Frontline

Album release: June 20, 2025

A year of love, lament, and leukemia

I haven’t shared anything online in over a year.

On December 12, 2023, everything changed. My sweet little boy Emerson (who was four at the time) was diagnosed with B-cell ALL leukemia. We were admitted to the hospital that same night. By the next morning, he had a port surgically placed in his chest. That evening, he received his first dose of chemotherapy. Everything happened so fast.

I didn’t know how to speak about any of this publicly—so I didn’t. Instead, I began writing songs.

There’s a small chapel on the 7th floor of Seattle Children’s Hospital. It has a piano in it. During those early days, I often ended up there—playing whatever came to mind, just to breathe. On the night of Emerson’s first chemo, I sat at that piano and wrote a song called Too Much. I recorded it on my phone and listened to it over and over again. It was the first time I remember needing one of my own songs to help me feel.

Songs from the hardest months

Leukemia treatment is divided into phases. The first stretch—about nine months long—is called frontline. It’s the most intense part of treatment designed to wipe out the bone marrow where leukemia begins and help the body start producing healthy cells again. It’s filled with powerful chemo, hospital appointments, fear, exhaustion, and an impossible weight of responsibility.

These songs were written during that stretch of time. Songs arrived when I needed to process something between hospital stays, on solo car drives, or at night after my kids had gone to sleep.

Some are for my children.
Some are prayers.
Some are fearful cries for help.
Some helped me ground and encourage myself.

When frontline ended, I had written 11 songs. I reached out to my friend and producer, Daniel Folgado, and we began recording them—slowly, gently, on whatever schedule our lives would allow. I wanted recording to be life-giving, not another source of stress. I came into it fragile, and I wanted to enjoy the process—maybe even let it heal me.

Over six months, we tracked each song in the order I wrote it. My husband played drums. My daughter Cassidy added harmonies and synth. My best friend played clarinet. My children recited our favorite prayer at the end of a lullaby called Sleep. It felt sacred.

Why I’m sharing this

When Emerson was first diagnosed, I couldn’t listen to anything—not my usual comforting songs, and especially not faith-based music. Everything felt too tidy, and nothing touched the depth of what I was feeling.

So I wrote music that did.

This music wasn’t made for the charts. It was made for the soul. These songs aren’t for everyone. But maybe they’re for someone who is walking through something unthinkable. Someone grieving. Someone just trying to keep breathing.

If that’s you, I hope these songs find you.
And I hope they make you feel a little less alone.

Who it’s for

  • Parents and caregivers of children with cancer

  • Medical teams like pediatric nurses, chaplains, or therapists

  • Anyone walking through grief, fragility, or the long road of healing

  • Listeners seeking honest, fragile, beautiful music

Want to share or connect?

If this music resonates with you—or if you’re part of a hospital, nonprofit, or group that supports families—I’d love to hear from you.