There are moments in life when everything feels suspended — when time slows, voices soften, and the air in the room changes in a way you can’t quite explain. For Will Roberts and his family, that moment arrived quietly, carried not by sirens or alarms, but by medical words heavy enough to shift an entire world.
This week, the latest medical reviews brought news no family ever wants to hear. The kind of update that doesn’t arrive with certainty, but with questions. The kind that forces parents to look at one another, steady their breathing, and prepare for what might come next — even when nothing is clear yet.
Doctors are now seeing signs that Will’s condition may be worsening.
And that single word — may — has become both the family’s torment and their fragile thread of hope.
A New Pain, in a Familiar Place
In the middle of this uncertainty, Will has developed a new and troubling wave of shoulder pain. On its own, pain is frightening enough. But this pain appeared in a place that instantly raised alarms: the same area where a tumor had previously been identified.
For families walking the road of childhood cancer, details matter. Locations matter. Patterns matter. And this detail, small on paper, felt enormous in reality.
Doctors took notice immediately.
The concern wasn’t just about discomfort. It was about what that pain might represent — and whether it signaled a change in the disease itself. Suddenly, the familiar routines of monitoring and waiting were replaced with a heavier vigilance. Every sensation, every complaint, every quiet moment became something to watch closely.
For Will, it meant facing yet another layer of uncertainty in a journey already filled with too many unknowns for someone his age.
A Number That Carries Weight
As if the new pain weren’t enough, Will’s most recent bloodwork added another reason for concern.
His alkaline phosphatase level has risen to 800.
To most people, that number might seem abstract. But in osteosarcoma cases, it’s a figure doctors monitor carefully. Elevated levels can be associated with more aggressive disease activity, and seeing it climb has prompted serious attention from Will’s medical team.
It doesn’t provide answers on its own — but it raises important questions.
Is the cancer changing?
Is it becoming more active?
What does this mean for treatment moving forward?
Right now, no one can say for sure.
And that uncertainty is often the hardest part.
Living in the Space Between Answers
At this moment, Will’s family finds themselves in the space no one prepares you for — the space between test results and conclusions, between “watching closely” and “knowing for certain.”
They are waiting.
Waiting for clarity. Waiting for direction. Waiting for news that could either steady their hearts or ask them to brace for something harder.
Jason and Brittney are doing what parents do when answers are scarce: holding themselves together for their child. Showing up. Staying strong in front of Will even when fear presses in. Trying to maintain normal moments in a life that has long since stopped feeling normal.
They know this road too well. They understand how quickly hope and heartbreak can trade places. And still, they choose to hope.
The Invisible Toll of Waiting
Cancer doesn’t only attack the body. It wears down families quietly, day by day, in the pauses between appointments and the long nights filled with unanswered questions.
The waiting can feel endless.
Every ring of the phone, every message from the hospital, every glance at test results carries emotional weight. You rehearse conversations that haven’t happened yet. You prepare yourself for outcomes you pray won’t come. You learn to live in a constant state of readiness — not for action, but for news.
For Will’s family, this moment is especially heavy because it doesn’t come with clear direction yet. There is no definitive plan change. No final conclusion. Just vigilance, monitoring, and prayer.
And sometimes, that is harder than certainty.
Faith in the Face of Fear
Through all of this, the Roberts family continues to lean on faith — not as a guarantee of outcomes, but as a source of strength when control is gone.
Faith doesn’t erase fear. It exists alongside it.
It looks like holding hands in quiet rooms. Like whispered prayers late at night. Like believing that even in uncertainty, they are not walking alone.
They are holding onto hope not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.
A Community Asked to Stand With Them
Right now, Will’s journey has reached another fragile chapter — one written not in final answers, but in waiting and watchfulness.
The family is asking for prayers — for wisdom for Will’s doctors, for peace during sleepless nights, and for strength as they face whatever comes next. They are asking for prayers not only for healing, but for endurance in the meantime.
Because sometimes the hardest part of this journey isn’t the fight itself — it’s the not knowing.
Holding Space for Hope
There are more questions than answers today. That truth hangs heavily. But so does hope.
Hope that the pain can be understood.
Hope that the numbers don’t tell the whole story.
Hope that this chapter, however frightening, is not the final one.
For now, Will’s family continues to wait, to pray, and to love fiercely in the middle of uncertainty — doing the only thing they can do when the air in the room changes and the future feels unclear.
And they are not doing it alone.
Please continue to keep Will, Jason, and Brittney in your thoughts and prayers as they face this difficult moment — hoping, waiting, and bracing for what comes next.
💙🙏
