When talking about what happened to Allie, I choose to say, “I have a daughter that died.” I don’t say, “I lost a daughter.” There is a reason for this. I lost Allie once, but it wasn’t to brain cancer. I lost her at Chuck E. Cheese.

It was only a little over two years ago, and it was the only time I lost Allie. She was just two months shy of her third birthday. At the time, it was the worst feeling I had ever experienced. We were at Chuck E. Cheese braving the madness on a Saturday at a birthday party for my nephew, Ashton. The kids had finished up eating pizza and cake, and they were dancing up front by the stage. Kyle and I were talking with the other adults at the party. My eyes scanned up to where all of the kids were. I could see Evie and Ashton, but I didn’t see Allie. She was wearing bright orange shorts, and I knew she had been easy to spot. Fear set in my entire body. Allie was here a minute ago and gone the next.

Soon all of the adults were searching throughout Chuck E. Cheese looking for Allie. Through the tunnels, through the arcade, inside the photo booth, but she was nowhere to be found. I tried to remain calm. Chuck E. Cheese has a turnstyle and person in place by the door to make sure no child can leave without the adult they entered with. I used all my self-control to contain my emotions, and I tried to be logical. Allie was still here. I just had to find her.

Suddenly, I remembered the bathroom. Allie had been potty trained for a long time, and she prided herself on never having an accident. I rushed in the girl’s bathroom and glanced under the stalls. There, I saw two little legs with orange shorts hanging down. I yelled her name and entered the stall. I was greeted with a “Hi Mommy.” Finding Allie was the biggest moment of relief in my life to that point. I told her that she shouldn’t have gone without me. I told her I needed her to stay with me. Allie was so independent, and I don’t think she understood why I was so upset. She told me, “I had to go and so I just went.”

Seven months later, Allie was in the PICU of the children’s hospital fighting for her life. She had suffered a huge seizure, her temperature had dropped dangerously low, and she quit breathing on her own. The physicians at the hospital thought she may have lost all function, but they had to try to take her off the ventilator to assess her. Allie was told not to move as the staff worked to remove the tubes and equipment. And that wonderful feeling of relief came when I heard her voice whisper, “Okay.”

We were hopeful at the time that it was encephalitis and that she would make a full recovery. We brought Allie home from the hospital and cuddled her often during this time. One day, as she sat in my lap, I asked her, “Did Mommy almost lose you?” And she answered, “Yes. In the Chuck E. Cheese bathroom.”

I thought this was so funny for Allie to remember our reunion in the Chuck E. Cheese bathroom after all she had been through. But looking back, I know that Allie was right. I did lose her in the Chuck E. Cheese bathroom. I didn’t almost lose her in the hospital on that March day. She almost died on that March day. It was nothing short of a miracle to get her back. But sometimes the miracle isn’t as big or as beautiful as you had hoped. Allie died from brain cancer less than three months later.

But, oh Al. My thoughts now are the same as that day I lost you at Chuck E. Cheese. You were just here a minute ago, so how could you be gone so quickly? I want to tell you the same things. You shouldn’t have gone without me. I needed you to stay here with me.

I can almost hear you tell me, “I had to go and so I just went.”