Bryson’s Journey: 1,027 Days of Courage and Love
Last night, at exactly 5 p.m., the world stood still for a fleeting moment, or perhaps it was just our hearts that did. Bryson, our brave little warrior, won his battle. June 18, 2020 — September 26, 2025 🪿🪽.
For 1,027 days, he faced challenges no child should ever face. And now, he is free. Free from cancer. Free from pain. Free from fear. Yet even in his passing, his story continues to teach, inspire, and remind us of the power of resilience and love.
It all began in 2020, on a day like any other. Bryson was diagnosed at an age when he should have been learning to crawl, to speak, to explore the world with curiosity and laughter.
Instead, our world shifted in an instant. We were handed a diagnosis that changed everything: cancer. The word itself is heavy, crushing, and impossible to reconcile with the innocence of a child.
From that moment, life became a blur of hospitals, medications, and constant vigilance.
Chemotherapy sessions were scheduled with clinical precision, each one leaving our little boy weak, nauseated, and weary. But Bryson endured them all, often smiling through the pain, showing a courage that astonished even the most seasoned doctors.
Early on, we learned that courage is not the absence of fear. It is standing tall in the face of it. And Bryson embodied this truth.
Even when his tiny body was wracked with pain, when his little hands trembled, and when sleep eluded him for nights on end, he held on.
Every flutter of his eyelids, every quiet breath, every tiny squeeze of our hands was a testament to his unyielding spirit.
There were days when the treatments seemed endless. The chemo left him exhausted, the injections hurt, and the side effects made him cry out in ways that tore at our hearts.
Yet even in those moments, there was a spark — a glimmer of the boy we knew before cancer, a reminder that inside this tiny body was a soul determined to fight.
We celebrated every milestone differently. Sitting up for the first time after a long illness felt like winning a championship. Taking a few steps with assistance became an act of triumph.
Laughing during playtime in the hospital room was more precious than any ordinary childhood memory. And with each milestone, we realized that life is measured not in years, but in moments — moments of joy, courage, and connection.
Through the 1,027 days, there were setbacks. Relapses that brought crushing fear, days when his body didn’t respond, nights when the machines beeped in endless rhythm, reminding us of the fragility of life.
The fear was constant — fear of what might come next, fear of the unknown, fear of losing him. And yet, Bryson continued to fight, often surprising us, often defying expectations. Doctors would shake their heads in disbelief, marveling at how a child so small could endure so much.
Alongside the medical battles, there were emotional battles. Fear, grief, and exhaustion weighed heavily on all of us. Every day, we grappled with the reality that our child’s life depended on our vigilance, on the expertise of doctors, and on the fragility of circumstance.
Yet through it all, there was love — an unbreakable, relentless force that carried us forward. We held him through every procedure, whispered stories and songs into his ears, and reminded him, over and over, that he was never alone.
There were mornings when the sun seemed to shine a little brighter simply because Bryson smiled. There were nights when we clung to hope as tightly as he clung to our hands.
Each new day brought uncertainty, but also the possibility of a miracle. And Bryson, with every fiber of his being, taught us that miracles come in the quietest, smallest moments: a calm breath, a flicker of an eyelid, the gentle grasp of a tiny hand.
Bryson’s courage was not just in his survival. It was in the way he faced every challenge with dignity and strength.
Even when he was scared, he tried to be brave. Even when he was in pain, he tried to comfort us. His presence was a constant lesson in resilience.
Throughout the journey, we were supported by a community of angels. Friends, family, strangers — their prayers, messages, and acts of kindness became threads woven into the fabric of Bryson’s fight.
Each word of encouragement, each prayer, each gesture of support reminded us that courage is not fought alone. It is shared, multiplied, and nurtured by love.
The milestones of his journey were etched in our hearts. The first time he held a toy after a long bout of treatment.
The first laugh that broke through a day of silence. The first night he slept through without pain. Each of these was a victory, each of these a triumph of spirit over circumstance.
Even in the darkest moments, there was light. The hospice nurses, doctors, and caregivers were not just medical professionals — they were companions on a journey that tested the limits of human strength.
They witnessed Bryson’s defiance of expectations, his quiet victories, his moments of joy amidst unimaginable suffering. And we learned that courage is contagious, that hope can flourish even in the harshest of places.
And then, the final chapter arrived. September 26, 2025. The days leading up to it were filled with the same love, the same vigilance, the same determination to make every second meaningful. And at 5 p.m., Bryson’s journey ended — not in fear, not in pain, but in freedom. Cancer free. Pain free. Fear free.
Even in our grief, there is gratitude. Gratitude for every moment we shared. Gratitude for every lesson Bryson taught us. Gratitude for the love he inspired, the courage he embodied, and the hope he instilled. Bryson’s fight was not just his own. It lives in us, in everyone who knew him, and in every memory he created.
Bryson will forever remain our little warrior. His legacy is one of resilience, love, and unyielding courage. He showed us what it means to fight with heart, to love without reservation, and to live fully even when life is hardest.
And though our arms feel empty now, our hearts are full. Full of memories, full of love, full of gratitude for the extraordinary life of our extraordinary boy.
I will forever fight for him — in memory, in spirit, in every story I tell, in every act of love I extend to others in his honor.
Bryson’s journey may have ended, but his story will never fade. It will inspire, remind, and teach. Every breath we take, every heartbeat, every moment is now a tribute to him. And we will carry his courage, his love, and his spirit forward, forever.
Bryson, thank you. Thank you for showing us the true meaning of strength. Thank you for teaching us what it means to fight. Thank you for reminding us that life, even when fragile, is worth every second. You are free now, and yet, you will live in our hearts, eternally.
Cancer free. Pain free. Fear free. And forever loved.
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.
