Auntie Renee wrote this story about Adam that is featured in the "Faces of Brain Tumor" book that is published by the North American Brain Tumor Coalition. Faces of Brain Tumors is a collection of photographs and stories by and about brain tumor patients, survivors, families, and loved ones that was distributed to members of Congress during Brain Tumor Action Week 2002. To read more about the North American Brain Tumor Coalition and to read other stories in the book, visit the site.

Adam E. Russas

Adam E. Russas was born on June 7, 1994 - my only nephew, my parent's only grandchild, and my brother's only child.

He was our 'first.' We wondered what he'd be when he grew up. We looked forward to what we would teach him. We couldn't wait for the fun to begin.

As he grew, we saw a little boy so full of life: the laughter, the smiles, the kisses, the hugs - we loved it all.

We held him. We kissed him. We danced together. We ate breakfast together. We painted together. We took walks together. We laughed together. We played games together. We made crafts together. We made brownies together. We said, "I love you."

He brushed my hair. He kissed my cheek. He made me laugh out loud. He helped me wash my car. He told me I looked pretty.

He helped Grandma clean the house. He helped Papa tend to the garden. He played on the computer with my sister -- his Auntie Diana. He went everywhere and did almost anything with my brother -- his Daddy.

He blew us kisses and told us to 'put it in your pocket for later.' He put his tiny hand on our cheek and called us his 'sweetie darlings'. He made us Valentine's Day cards. He made us birthday presents. We said, "I love you."

We watched movies together. We painted shells together. We went apple picking. We went pumpkin picking. We walked on the beach.

He sang to us. He danced for us. He hugged us. He loved us.

We sang for him. We danced for him. We hugged him. We loved him.

On New Year’s Eve, 1999, Adam was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He underwent surgery and radiation treatments. He was in and out of the hospital. He was scared. He was tired. He was sick. He knew more medical jargon than any five-year-old should ever know. But, he still made us laugh. He still hugged us. He still kissed us. He was the bravest little person that I’ve ever met.

At the age of five, six months after his diagnosis, he passed away.

I want to dance for him. I want to kiss him. I want to hug him. I want to hear him say, "I love you."

I'm scared that I will forget what his voice sounded like. I'm scared that I won't remember what his touch felt like. I'm sad knowing I will never hold his hand again. I'm upset that I missed out on teaching him so many things. I'm upset that my brother lost his only child. I'm sad because my parents are not the same people they used to be when their grandson was alive.

He changed our lives for the better and there will always be an empty space in our hearts. We will never stop talking about him. We will never forget him. We love him.

~ Renee Russas, Adam's aunt