster.
The headaches grew worse. The weakness spread.
Still, she refused to stop smiling.
When people asked how she was feeling, she’d grin and say, “I’m okay! God’s got me.”
Her mom would step out into the hallway, press her back against the wall, and cry — silently, desperately, praying no one could hear.
Then came the final week.
The hospital lights felt dimmer somehow, the air heavier.
Nini held her daughter’s hand every moment, afraid that if she let go, time would stop.
On January 20th, 2025, after 17 long, painful, miraculous months, Jizae took her final breath
.
The room went quiet — painfully, beautifully quiet.
Her little body, which had fought for so long, was finally still.
Her mother held her close and whispered, “You don’t have to fight anymore, baby. You did so good. Mommy’s so proud of you.”
Later, Nini wrote:
“I’m deeply heartbroken to share that my precious daughter, Jizae Tamar Gloss, passed away after a brave battle with cancer at the age of 10.
She fought with incredible strength and courage, bringing so much love, light, and joy into our lives despite the challenges she faced.
Her spirit and smile will forever be with us.”
Those words broke hearts across her community.
People who had followed Jizae’s story — neighbors, teachers, strangers online — wept as if she were their own.
Her school held a small ceremony, where children released white balloons into the sky, whispering, “We love you, Jizae.”
But her mother didn’t see only loss.
She saw a legacy.
Because Jizae wasn’t just a child who suffered — she was a child who taught.
She showed everyone around her what real courage looks like.
She reminded people that joy can exist even in pain, and that faith can be stronger than fear.
In the months after her passing, Nini began to write again — not to doctors or hospitals, but to her daughter.
Letters filled with love, grief, and gratitude.
She’d write, “I saw your favorite color in the sunset today. I know that was you.”
Or, “Your brothers miss you. We talk about you every night before bed. You’re still here with us, baby.”
Sometimes she dreams of Jizae — barefoot in the grass, laughing like she used to.
In the dream, her daughter turns back, waves, and says, “See, Mommy? I told you I’m okay.”
💛
Jizae Tamar Gloss.
Born October 1, 2014.
Passed January 20, 2025.
Forever 10. Forever loved.
A child who reminded the world that love can be louder than loss.