Before cancer, there was BRISTOL.

Before Cancer, There Was Bristol
Before cancer, hospital rooms, treatments, and words we never imagined would become part of our lives, there was simply Bristol.
And to know Bristol was to love her.
She was funny, fearless, loving, curious, incredibly smart, a little mischievous, and completely full of life. Bristol loved everyone. She truly never met a stranger, and she had a personality much bigger than her little body.
She was the kind of little girl who could make an ordinary trip to Walmart into a story we would tell forever.
One day, she had been moved to the front of the buggy as we walked through the store. As we passed an older couple, Bristol looked directly at these complete strangers and very seriously said:
“Help me pwease.”
That was Bristol.
You never quite knew what she was going to do or say next.
Her First Obsession
Before horses, dinosaurs, wands, or so many of the things she would eventually come to love, there was Ms. Rachel.
Ms. Rachel was Bristol’s first real obsession. She loved all of the songs and learning videos, and she didn't just watch them—she learned from them.
One of the things she learned was how to express her feelings.
Ms. Rachel's “Big Feelings” song taught Bristol about emotions, although, funny enough, the song itself made her cry almost every single time.
But Bristol definitely learned the lesson.
When she was angry, she could make her feelings perfectly clear:
“I. SO. ANGRY!”
There was no question about it.
Bristol experienced everything with her whole heart, and she was never afraid to let you know exactly how she felt.
Then Came Horses… and Dinosaurs
Before Bristol fell in love with dinosaurs, she loved horses.
And then came the dinosaurs.
For a while, a triceratops wasn't a triceratops at all. It was a “toppy.”
Bristol loved watching learning videos and anything involving dinosaurs. She soaked up information and constantly surprised us with how much she knew.
Once, I pronounced mosasaurus incorrectly.
Bristol corrected me.
And just in case I didn't understand the correction the first time, my two-year-old proceeded to sound out mosasaurus for me.
She knew what she knew.
Bristol was also fearless. If something looked even remotely dangerous, she usually thought it looked like the best thing ever. She wanted to explore, climb, run, ride, and experience everything she could.
That fearless spirit was simply part of who Bristol was, long before life ever asked her to show us just how brave she could be.
Music Was Part of Her
Bristol didn't just like music.
She loved music.
If a song came on and she wasn't dancing, chances were she was tilting her head to the side, completely jamming out.
She loved the sound of a drum line. She loved the Pizza Song. She loved the music from her favorite movies.
She loved Moana and would sing and act out the entire “How Far I'll Go” scene. She loved “Shiny,” too.
She loved Monsters, Inc. and Monsters University, Dug from Up, and she was just beginning to enjoy The Princess and the Frog.
Her favorite part of that movie came with some very serious advice:
“Never, ever—and I mean ever—kiss a frog.”
But there was one song that was different.
Mommy I Can't Sleep.
Whenever that song came on, Bristol needed to be touching me or holding my hand. If I wasn't close enough when she heard it, she would come running to find me.
It became one of those little things that belonged to us.
Bristol Had Her Own Language
One of the sweetest parts of Bristol growing up was listening to her learn to talk.
Except sometimes Bristol decided the English language needed a few improvements.
Milk was “meek.”
Anything she wanted to drink other than milk was “jupe.”
Zebras were “zebbys.”
If she wanted to wash her hands, she needed “soapkins.”
Magic wands were her beloved “Abracadabras.”
For a while, Bristol even called herself “Sistol.”
And if something was particularly adorable?
It was “gadorable.”
I had always called Bristol “my baby.” So naturally, she decided that meant I was “my mommy.”
Those weren't mispronunciations to us.
They were Bristol words.
And before long, they became part of our language, too.
A Little Bit of Mischief
Bristol was hilarious—and she knew how to use it to her advantage.
She learned how to fake burp.
She would dramatically gasp and ask:
“What's that sound?”
Just to be silly.
If Bristol thought she had done something she might get in trouble for, she had a strategy.
Sometimes she would immediately start fake laughing.
Other times, she would look at you and say:
“Tickle, tickle.”
Apparently, if she could make you laugh, whatever happened beforehand no longer counted.
And sometimes it worked.
Another Bristol favorite was:
“Don't like that.”
If Bristol didn't approve of something, you didn't have to wonder.
She loved to vacuum. She loved helping and doing things herself.
And for reasons known only to Bristol, too many times to count she climbed into the bathtub fully dressed and turned the water on.
Trying to record her could be equally entertaining.
If Bristol realized I had the camera on her, whatever adorable thing she had been doing would suddenly stop. She would either start counting or simply walk away.
She was Bristol, and she was going to do things on her terms.
Bristol loved being outside.
She loved swinging and sliding, but she didn't need anything special to have fun. Sometimes she was perfectly happy just running around outside.
She especially loved riding the lawn mower with her daddy.
Except according to Bristol, it wasn't a lawn mower.
It was the “tractor.”
She loved animals, even though she could also be scared of them when they got too close.
She loved Halloween—almost everything about it, anyway.
The decorations? Yes.
The fun? Absolutely.
Seeing other people in costume?
Don't like that.
And Bristol loved yellow.
On a route we traveled every day, we passed a business that put balloons outside for each season. Bristol knew exactly when we were getting close.
Before we even reached them, the excitement would start:
“COLAAAS!”
(Colors)
Something as simple as balloons on the side of the road was exciting when you saw the world through Bristol's eyes.
Ice Cream, Popsicles & “Meek”
Bristol knew what she liked.
She loved ice cream and popsicles.
She loved McDonald's french fries.
And she loved her “meek.”
These weren't extraordinary things.
They were the ordinary pieces of raising Bristol—the snacks, songs, car rides, bath-time adventures, made-up words, dancing, tractor rides, and moments that didn't seem like they needed to be remembered because we believed there would always be more of them.
Today, they are some of our greatest treasures.
She Was Just Bristol
There are a thousand little things that could never fit onto a webpage.
The way she tilted her head when she really felt the music.
The way she would come find me because a certain song meant she needed to hold my hand.
The excitement in her voice when she spotted the “colaaas.”
Her Abracadabras.
Her toppys and zebbys.
Her fake burps.
Her fake laugh when she knew she might be in trouble.
Her “tickle, tickle.”
Her absolute confidence while correcting my dinosaur pronunciation.
Her fearlessness.
Her silliness.
Her curiosity.
The way she loved people.
The way she loved us.
Before Bristol became a childhood cancer warrior, she was a little girl with an enormous personality and an even bigger capacity to love.
She danced.
She learned.
She explored.
She made us laugh.
She occasionally took baths fully dressed.
She rode the tractor with her daddy.
She held her mommy's hand.
She loved with her whole heart.
She was Bristol.
Cancer became part of Bristol's story.
But cancer was never who Bristol was.
And before we tell you about the bravest chapter of her life, we want you to know the little girl who lived so beautifully before it.
Because that is the Bristol we knew.
That is the Bristol we love.
And that is the Bristol we want the world to remember.