I shuffled through my phone, scrolling through the pictures his parents had texted me. In almost every single one, 3-year-old Bowen Askew was smiling—not just soft little toddler smiles, but wide, joyful, contagious grins that lit up his entire face. Smiles that almost made you forget, even for a moment, that this little boy is in the middle of the biggest fight of his life.
Bowen is my kind of toddler. A child who feels everything deeply—joy, love, excitement—and gives it all right back to the world with open arms and an even more open heart. From Dallas, Georgia, Bowen’s smile is as much a part of him as his bright spirit. He loves Peppa Pig. He loves Yahtzee—sure, he may not understand the scoring, but he loves shaking the dice and giggling as they rattle across the table. He loves Magna blocks and scooters. He loves his mom and dad, Josh and Kellie, and his big brothers Davis and Cooper.
But most of all, Bowen loves the feeling of being surrounded, supported, and lifted up by the family who has stood behind him from the very first day his world turned upside down.
It all began just a few months ago—June of 2025—when Bowen became unusually lethargic. His mom, Kellie, is a NICU nurse, and she instantly knew something was wrong. Bowen’s pulse felt weak. His energy was dipping fast. And her mother’s instinct collided with her medical knowledge: he needed to be seen immediately.
The family rushed to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, and the news came swiftly and without mercy. Doctors found a large brain tumor.
Bowen was diagnosed with Choroid Plexus Carcinoma—one of the most aggressive and rare cancers known in pediatrics. Only one percent of all brain tumors fall under this category. It was a blow so heavy that even recalling it now, Josh pauses when he speaks. “I lost it,” Bowen’s father told me. “I thought we might lose him.”
Bowen was rushed into a nine-hour brain surgery. Nine hours for a child who still loves Peppa Pig and Magna blocks. Nine hours for a toddler who still mispronounces words and squeezes your finger when he holds your hand. Nine hours filled with fear, prayer, and the kind of quiet desperation only a parent understands.
But Bowen survived.
He woke up.
And he smiled.
He stayed in the PICU for a week before heading home, and for a moment, it felt like a breath of hope. But just two days later, tragedy struck again—an infection inside his skull. Doctors removed a portion of Bowen’s skull and pumped his body full of heavy antibiotics. It was another terrifying chapter, but Bowen? He stayed upbeat. He kept smiling. He remained the radiant little boy who believes in joy even in the darkest circumstances.
Only a few weeks later, the Askew family traveled to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis. And for the first time since the diagnosis, they found real hope. “Doctors gave Bowen a better chance of survival,” Josh said. Bowen began chemotherapy—but thankfully avoided radiation. It was the first of many grueling steps, but they had direction now. A plan. A way forward.
Today, the Askews are heading into their fourth month in Memphis, living in the halls and routines of St. Jude. Bowen is nearing the end of his third chemotherapy cycle. Kellie shared, “We had hoped to start his fourth cycle next week, but after multiple transfusions, we need to see his bone marrow start working better or his next cycle will be postponed until his numbers get better.”
With three chemo cycles down and three more to go, the climb ahead is steep—each cycle harder than the last, each step requiring more strength from a body so small, yet somehow so powerful.
But Bowen?
His optimism has been nothing short of contagious.
“Bowen’s radiant smiles and playful personality have earned him the sweetest reputation with friends, doctors, and nurses here at St. Jude,” his mom said. And you can almost feel her pride when she talks about him.
Josh and Kellie continue to ground themselves in positivity, faith, and the resilience that a parent only discovers when their child is fighting for their life. “This is not the journey we expected to face,” Kellie said. “But we know it has a purpose, and so far we are finding that it encourages others to find strength and happiness in spite of very difficult circumstances.”
There is no clear timeline yet for when the family will return home to Paulding County, Georgia. They will wait for the right moment—for Bowen’s body to be strong enough, his spirit steady enough, and his medical team confident enough to say:
it’s time.
And when that day comes—when Bowen steps back into his house, reunited with his Magna blocks, Peppa Pig episodes, Yahtzee games, and scooters—you can bet his smile will be the brightest one in Georgia.
Because that’s who Bowen is.
That’s who he has always been.
A little boy whose joy fills rooms.
A toddler whose courage inspires adults.
A fighter whose smile refuses to dim.