Two years old. The age when most children are walking with ease. Jumping with two feet. Talking more. Throwing the occasional tantrum. Like a lot of kids, Kimber Jo needed a little help hitting these milestones. Every child develops at their own pace, and Kimber Jo was no different. Even at 2, she simply did things her own way. Speech therapy, occupational therapy, Kimber Jo was happily tackling them both. She’s always been a fighter.

One of her therapists noticed it first. Kimber Jo started struggling to use her right side. Through a whirlwind of tests and hospitals and opinions, two brain surgeries followed along with the diagnosis. Kimber Jo had a brain tumor. Pilocytic astrocytoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer.

Far too many families know the impact and change those words carry with them. The stress and side effects of the treatments, the rearranging of livelihoods and timetables to fulfill the demanding schedule of appointments. The anxiety of what lies ahead, and the heartbreak of knowing what may not.

But children have an innate resiliency, a fierce yet innocent ability to handle the kind of adversity and hardship that most adults would crumble under. This is Kimber Jo. Strength is all she knows. Courage is second nature. Faith in a future where everything will be ok is an expectation, even when the road to get there has been rife with setbacks and sorrow.

Now 7 years old, Kimber Jo still scrunches her nose a little when she smiles. It’s adorable and endearing, and you can’t help but want to give her a grin or a giggle right back. She’s learning martial arts from her big sister, and learning to be the big sis to her family’s new baby boy. Embracing her hair turning white, a result of her chemotherapy, crowning herself “Elsa.” She loves swimming and dancing and all things out of doors. This girl fishes and hunts like a pro. She is, in every way, fearless.

But she’s still fighting. The most heartbreaking part of all, Kimber Jo will always be fighting. Last summer, it was a recurrence. Last fall, the words “clearly no worse” after a scan were a sweet, soothing balm. There are sleep challenges. And tonsil surgery in May. Ongoing meds and treatments and therapies. Kimber Jo’s January scans were stable, so she and her family embrace the gloriousness of that report, the joy that comes after the waiting. She flashes her signature “thumbs up” sign. Her light has never needed permission to shine.

But for every scan, Kimber Jo wonders. Worries. A 7-year-old who watches and waits for every MRI result with poise. A stoic calmness that is poignant in its maturity. Again, strength is all she knows. Kids like Kimber Jo are why we do what we do. Help us get there, to ensure Kimber Jo and every other family battling these aggressive brain cancers have access to better options, more effective treatments, and ultimately, a cure. Because uncurable is unacceptable.