Noah Reeb: A 10-Year-Old Hero’s Journey from Brain Cancer to the NFL Sidelines
Noah Reeb’s life changed forever in November 2020, when the first hints of trouble began to appear. At just seven years old, the energetic boy from Utah started complaining of daily headaches. At first, his parents thought it was typical childhood discomfort, but the pain grew increasingly severe. James Reeb, Noah’s father, remembers watching his son struggle, doubled over with nausea, vomiting from the intensity of the headaches, and yet trying to push through as if nothing were wrong. These were not ordinary headaches—they were the early signs of a battle no child should ever have to face.
By February 22, the Reeb family received life-altering news: Noah had a germinoma, a rare germ cell tumor located in his brain. The diagnosis was devastating, an invisible enemy threatening to take away their son’s health and their peace. For Jacque, Noah’s mother, and James, the reality of cancer was overwhelming. But from the moment the diagnosis was delivered, the family’s love, faith, and determination became a shield against fear.
Noah’s treatment was intense and grueling. Within a week and a half, he underwent two surgeries, including a full craniotomy, a procedure that required opening the skull to access and remove the tumor. It was a frightening ordeal, yet Noah faced it with remarkable bravery. As his parents describe, he never allowed the pain or fear to extinguish his spirit.
Following surgery, Noah endured weeks of chemotherapy, the harsh drugs attacking both the cancer and, inadvertently, parts of his growing body. The treatments left him physically drained, but mentally and emotionally, he refused to surrender. Even as needles pricked, and injections caused discomfort, Noah’s resilience shone through. His father recalls countless moments when Noah, despite his fatigue, asked, “Am I going to be done in time for practice? Am I going to be done in time for my game?”
Football had always been Noah’s sanctuary. The sport offered him a temporary escape from the hospital environment, from the constant vigilance, from the sense of vulnerability that accompanies every child fighting cancer. When chemotherapy or radiation sessions left him feeling isolated and weak, thinking about football, about running across the field and throwing passes, gave him motivation. It reminded him of life beyond the treatments and the hospital walls.
Amid the long nights in the hospital, with the hum of monitors and the distant sounds of the city outside, Noah received a lifeline from someone he admired greatly: Tom Brady, the six-time Super Bowl champion quarterback. Early in Noah’s battle, Brady sent a short video message to encourage him. In the clip, Brady reassured Noah that he had a strong family supporting him and that he would be okay. It was a simple gesture, but it carried enormous weight. Every time Noah felt weak or frightened, he would watch the video again. James Reeb remembers how it “picked Noah right up” and served as a beacon of hope, a reminder that courage exists even in the darkest moments.
The Reebs’ days were filled with the rhythm of hospital visits, treatments, and rehabilitation. Through it all, Noah never lost his love for football. Even while enduring chemotherapy, he remained determined to play, to throw, to run. The sport became intertwined with his healing. Every practice, every throw, every imaginary play across the living room or backyard felt like a victory against the disease threatening his life.
By July 2021, after months of surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation, Noah reached a milestone that filled the family with profound relief and joy: he was declared cancer-free. The ringing of the bell at Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City symbolized not only the end of active treatment but also a new beginning—a chance to reclaim his childhood and his dreams.
Yet Noah’s journey was far from over. In October, a special opportunity arose that combined his passion for football with a moment of personal celebration. On October 25, Noah traveled across the country with his family to Tampa Bay, Florida, to attend a Buccaneers game against the Chicago Bears. It was more than just a football game; it was a chance to meet the hero who had inspired him throughout his treatment: Tom Brady.
Noah arrived at the stadium carrying a homemade sign that read, “Tom Brady helped me beat brain cancer.” His small hands clutched the sign tightly as he sat in the stands, heart pounding, eyes wide with excitement. Brady noticed the sign almost immediately. In a moment that Noah would never forget, the quarterback ran to the sidelines, approached the young cancer survivor, and placed a Buccaneers “Crucial Catch” cap on his head. The gesture brought tears to Noah’s eyes. Overwhelmed by gratitude, joy, and relief, he broke down, a mixture of emotion and disbelief washing over him.
“It was a blessing to even attend the game,” Noah later said. “The fact that I was even there made me want to cry … I was so happy.” For Noah, this was the culmination of years of struggle, a moment that transformed a fan experience into a deeply personal triumph.
The Reeb family reflects on how football served not just as entertainment, but as a lifeline during treatment. The sport provided Noah with mental and emotional strength, a safe haven where the pain of illness could be temporarily forgotten. Brady’s video, the upcoming game, and the dream of meeting his hero became an anchor that kept him focused on recovery.
Now, Noah continues to enjoy the freedoms of childhood with renewed gratitude. He returned to school, catching up on missed lessons and reconnecting with friends. He participates in football and other activities he loves, embodying the resilience, determination, and positivity that have carried him through the darkest days.
Noah’s story is a powerful reminder of how small gestures, unwavering support, and personal determination can combine to overcome even the most daunting challenges. His journey shows that courage is not the absence of fear, but the will to continue despite it. His battle against germinoma, a rare brain tumor, and his recovery has inspired his family, friends, and countless strangers. It demonstrates that hope, when nurtured with love and community support, can turn the impossible into reality.
From the first hospital visit to ringing the bell declaring him cancer-free, to the unforgettable meeting with Tom Brady at the NFL game, Noah’s journey is a testament to resilience, the power of dreams, and the unbreakable bond between a family determined to fight for their child. He has not only survived brain cancer but has also emerged as an inspiration, proving that even the most challenging battles can be met with courage, hope, and the joy of living.
Noah Reeb’s story continues, a living example of strength, faith, and the extraordinary impact one hero, one family, and one sport can have on the life of a child who refused to give up.
Five Lives, One Journey Home: The Van Epps Family Remembered.5831
On June 30, 2024, a journey that began with laughter, pride, and the lingering glow of a family memory ended in silence, leaving behind an absence so deep it is still difficult to comprehend.
The Van Epps family had been on their way home to Georgia, returning from Cooperstown, New York, a place that had become sacred ground for so many families who gather there not just to celebrate baseball, but to celebrate childhood itself.
For James Ryan Van Epps and his wife, Laura, the trip was never just about a tournament.
It was about time.
Time together.
Time watching their sons grow into themselves.
Time spent cheering from the sidelines, laughing over late-night meals, and soaking in moments they knew would someday live only in memory.
James and Laura were the kind of parents who measured success not by trophies, but by the character of their children.
They believed in showing up.
They believed in faith.
They believed that love, when given freely and consistently, had the power to shape a life.
Their sons, James Ryan Jr.—known to everyone simply as JR—and ten-year-old Harrison, were the living proof of that belief.
JR, at twelve, carried himself with a quiet confidence that came from knowing he was deeply loved.
He was thoughtful, curious, and fiercely loyal, the kind of boy who looked out for others without being asked.
Harrison, younger by two years, matched his brother step for step, his joy spilling out in laughter that could fill a room.
Where JR was steady, Harrison was electric.
Together, they were inseparable.
They shared more than a love for baseball.
They shared a bond forged in backyard games, long car rides, inside jokes, and the unspoken comfort of knowing that no matter what happened, they had each other.
In Cooperstown, they were exactly where they belonged.
Surrounded by teammates, parents, and coaches, the boys lived out a dream that countless young athletes hold close to their hearts.
They played hard.
They laughed harder.
They wore their uniforms with pride and returned each night tired, happy, and eager to tell their parents every detail of the day.
James and Laura watched from the stands, cheering until their voices grew hoarse.
They took photos they planned to look back on for years.
They talked about the future.
High school games.
College visits.
The kind of conversations parents have when they imagine their children growing older, stronger, and more independent, while still hoping time might slow just a little.
Laura’s father, Roger Beggs, was there too.
Not just as a grandfather, but as a constant, grounding presence.
Roger had always been a man of quiet strength and open generosity.
He was adventurous in spirit, the kind of person who believed life was meant to be experienced fully, not cautiously observed from a distance.
As a father, he had raised Laura with patience and encouragement.
As a grandfather, he delighted in JR and Harrison, never missing a chance to celebrate their achievements or listen intently as they talked about their dreams.
Roger was also a pilot.
Flying was more than a skill for him.
It was a passion.
A way of seeing the world from a different perspective.
A way of connecting places, people, and moments.
On June 30, the family boarded the single-engine aircraft together, ready to return home.
It was supposed to be the final chapter of a perfect trip.
They had a planned fuel stop.
They had a destination waiting.
They had each other.
The weather, however, had other plans.
Somewhere along the route, conditions worsened.
Investigators would later say weather was believed to be a contributing factor, though the full story would take time to uncover.
The aircraft never made it home.
In a single, devastating moment, five lives were lost.
James.
Laura.
JR.
Harrison.
Roger.
Five names.
Five stories.
Five irreplaceable presences ripped away from the people who loved them.
The news spread quickly, and then it spread slowly, in the way tragedies do—one phone call at a time, one stunned conversation after another.
Friends struggled to find words.
Teammates didn’t know how to process the loss of boys they had played beside just days earlier.
Parents hugged their own children a little tighter that night, suddenly aware of how fragile even the happiest moments can be.
For those who knew the Van Epps family, the loss felt personal, even if they couldn’t explain why.
James Ryan Van Epps was a man who lived his values.
He was devoted to his family, steady in his faith, and generous with his time.
He was the kind of father who listened.
The kind of husband who supported without condition.
He believed in leading by example, in showing his sons what it meant to be kind, responsible, and compassionate.
Laura Van Epps was warmth personified.
She had a gift for making people feel seen.
As a mother, she poured herself into her boys’ lives, balancing encouragement with gentle guidance, always reminding them that effort mattered more than outcome.
Her love for her family was unmistakable, woven into everything she did.
JR and Harrison were still so young, yet they had already left a mark.
Coaches remembered their sportsmanship.
Friends remembered their smiles.
Teachers remembered their curiosity.
They were the kind of boys who made teams better simply by being part of them.
Roger Beggs leaves behind a legacy that stretches across generations.
As a father, he gave his daughter confidence and independence.
As a grandfather, he offered unconditional love and endless encouragement.
As a pilot, he carried a sense of responsibility that came with guiding others safely through the skies.
Those who knew him remember his laughter, his generosity, and his willingness to help whenever he was needed.
The investigation into the crash will continue.
The National Transportation Safety Board’s final report is not expected until late 2025 or 2026.
Facts will be gathered.
Data will be analyzed.
Questions will be answered, at least in part.
But no report can explain the emptiness left behind.
No conclusion can restore what was lost.
In the wake of such tragedy, people often search for meaning.
They ask why.
They ask how.
They ask what could have been done differently.
Those questions are human, and they are understandable.
But sometimes, meaning is found not in answers, but in remembrance.
The Van Epps family lived a life rooted in love.
They showed up for each other.
They celebrated together.
They believed in faith, family, and community.
That legacy does not disappear with their passing.
It lives on in the stories told by friends.
In the lessons learned by teammates.
In the countless small ways they touched the lives of others.
It lives on in the way JR and Harrison played the game—with joy, respect, and heart.
It lives on in the example James and Laura set as parents and partners.
It lives on in the adventurous spirit Roger carried with him, both on the ground and in the air.
Grief has a way of distorting time.
Moments stretch.
Days blur.
The absence becomes louder than any sound.
For those closest to the family, the road ahead will be unimaginably difficult.
There will be milestones that arrive without them.
Birthdays.
Holidays.
Baseball seasons that come and go.
And yet, love has a way of enduring.
It lingers in photographs.
In shared memories.
In the quiet moments when someone recalls a laugh, a gesture, a familiar phrase.
The Van Epps family may no longer be physically present, but they are not gone.
They are carried forward in the hearts of those who loved them.
In the lessons they taught simply by the way they lived.
In the reminder they leave behind: that life is precious, time is fleeting, and love is the most lasting legacy any of us can hope to leave.
As we hold this family in our thoughts and prayers, may we also honor them by choosing kindness, by showing up for one another, and by cherishing the moments we so often assume will always be there.
Because sometimes, the most ordinary journey becomes unforgettable.
And sometimes, the deepest impact is left not by how long a life is lived, but by how fully it is loved.
