The following letter shares the story of a child who has passed away. It contains themes of illness, grief, and loss. We encourage readers to take care while reading.
This is more than a story – it’s a family’s truth. It’s about Maggie, a little girl who brought light into every room, and the journey her family walked alongside her. It’s about love, resilience, and the quiet support that made things easier when everything was falling apart. Ronald McDonald House was part of that story – holding this family together during the most challenging time of their lives. What follows is a letter from Maggie’s mum, written with honesty and courage, and in memory of her daughter.
Our daughter Maggie was sunshine. Not in a poetic way, in a practical, everyday way. She made rooms lighter. She made hard things softer. She noticed people. She loved deeply. She laughed loudly. She had a sharp, wicked sense of humour and a heart that was far bigger than her little body. She had a quiet confidence about her, strong-willed, empathetic, and sure of who she was, even when everything around her was uncertain.
She was the bravest, kindest, most resilient little girl. Not because she had to be, but because that was simply who she was. She faced things no child should ever face and met them with courage, curiosity, and an intelligence that constantly surprised us. She understood more than people realised, asked thoughtful questions, and took in the world with a depth well beyond her years.
She loved her siblings Frankie, Ziggy and Willa, with her whole being. She loved singing and dancing and learning new things. She loved the small stuff. Even when her world became hospitals and needles and waiting rooms, she was still Maggie. Still cheeky. Still curious. Still finding ways to make us laugh when nothing was funny.
In December 2022, when she was four, her body stopped doing something it needed to do to survive. Her bone marrow stopped producing red blood cells.
There was no warning. No slow lead-up. Just suddenly, this was our life now.
What followed was a year and a half of living in limbo. Appointments. Tests. Medications. Hope. Disappointment. Repeat. Month after month, Maggie received blood transfusions that quite literally kept her alive while doctors tried to work out why this was happening. We lived inside uncertainty, learning how to function while holding our breath.
The answers came because things got worse, not better. When her little brother Ziggy also became unwell, further genetic testing finally told us what we were dealing with. Both children had a rare genetic disease called ADA2 Deficiency. For Maggie, it had caused her bone marrow to completely fail. The only possible cure was a bone marrow transplant.
There is nothing steady about handing your child over for something like that. Maggie underwent her transplant on 13 March 2025. The chemotherapy was brutal. It stripped her tiny body down to survival mode. And still, she showed up. Day after day. With that same grin. That same stubborn determination. She endured more than most adults ever will. Against the odds, the transplant worked. She was cured of ADA2 Deficiency. We let ourselves believe, just for a moment, that the worst was behind us. But it wasn’t.
While she was still in early recovery, Maggie contracted Adenovirus. With no immune system, it moved fast. Faster than we could keep up with. She was taken to PICU. Intubated. Placed on dialysis. Everything became alarms and machines and decisions no parent should ever have to make. After a brief period off the ventilator, Maggie suffered a catastrophic brain bleed. She died on 12 May 2025. She was six.
There is no language that fully explains what comes after that.
But throughout all of this, Ronald McDonald House South Brisbane was the place that kept us standing. It wasn’t just somewhere to sleep. It was where life could keep happening in small, necessary ways while everything else was falling apart. It meant we could be near Maggie, always. It meant we didn’t have to solve problems our brains no longer had room for. When your child is fighting for their life, survival takes everything. You don’t have space to think about food, accommodation, logistics, tomorrow. RMHC quietly removed those questions through the support of the staff, volunteers, and the Meals from the Heart Program. They carried the weight we couldn’t. That gave us the ability to keep showing up as her parents. It also meant our family didn’t completely fracture under the weight of it all. It gave Maggie’s siblings space to still be her brother and sisters, not visitors passing through a hospital room.
It gave us moments that felt almost normal, sitting together, breathing, gathering ourselves, so that when we walked back into the hospital, we could keep going.
And they’re still part of our story. Ziggy’s care continues. This journey didn’t end when Maggie died. Families like ours don’t get neat endings.
To Ronald McDonald House, thank you for walking alongside our family when we needed it most, and for continuing to do so now. You were there for Maggie when everything was uncertain, and you are still there for Ziggy as his journey continues. You gave us somewhere to land, somewhere familiar, and people who understood without needing things explained. That mattered more than we can properly express. Maggie is carried with us in everything we do, and the care you continue to give Ziggy is part of her legacy. It helps us keep going.
Because of supporters like you, families like Maggie’s are kept together during the hardest moments of their lives. Make a donation today to support more families facing the unimaginable.
We would love to hear from you!
Please share your fundraising and events enquiries today!
Please share what’s on your mind, we’d love to hear your thoughts, feedback, or any concerns you may have.
Make an enquiry today about staying at one of our Houses.
