My grandmother—my father’s mother—Lillian Lauscher, who my youngest daughter, Ida Lillian, shares a name with, had a quiet way of making me feel like I could do anything.

She didn’t need grand speeches. She simply believed in me—steadily, unwaveringly—until I began to believe in myself.

To me, she was the light in the room, the steady voice, the person who saw strength in me long before I knew how to find it on my own.

When I was younger, my dreams felt big: becoming a mother, becoming a lawyer, building a life with purpose. She never questioned those dreams. She treated them as if they were already written into my future.

Because of her, I learned to keep going.

My grandmother passed away from ovarian cancer at 72 years young. Losing her was a kind of heartbreak that stays with you—a quiet, lifelong grief that reshapes you over time.

In the years since, life has asked more of me than I ever expected. I have walked through five years of divorce, learning how to rebuild while holding everything together for my children. I have carried both loss and responsibility at the same time.

And still—I kept going.

Because of what she gave me.

Today, I am a single mother raising two daughters, and an attorney doing the work I once only imagined. My strength is not accidental. It is something she planted in me, something I have had to call on again and again—through grief, through change, through the quiet, relentless work of starting over.

I also run for my maternal grandmother, who will be 101 years old in 2026—a living reminder of endurance, grace, and what it means to carry a life fully forward.

I stand between their legacies: one who shaped me and is gone too soon, and one who continues to show me what it means to endure.

I see that same strength beginning to take shape in my daughters. And more than anything, I want them to grow up knowing what my grandmothers taught me—that they are capable, resilient, and worthy of every dream they choose to pursue.

This year, I am running the 2026 TCS New York City Marathon in their honor.

I run for the woman who shaped me.

I run for the woman who still inspires me.

And I run for my daughters—for a future where ovarian cancer is caught earlier, treated more effectively, and does not take the people we love too soon.

Supporting this cause means giving families more time—time to grow, to heal, to hold on to one another a little longer.

If you feel moved to support this mission, I would be deeply grateful. Every mile I run carries their legacy forward.

Thank you for being part of this with me.