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Kinlee’s Krew: The Stinky Karter Foundation, Lufkin, TX (2026)

05/13/2026

Today we’re talking about the reality of DIPG treatment.

And the truth is heartbreaking.

After more than 60 years, the standard of care for DIPG is still radiation.

Not a cure.
Not a breakthrough.
Not survival.

Radiation.

A treatment meant to temporarily slow tumor progression and relieve symptoms for a short amount of time.

That’s it.

No surgery, because the tumor is buried deep within the brainstem — the part of the brain responsible for breathing, swallowing, heart rate, movement, and life itself.

And despite decades of research attempts, chemotherapy has repeatedly proven ineffective against DIPG.

So families are handed impossible choices and forced to place their hope in radiation treatments that often come with devastating side effects.

Some children receive photon radiation, which passes through the tumor but also exits the other side, damaging healthy tissue along the way.

Others may qualify for proton radiation, which can more precisely target the tumor and reduce damage to surrounding tissue, but proton therapy is not widely accessible and is often financially out of reach for many families.

And even then, neither option is a cure.

These children endure exhaustion, nausea, headaches, hair loss, swallowing difficulties, radiation burns, and worsening neurological symptoms while fighting simply to stay here.

And for some children, the long-term effects become another battle entirely:
cognitive decline, learning difficulties, hormonal disorders, speech impairment, hearing loss, mobility issues, memory loss, and secondary complications caused by the very treatment intended to help them.

These are children.

Children who should be worried about school, sports, sleepovers, birthdays, and growing up.

Instead, they’re enduring treatments most adults could never imagine surviving.

And after 60+ years, families are still hearing:
“This is the best we have.”

That should devastate every single one of us.

Because this is not enough.

Not enough research.
Not enough funding.
Not enough urgency.
Not enough options.
Not enough hope.

Children facing one of the deadliest pediatric brain cancers deserve more than temporary time.

They deserve innovation.
They deserve better treatments.
They deserve cures.
They deserve futures.

We do not need awareness alone anymore.

We need change.

And we need it now.

Her fight is now OUR fight.

05/12/2026

Day 12 of Brain Cancer Awareness Month.

Today, we’re sharing the facts.

Not because statistics could ever fully capture what pediatric brain cancer does to a child or a family, but because people need to understand the reality these children are facing.

Pediatric brain cancer is the leading disease-related cause of death in children in the United States.

More children die from brain cancer each year than any other childhood cancer.

And yet, despite the devastation it causes, pediatric brain cancer remains critically underfunded and under-researched.

Families are forced to navigate impossible diagnoses with limited treatment options, outdated therapies, and survival rates that have seen little improvement in decades.

Children endure brain surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy, ports, feeding tubes, wheelchairs, rehabilitation, loss of mobility, loss of speech, cognitive decline, and unimaginable pain all while still trying to be children.

And even survivors often carry lifelong effects from the very treatments used to save them.

This is not rare to the families living it.

This is not “just childhood cancer.”

This is birthdays spent in hospitals.
This is parents sleeping beside hospital beds.
This is siblings learning grief too early.
This is watching your child fight for their life while feeling completely helpless.

Kinlee fought DIPG — one of the deadliest and most aggressive pediatric brain cancers.

And like so many other children, she deserved more than statistics.
She deserved more research.
More options.
More time.

These children deserve futures.

Until that happens, we will keep speaking.
Keep advocating.
Keep sharing the truth — even when it’s painful to hear.

Because awareness creates action.
And action creates change.

Her fight is now OUR fight.

05/11/2026

Today was hard.

Not just because it’s Mother’s Day.
Not just because it has now been two months since Kinlee left this earth.
But because grief doesn’t take holidays off. It follows you into the church pews, the worship music, the car rides, the lunch table, the quiet moments… all of it.

We went to church this morning.
I cried.

We worshipped.
I cried.

The service was beautiful.
I cried.

We pulled out of the parking lot and I cried all the way home.

There’s something so painful about trying to celebrate motherhood while simultaneously mourning one of your children. These are emotions no mother should ever have to carry at the same time.

After lunch, Karsen laid down and napped with me and my new great niece on the couch for a while. And then, the kids decided it was time to celebrate.

If you knew Kinlee, then you knew how much she loved Michael Jackson. She had been SO excited and impatiently waiting for the movie to finally come out. She listened to his music all of the time. We sang it with her as a family.

My babies looked at me and said, “We need to go, and we need to bring Stink too.”

So that’s exactly what we did.

We wrapped her urn carefully in her night night, buckled her in, picked up Karsen’s girlfriend, and off to the movies we went to take our girl to see the King of Pop.

And yes, I cried again.

But somewhere in between the tears, there was also love. So much love.

I love that Karsen and Kylynn refuse to leave her out.
I love that they still include her naturally, intentionally, lovingly.
I love that they speak her name without hesitation.
That they still make space for their sister.
That they carry her with them just like I do.

Because the truth is, she still belongs here with us.
She will always belong with us.

Today reminded me that keeping her memory alive doesn’t always have to look big. Sometimes it looks like an urn wrapped in a little girl’s blanket sitting beside her family in a movie theater seat while singing her favorite songs.

And honestly?

That meant everything to this mama today.

05/11/2026

Today was hard.

Not just because it’s Mother’s Day.
Not just because it has now been two months since Kinlee left this earth.
But because grief doesn’t take holidays off. It follows you into the church pews, the worship music, the car rides, the lunch table, the quiet moments… all of it.

We went to church this morning.
I cried.

We worshipped.
I cried.

The service was beautiful.
I cried.

We pulled out of the parking lot and I cried all the way home.

There’s something so painful about trying to celebrate motherhood while simultaneously mourning one of your children. These are emotions no mother should ever have to carry at the same time.

After lunch, Karsen laid down and napped with me and my new great niece on the couch for a while. And then, the kids decided it was time to celebrate.

If you knew Kinlee, then you knew how much she loved Michael Jackson. She had been SO excited and impatiently waiting for the movie to finally come out. She listened to his music all of the time. We sang it with her as a family.

My babies looked at me and said, “We need to go, and we need to bring Stink too.”

So that’s exactly what we did.

We wrapped her urn carefully in her night night, buckled her in, picked up Karsen’s girlfriend, and off to the movies we went to take our girl to see the King of Pop.

And yes, I cried again.

But somewhere in between the tears, there was also love. So much love.

I love that Karsen and Kylynn refuse to leave her out.
I love that they still include her naturally, intentionally, lovingly.
I love that they speak her name without hesitation.
That they still make space for their sister.
That they carry her with them just like I do.

Because the truth is, she still belongs here with us.
She will always belong with us.

Today reminded me that keeping her memory alive doesn’t always have to look big. Sometimes it looks like an urn wrapped in a little girl’s blanket sitting beside her family in a movie theater seat while singing her favorite songs.

And honestly?

That meant everything to this mama today.

05/10/2026

Two months.
Two whole months since I last heard your voice call me mama.
Since I kissed your forehead.
Since I held your hand.
Since I watched your chest rise and fall beside me.

Today is also Mother’s Day.

A day that’s supposed to feel warm.
A day filled with handmade cards, flowers, breakfast in bed, hugs around your neck, and little voices saying “I love you, Mom.”

But instead, I’m sitting here trying to understand how I can still be a functioning mother while carrying this much emptiness inside of me.

Baby girl, today is hard.
These aren’t feelings a mother should know on Mother’s Day.
A mother shouldn’t have to wonder what her child would look like today.
What they’d say.
What they’d buy or make for her.
A mother shouldn’t have to hold ashes instead of getting a hug.
And yet here I am.
I catch myself wanting to text you.
To check on you.
Wanting to hear your feet through the house.
Wanting one more “Mamaaaaa.”
One more laugh.
One more messy hug.
One more ordinary moment I used to take for granted.

Two months ago, my whole world changed forever.
And there are still moments where it doesn’t feel real. Moments where my mind cannot comprehend that someone so full of life, personality, sass, love, and light could truly be gone from this earth.

But even in the heartbreak… I need you to know this:
I am still so proud to be your mama.
That will never change.
Not death.
Not time.
Not grief.
Not even heaven itself could take that away from me.
You made me a mother worth being proud of.
And loving you will forever be the greatest honor of my life.
I miss you so much it physically hurts.
And today, more than ever, I just want my baby back.

This picture is what I posted exactly 11 years ago today. My perfect, tiny princess. I would give anything to go back. Anything.

Even though your life here on Earth ended, my love for you did not. It never will.

I’m trying to smile through the pain. To be happy because you loved celebrating holidays. But it’s so hard I can barely breathe. I am not okay. I love you, sweet girl.

05/09/2026

Behind every child fighting brain cancer, there is usually a sibling fighting too.
But their fight looks different.
They become caregivers before they’re even old enough to understand the weight of what they’re carrying.
They learn medical words most adults don’t even know.
They know treatment dates, medication schedules, MRI results, and what numbers are “good” or “bad.”

They learn how to help lift their sibling, comfort them, help clean them, help feed them. Things most children should never have to know how to do.
They quietly give up pieces of their childhood without ever being asked.

Parents miss games. School events. Practices. Birthdays.
Not because they don’t care… but because cancer consumes everything.

And somehow, these siblings understand that.

They step aside.
They grow up too fast.
They carry fear too heavy for their little hearts.
They watch their sibling weaken. They witness pain, suffering, and heartbreaking changes no child should ever have to see.

And sometimes, they even witness their sibling take their last breath.

Brain cancer doesn’t just affect the patient. It doesn’t just affect the parents. It affects the entire family.

So today, for Brain Cancer Awareness Month, we acknowledge the siblings.
The silent warriors.
The overlooked hearts in the background.
The children carrying grief, fear, responsibility, and heartbreak far beyond their years.
We see you.
We honor you.
And we know your fight matters too

Karsen & Kylynn, I am SO proud of how you treated and cared for your sister during her battle. Regardless of her yelling “help”, “save me”, or other words we won’t mention here lol, I know she was grateful. I know she loved you both, even if she occasionally showed it with a middle finger. I know the conversations we had, and without a doubt she thought you two hung the moon. I’m also sorry to both of you that we couldn’t save her because it cause the two of you to experience things a child should never have to. I love both of you more than you know.

05/09/2026

Behind every child fighting brain cancer, there is usually a sibling fighting too.
But their fight looks different.
They become caregivers before they’re even old enough to understand the weight of what they’re carrying.
They learn medical words most adults don’t even know.
They know treatment dates, medication schedules, MRI results, and what numbers are “good” or “bad.”

They learn how to help lift their sibling, comfort them, help clean them, help feed them. Things most children should never have to know how to do.
They quietly give up pieces of their childhood without ever being asked.

Parents miss games. School events. Practices. Birthdays.
Not because they don’t care… but because cancer consumes everything.

And somehow, these siblings understand that.

They step aside.
They grow up too fast.
They carry fear too heavy for their little hearts.
They watch their sibling weaken. They witness pain, suffering, and heartbreaking changes no child should ever have to see.

And sometimes, they even witness their sibling take their last breath.

Brain cancer doesn’t just affect the patient. It doesn’t just affect the parents. It affects the entire family.

So today, for Brain Cancer Awareness Month, we acknowledge the siblings.
The silent warriors.
The overlooked hearts in the background.
The children carrying grief, fear, responsibility, and heartbreak far beyond their years.
We see you.
We honor you.
And we know your fight matters too

Karsen & Kylynn, I am SO proud of how you treated and cared for your sister during her battle. Regardless of her yelling “help”, “save me”, or other words we won’t mention here lol, I know she was grateful. I know she loved you both, even if she occasionally showed it with a middle finger. I know the conversations we had, and without a doubt she thought you two hung the moon. I’m also sorry to both of you that we couldn’t save her because it cause the two of you to experience things a child should never have to. I love both of you more than you know.

05/08/2026

💐🌷Mother’s Day🌷💐

Just in time for Mother’s Day, we are r@ffling a beautiful Michael Kors purse! 👜💗

We will ship if winner is not local!

🎟️ 100 Spots Available
💵 $20 per spot
🏆 Winner will be chosen once all spots are filled!
All proceeds will benefit The Stinky Karter Foundation and help support families facing a DIPG diagnosis while continuing to raise awareness for pediatric brain cancer. 🎗️
To claim your number(s):
✔️ Comment the number(s) you want
✔️ Send payment
✔️ Once payment is received, your number will be marked paid
💗 CashApp: $StinkyKarter
💗 Venmo:
Thank you all for continuing to love, support, and fight alongside us.
💗Her fight is now OUR fight💗

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05/08/2026

Today we’re talking about ependymoma.

Another pediatric brain tumor most people have never heard of until a child they love is diagnosed with it.

Ependymoma develops in the brain or spinal cord and often grows dangerously close to the very structures children need to function, move, think, balance, and survive.

Families are suddenly thrown into a world of MRIs, brain surgery, radiation, uncertainty, and fear.

And one of the hardest truths?

Even after aggressive treatment, recurrence is common.

Imagine finally getting through surgery. Finally making it through radiation. Finally exhaling after months of fear-

Only to hear:
“The tumor is back.”

That is the reality many pediatric brain cancer families live with every single day.

Children endure procedures and treatments most adults could never imagine surviving.

Scars hidden beneath their hair. Radiation masks molded to their tiny faces. Hospital rooms replacing classrooms.
Childhood interrupted by survival.

And even for the survivors, the journey often doesn’t end when treatment does.

Many children are left battling lifelong neurological complications, cognitive struggles, physical limitations, emotional trauma, and the lasting effects of treatments that saved their life while also changing it forever.

This is why awareness matters.

Because pediatric brain cancer is still underfunded. Under researched. And too many families are forced to navigate impossible realities with limited options and devastating outcomes.

No child should suffer like this.
No parent should have to hear words like “recurrence”, “inoperable” or “there’s nothing else we can do.”

These children deserve more than survival.

They deserve futures filled with joy, healing, laughter, school days, memories, and growing old.

05/08/2026

Tonight I found myself thinking about how much my life has changed.
Being a nurse was never just a job to me. It was my dream. From as far back as I can remember, it’s what I wanted. I worked hard for it. Sacrificed for it. Pushed myself through exhaustion and long shifts because I genuinely loved caring for people.

And then Kinlee got sick.

And somewhere between hospital rooms, devastating conversations, medications, scans, fear, sleepless nights, and watching my child suffer-something inside of me changed.

People see grief as sadness.
But sometimes grief is also realizing you can never go back to being who you were “before”.

I don’t know that I can ever return to the medical field. And that breaks my heart in ways I can’t fully explain.

Because now, so many things trigger me.

The smell of hospitals.
The sounds of monitors.
Certain medications.
Wheelchairs.
Words and phrases that once felt clinical now feel personal and haunting.

What used to be my passion now reminds me of the worst trauma of my life. And unless you’ve watched your child slowly slip away from a terminal brain cancer, I don’t know that there are words strong enough to explain what that does to a person.

Pediatric cancer changed me.
Losing Kinlee changed me.
I am not the same woman I was before March 10th.
Part of me died with her.
And now I’m standing in this space between who I was and who I’m becoming, trying to learn how to survive in a world that kept moving while mine completely stopped.

But one thing I do know is this:
I will continue speaking out.
I will continue sharing the reality of pediatric cancer, grief, and child loss — even when it’s uncomfortable for people to hear — because parents like me need to know they are not alone in this.

There are other mothers walking around carrying unimaginable trauma behind their smiles. Other fathers trying to hold families together while their own hearts are shattered. Other parents trying to figure out who they even are after losing the child who made them who they were.

This kind of loss changes everything.

It changes your marriage.
Your friendships.
Your faith.
Your nervous system.
Your dreams.
Your identity.
You don’t just grieve your child.
You grieve the version of yourself that existed before them leaving this earth.

And if you are walking this road too, I need you to know:
I see you.
I see the exhaustion.
The triggers.
The anger.
The guilt.
The numbness.
The ache that never truly leaves.

You are not crazy. You are grieving something no parent was ever created to survive.
This is why I speak.
This is why I advocate.
This is why I refuse to stay silent.
Because these children matter.
Their lives mattered.
And so do the parents left behind trying to survive the aftermath.

05/07/2026

Today we’re talking about medulloblastoma.
The most common malignant brain tumor found in children.
And while survival rates may be higher than some pediatric brain cancers… people rarely talk about the cost of that survival.
Because surviving pediatric brain cancer doesn’t always mean a child gets their life back.
Children endure brain surgery.
Radiation.
Toxic chemotherapy.
Hospital stays that become longer than childhood memories.
And even when treatment works the damage often remains.
Some children lose their hearing.
Some struggle to learn, process emotions, or keep up in school.
Some battle lifelong hormonal and neurological complications because the very treatments used to save them also permanently alter developing brains and bodies.
Families are told to be grateful their child survived — and they are — but many continue living with the aftermath every single day.
Pediatric brain cancer is not just a moment in time.
It follows families forever.
And for others, treatment doesn’t save them at all.
No parent should have to watch their child suffer through surgeries, radiation burns, sickness, fear, and pain while praying for a miracle that may never come.
No child should know words like:
“tumor progression”
“spinal spread”
or
“recurrence.”
Yet thousands do.
This is why awareness matters.
This is why research matters.
This is why funding matters.
Because children deserve more than just surviving.
They deserve to LIVE.
Her fight is now OUR fight.

Kinlee’s Krew: The Stinky Karter Foundation

05/13/2026

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