“COVID Couldn’t Steal Her Smile — But It Might Delay the Treatment She Needs Most”. Hyn
Hazel has COVID.
A small sentence, spoken quietly, yet carrying the kind of weight that can make an entire family stop moving, stop breathing, stop pretending that the ground beneath them is steady when they know it has been trembling for months.
Her mother didn’t expect it at all.
There was no fever, no cough, no warning sign that anything was wrong.
Just a quick test — something she did only because she was preparing to book flights for their upcoming trip to New York, a trip that carried with it all the fragile hope and desperation that comes with childhood cancer treatment.
Then the second line appeared.
Clear.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
As if it were saying, Your plans must change. Your hope must shift. Your fear must find new places to settle.
For most children, a positive COVID test is nothing more than an inconvenience.
For Hazel — a little girl already fighting a vicious disease — it is a complication that can bend the entire trajectory of her treatment, widening gaps that should never widen, slowing a momentum that should never slow.
Because when Hazel tests positive for COVID, everything stops.
Her immunotherapy — the treatment her body needs most, the treatment designed to hold back the cancer that has tried again and again to take more from her — must be paused.
And the space where immunotherapy should have been becomes a dangerous silence.
A silence where cancer sometimes advances.
A silence her parents have been terrified of before.
A silence they never wanted to hear again.
Hazel can still receive chemotherapy, and her medical team has agreed that she should.
They are already a week behind schedule, already pushing against the timeline, already holding their breath as they wait for the next step in her care.
So the trip to New York will continue.
They will fly out this weekend, desperately hoping it will be a quick visit — in and out — with no complications and no slowed progress.
Her mother asks for prayer, not casually, not gently, but with the urgency of someone whose entire world is held together by threads that feel thinner every day.
“Please pray that the chemotherapy is enough to keep the disease at bay,” she writes, the words heavy with memory, because Hazel has progressed before on chemo alone — and they all remember what that looked like, what that felt like, how it nearly shattered them.
And then there is the part that terrifies her the most — the virus itself.
COVID, like flu and strep and other infections, has too often been followed by relapse in children like Hazel.
“Too often,” her mother writes, “and it can’t be coincidence.”
A simple sentence, but one that trembles with dread.
Yet somehow — beautifully, unbelievably — Hazel feels fine.
She is playing.
She is laughing.
She has only the slightest runny nose, and even that seems like nothing more than a mild annoyance.
A small mercy in a world that has rarely given her anything that resembles ease.
Her mother hopes that the antibodies from nursing may have helped protect her.
She hopes Hazel’s little body is stronger than anyone realizes.
She hopes the virus will pass quietly, harmlessly, without stirring the cancer that has already stolen too much from her childhood.
But behind that hope is fear — a fear she is trying not to let grow too loud.
She knows the gap between immunotherapy cycles will now be longer than planned.
Longer than comfortable.
Longer than safe.
A thought that makes her stomach twist, her breath shorten, her mind fill with possibilities she cannot bear to imagine.
“God is in control,” she tells herself, pressing the words into her heart like a prayer, like a shield, like a reminder she must cling to even when anxiety claws at the edges of her resolve.
And Hazel, in all her innocence, simply continues being Hazel.
Joyful.
Bright.
Unaware of how many people are fighting for her, praying for her, holding her name in their hands as if it were a small flame they must protect from the wind.
Her mother asks again:
“Please pray for our girl.”
Three simple words that feel like a plea, a whisper, a cry wrapped in courage.
Because Hazel has COVID.
Hazel has cancer.
Hazel has a family doing everything in their power to keep the ground from collapsing beneath her tiny feet.
They need prayers for the chemo to hold the disease still.
Prayers for the virus to remain mild.
Prayers for time — precious, irreplaceable time — to pass without letting the cancer gain ground.
Prayers for the gap between treatments not to become an opening for fear to slip in.
Prayers for the medical team, the travel ahead, the fragile hope that has carried them this far.
Hazel is still smiling.
Still playing.
Still glowing with the kind of inner light that children have, the kind that cancer has tried to dim but has never been able to extinguish.
And now, more than ever, her family needs the world to lift her up.
To speak her name with intention.
To whisper hope into the air on her behalf.
To surround her with the kind of prayer that holds steady even when everything else feels uncertain.
Hazel has COVID — but Hazel also has a world willing to fight for her.
And as her mother keeps reminding herself, again and again, sometimes with shaking hands and sometimes with steady faith —
God is still in control.
Hazel’s story is still being written.
And the next chapter needs every prayer that love can offer.
Lost in the Tarkine: How the Discovery of Celine Cremer’s Belongings Reignited a Two-Year Mystery.5974
The mystery of Celine Cremer, a 31-year-old Belgian backpacker, has gripped Australia and Belgium alike for over two years.
What began as a brief solo hike to Philosopher Falls
in northwest Tasmania turned into a haunting disappearance that left families, friends, and an entire community searching for answers in one of the world’s most unforgiving rainforests.
Celine was an experienced traveler, a woman whose curiosity and love of nature had carried her across continents.
On June 17, 2023, she set out from her parked white Honda CRV at the trailhead, intending a short adventure to the falls before returning to mainland Australia to catch the
Spirit of Tasmania ferry on June 21. She never made it.
Initial searches began swiftly. Police, SES volunteers, drones, and cadaver dogs combed the trails, riverbeds, and bushland surrounding the falls. But Tasmania’s winter proved brutal.
Freezing temperatures, heavy rain, and even snow transformed a search for a missing hiker into a battle against the elements.
By July 10, authorities reluctantly suspended operations after medical experts concluded that survival beyond a few days in such conditions was extremely unlikely.
Yet Celine’s family, led by her mother, Ariane Cremer, never gave up hope. Across Belgium and Tasmania, her absence became a lingering ache, a silent question mark in the lives of those who loved her. The family engaged private investigator
Ken Gamble, who reviewed her phone data, studied the terrain, and conducted multiple reconnaissance missions in the Tarkine rainforest, a labyrinth of dense vegetation, fallen trees, and treacherous drops.
For more than two years, the case remained a chilling enigma. Locals remembered Celine fondly, a polite, curious tourist who had eagerly taken their advice to explore Philosopher Falls. But memory and goodwill could not replace evidence, and the trail of clues had grown cold.
The breakthrough came unexpectedly in December 2025, during a renewed private search.
Volunteers, roughly thirty in number and including Celine’s friends flown in from Belgium, combed areas off the beaten path based on careful analysis of her GPS data. On the first day, volunteer
Tony Hage stumbled upon a small purple Samsung phone buried under moss and leaf litter.
Its serial number confirmed it belonged to Celine. Remarkably, the device had survived the harsh wilderness for over two years.
The find was both thrilling and haunting. Police immediately joined the search, providing resources and expertise.
Soon, other personal items were discovered: an empty Mt Ossa spring water bottle, lid intact, and a black garbage bag fashioned into a makeshift poncho, carefully tucked beside a fallen log. Each item told a story of survival and struggle.
Investigators believe Celine may have veered off-trail using Google Maps in search of a shortcut as daylight faded. She likely dropped her phone and pressed forward, disoriented by the thick undergrowth.
The makeshift shelter items indicate that she survived at least one night, rationing water and fashioning protection against cold and rain—consistent with her eco-aware habits of carrying trash bags for emergencies.
The emotional toll on volunteers was immediate. Tears were shed at the discovery of the phone, followed by bittersweet resolve as they realized how close, and yet how far, Celine had been from safety. Filmmaker
Rob Parsons, documenting the search, called the moment a “game changer.”
Private investigator Gamble noted that the items perfectly matched Celine’s careful, conscientious approach to travel—she would never have littered, even inadvertently.
However, after several grueling days in the dense Tarkine rainforest, battling extreme weather swings, snake hazards, and exhausting terrain, the search was temporarily suspended. All recovered items were handed to Tasmania Police for
urgent forensic analysis.
DNA testing on the bottle and makeshift poncho, alongside data extraction from the phone, will be crucial in understanding Celine’s final movements and whether any unseen factors contributed to her disappearance.
Authorities emphasized that the pause was a matter of caution. Preserving the integrity of evidence is critical in cases like this, where contamination or oversight could jeopardize answers.
Volunteers expressed frustration and heartbreak, some extending their stay in the hopes of returning to the forest once testing concludes.
The discoveries have reinforced the prevailing theory: accidental disorientation in the Tarkine rainforest.
Dense undergrowth, fallen giants, and sudden drops have claimed lives before. Questions linger: Why did Celine not make an emergency call?
Was the signal poor, was she unfamiliar with Australia’s 000 emergency number, or did she lose the phone early? Forensic results may provide clarity.
For her family, the findings are a mix of relief and heartbreak. Relief that Celine fought to survive, that there is tangible evidence of her last movements. Heartbreak that the wilderness she loved so deeply ultimately proved merciless.
Ariane Cremer and Celine’s friends have expressed gratitude to volunteers who braved the forest, acknowledging the emotional and physical labor involved in a search that is as treacherous as it is heartbreaking.
The case has also sparked broader discussions on trail safety and public awareness. Signage around Philosopher Falls now urges hikers to remain on established paths, carry emergency devices, and be mindful of the unpredictability of Tasmania’s wilderness.
In a small town like Waratah, these discussions resonate deeply, underscoring how ordinary decisions—choosing a shortcut, taking a moment to admire the scenery—can have life-altering consequences in such rugged landscapes.
Even as Christmas approaches, the mystery of Celine Cremer captivates and torments.
Her story is one of resilience, courage, and a relentless human spirit that battled the elements, sought solutions, and survived—at least long enough for us to glimpse her path through the forest.
Yet it is also a story of fragility, of the relentless and indifferent power of nature, and of a family’s ongoing grief.
The Tasmanian rainforest, with its moss-draped trees and hidden ravines, now holds the evidence that may finally reveal what happened to Celine.
Her belongings, carefully preserved, are poised to tell a story two years in the making.
In every item recovered—the phone, the water bottle, the makeshift poncho—there is a testament to her determination, her intelligence, and her instinct to survive.
For the volunteers, investigators, and loved ones, the pause is agonizing. It is a moment to breathe, to respect the painstaking work of forensic analysis, and to prepare for the answers that may finally emerge.
Each day without confirmation is another day of waiting, another day of uncertainty, another day of hope mingled with fear.
Yet, the discovery of Celine’s personal items has reanimated the case in ways that words cannot fully capture. It is a reminder that even in vast, unforgiving wilderness, small clues can illuminate the truth.
It is a signal to every hiker, traveler, and adventurer that preparation, caution, and respect for nature are not optional—they are essential.
Celine’s story is not only a mystery to solve; it is a testament to the courage of a woman navigating both the physical and psychological challenges of an unfamiliar wilderness. Her legacy is a call to remember her as she was: brave, meticulous, and deeply curious.
The Tasmanian authorities now hold the key to understanding her final moments. The forensic testing will take time, but it represents the first tangible hope for closure in over two years.
Volunteers, friends, and family remain poised for answers, their hearts and minds attuned to every update, every result, every revelation.
In the dense Tarkine rainforest, Celine Cremer’s story remains etched into the moss and leaf litter, into the paths she walked and the choices she made.
The world waits as Tasmania Police and forensic teams piece together the puzzle that has captivated a nation.
And for her loved ones, hope is bittersweet: hope that the mystery will be solved, and heartbreak that the wilderness claimed a life so vibrant, so curious, so full of potential.
Celine fought against nature’s indifference, and now her belongings fight to tell her story. What emerges from the forest may not undo the pain, but it promises a deeper understanding—a final chapter in a journey marked by courage, resilience, and the relentless search for answers.
Her disappearance has touched thousands, sparked a global conversation about solo travel safety, and reminded us all of the delicate line between adventure and danger.
As the forensic results approach, the Tasmanian wilderness, with all its beauty and peril, holds the key to unlocking the final truth about Celine Cremer’s fate.
For those who loved her, for the volunteers who searched tirelessly, and for the world watching, the forest’s silence is filled with waiting
