Randy was a 16-year-old with dreams as bold and bright as his smile. Whether he was on the mound pitching or crouched behind home plate catching, his passion for baseball radiated from him like sunlight. It wasn’t just a sport to Randy—it was a way of life, a language he spoke fluently and joyfully. His love for the game mirrored his love for life: fierce, focused, and full of heart.

He was a devoted son, a loyal friend, and a big brother to three playful kittens who adored him. With every hug, every laugh, and every goofy impression, Randy reminded us of the beauty in simple moments. He was a light in every room—warm, funny, and wonderfully unique. His sense of humor was effortless, his sense of style unapologetically his own. He could rock a vintage band tee with the same confidence he wore when cracking a perfectly timed joke.

An old soul in a young body, Randy had an unwavering affection for ‘80s hard rock and heavy metal. While his peers were tuned into the latest pop hits, Randy blasted AC/DC and Metallica, air-guitaring like a rock legend reincarnated. He lived and breathed creativity—his imagination boundless. One day he’d become Woody from Toy Story, the next a ninja leaping through the halls, or SpongeBob SquarePants with a laugh so convincing you could almost see the pineapple under the sea.

In the fall of 2023, Randy’s vibrant world began to shift. Subtle symptoms—fatigue, headaches, a faint humming in his ears—soon escalated to morning vomiting, blurred vision, and difficulty holding his head upright. With every clinic visit, every ER trip, we searched desperately for answers. Each misdiagnosis—from inner ear infections to vertigo—pushed us further into helplessness.

Refusing to accept yet another vague explanation, we sought an ENT specialist on our own. On December 29, 2023, that decision changed everything. Reviewing previous scans, the specialist discovered a tumor on Randy’s cerebellum—a truth missed for weeks. The heartbreak was immeasurable. Our son had been fighting an invisible enemy, misled by well-meaning but mistaken professionals.

Randy was rushed to the University of Michigan, where further imaging confirmed the tumor. Within 48 hours, he underwent a marathon 15-hour surgery. He survived—but the battle had only just begun. The procedure left him with severe impairments: weakness on his left side, blurred speech, limited mobility, and blindness in one eye.

In the ICU, doctors confirmed what we feared—medulloblastoma, a rare and aggressive brain tumor. More surgeries followed—a spinal tap, a shunt, a battery of tests and scans. Randy endured it all with the bravery of a warrior and the grace of an old soul.

After 45 days in the hospital, we were allowed a moment to breathe. A short, cherished break at home led into a grueling eight-week course of radiation and chemotherapy at the Royal Oak Proton Center. Five days a week, our boy endured the exhausting effects of treatment. His hair fell, his body thinned—but his spirit? It never wavered. His faith, his gratitude, his humor—they stayed, a testament to his unbreakable will.

When Randy rang the bell at the end of his treatment, we wept. Not just for what we had all survived, but for the hope it symbolized. We clung to the sliver of peace—spending time as a family, sharing meals, celebrating small victories.

But the cancer had not yet finished its cruel work. Follow-up scans revealed microscopic tumor cells lingering in his spinal fluid. A six-month maintenance chemotherapy plan was set in motion, filled with long hospital stays and intense treatment. Randy faced every setback with quiet determination, even as his body weakened. He lost weight, struggled to eat, and fought through relentless nausea. Still, he smiled. Still, he thanked his nurses. Still, he prayed.

Eventually, the cancer spread aggressively. Seizures stole his mobility, but never his courage. Even in moments of silence, Randy found strength to speak again, rallying to tell us he loved us, cracking a soft joke, or squeezing our hands just tight enough to say, “I’m still here.”

Born on October 31, 2007, our Halloween baby brought magic and mischief into every corner of our world. On July 4, 2024—Independence Day—Randy found his eternal freedom. He left us with broken hearts, but also with immeasurable pride. He was, and always will be, our hero.

Randy’s journey is not just one of unimaginable hardship—it is a powerful reminder of the importance of medical advocacy and timely, accurate diagnosis. It’s a call to action, a plea to listen closer, look deeper, and never give up when something feels wrong.

His story is now his legacy—one that will continue to inspire, uplift, and urge us all to live more fully, love more deeply, and fight a little harder for what’s right.

He is missed. He is loved. And he will never be forgotten.