Kaylee Severin: An Illustration of Perspective

Life is really about perspective.

Remember that morning when you misplaced your keys at 4:30 AM as you needed to get out the door  –  stubbed your toe on the table leg and forgot your lunch on the very same table in the confusion.

“How could things possibly get any worse?” you said out loud.

Then out of nowhere comes a person who makes you stop dead in your tracks. Causes you to sit quietly and reflect. To re-evaluate. Everything.

Perspective.

Recently I was made aware of a lady by the name of Kaylee Severin who is a 23 year old mother of two young daughters living here in Pembroke. Kaylee has a cancerous tumor in her brain which has recently advanced from a stage 2 to stage 4 in a manner of a few short months.  In medical terms Kaylee has been diagnosed with Grade 4 IDH-mutant astrocytoma. Kaylee  set up a Go Fund Me page to help with her mounting medical bills. I felt I needed to look into this.

A local woman by the name of Christine Rinas contacted me a short while ago telling me that she had seen a story online about Kaylee and that she instantly felt compelled to help. She pledged to raise $5,000 for her and if successful, she would shave her own head. Her reasons for her altruism, it turns out are not surprising:

Kaylee came into the myFM studio accompanied by her Grandmother recently to share her story with me. Kaylee is a 23 year old young lady who wore a thick headband to hide the obvious scars from her surgeries. Her Grandmother Lawrie Morello had the look of a woman who you just knew was suffering right along with her grand daughter but nevertheless wore a sweet smile  – a smile that attempted to mask a sadness as profound as any I had ever seen. Grace under pressure personified.

Kaylee spoke in measured tones, pausing often to regain her train of thought as Lawrie gazed patiently at her knowing she would eventually pull herself back on track.

(NOTE: The audio I have provided has been edited to eliminate the long pauses she needed between words and thoughts.)

 November 29th, 2023 was the day that Kaylee experienced her first seizure. She was driving and fortunately her passenger was able to pull the vehicle safely to the side of the road avoiding what would surely have been a catastrophic accident. This was when the stage 2 tumor was discovered and thus began her journey.

As the conversation went on it was clear that it was taxing on Kaylee but she seemed to brighten a bit when she spoke of her daughters – Ryleigh who is four and Aliyah who is five:

Lawrie, who had remained steadfastly silent throughout the conversation offered her thoughts on how she has been coping with this harrowing experience:

At the time of writing this story Christine Rinas had collected over $1,500 for Kaylee and was certain that plenty more would be raised. Christine shared her final thoughts with me as well:

As I sat quietly at home at the end of the day of this interview I began reflecting on how fortunate I truly was to have everything that I do and I pledged to remind myself more often of this fact. It was at this moment when I received an email from Kaylee.

Below is that email word for word – in it’s entirety – un edited:

I don’t know how many more times I have left to say this, so I’m just going to say it now, fully, completely, truthfully.

My name is Kaylee Severin. I’m 23 years old. I’m a single mom to two beautiful little girls.

And I’m dying.

I’m a mom to two little girls who saved my life before I even realized how badly I needed saving.

I have terminal brain cancer. Grade 4 IDH-mutant astrocytoma. It’s not something you survive.

It’s the kind of thing that makes doctors look down when they talk to you.

It’s the kind that makes you start thinking about funerals before your next birthday.

They told me I’m not going to survive this. That it’s not about curing it, it’s about counting time.

And that time? It doesn’t feel long.

But before this cancer showed up, I was already surviving something that no one could see.

I spent ten years in a relationship that stole pieces of me I’m still trying to get back.

Ten years where my feelings weren’t safe. Where my voice didn’t matter.

Where I learned how to say “I’m fine” while breaking inside. I lost myself in it. And I stayed.

Because I didn’t believe I deserved more. Because I didn’t know what real love looked like.

Because when you grow up without a dad, you start chasing love in places that never lead you home.

Then I had Ryleigh, and Aliyah. And everything changed. They were my wake-up call.

They were the reason I walked away. Not because I wasn’t scared, I was.

But because staying started to feel more dangerous than leaving. So I left.

I started over with nothing but two babies and hope. I wanted to give them the life I never had.

And just when I started to rebuild…The seizures started. Then the diagnosis.

And I remember thinking, “Really? After everything I’ve already survived, this?”

I’ve done radiation. Chemo. Pills that make me sick. Hair falling out. Memory loss. Fatigue.

I’ve watched my body shift into something I barely recognize.

And still… I get up. I show up. I mother through the exhaustion.

I hold my girls through the pain. I still tuck them in. Still kiss them goodnight.

Still smile at them, even when I’ve been crying behind the bathroom door.

Some days, I can’t stand. Some days, I forget words.

Some days, I wonder if they’ll remember my laugh. My hugs. My voice.

So I’m writing letters. Planning everything.

Cremation. Necklaces with my ashes. A headstone. Things most 23-year-olds never think about.

But I don’t have the luxury of time. And I’m not scared of dying. I’ve made peace with that.

But what I haven’t made peace with is the idea that people might not know who I really was.

That my daughters might grow up hearing a version of me that’s been softened. Filtered. Reduced.

So I want to say it clearly, before I run out of chances.

I didn’t give up.

Not once.

I never stopped trying. Even when my body hurt.

Even when my heart was broken. Even when I had no one to lean on but myself.

I kept going. I kept loving. I kept being the mother they needed.

I am not a statistic. I’m not just a girl with cancer. I’m not just a “she was strong” post after I’m gone.

I’m Kaylee.

I’m a fighter.

I’m a mother.

I’m a woman who got knocked down over and over again… and stood up anyway.

I have lived through abuse. Through trauma. Through grief. Through this illness.

And I kept my heart open the whole time. So if this is the only thing people ever hear from me,

let it be the truth: I never stopped showing up.

Not for one second.

Even on the worst days, I gave my daughters everything I had.

I didn’t fold. I didn’t quit. I’m still here.

And I just want the world to know me,

before I’m gone.

(Written By: Richard Evans)