By Nicole Codling
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I have a neighbor — retired, kind, gentle — and every year, he trains and rides in a cancer awareness bike ride.
We’d chatted casually about it one day, and I was sharing a story about my son, Aiden. He had broken his pinky finger — a nothing injury, really — but his trainer suggested we get an X-ray just in case.
Sure enough, it was just the pinky.
But then the doctor came back into the room and said,
“There’s something about the thumb… something something… anoma.”
And I swear, the world stopped turning.
I couldn’t even hear the rest. My brain locked on that word:
Anoma.
The only thing I could think was: “Is this cancer?”
We spent six months in what I call “cancer watch” — a kind of purgatory no parent should ever have to live in.
Thankfully, in the end, Aiden was cleared.
But the day we went in for that final appointment — the day we were about to find out it was all clear — was the day my neighbor told me his story.
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His daughter had been skiing. Just a little knee tweak.
They gave it a few days. No big deal.
But weeks passed. She wasn’t healing. Something wasn’t right.
They took her in. Tests were run.
And just like that, a regular ski trip became the beginning of the end.
His little girl passed away from cancer not long after.
A tween. A sparkle. Gone.
And I understood, in that moment, why he rides every year.
Why he trains. Why he shows up.
Because he couldn’t save her. But maybe he can save someone else.
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And that’s when it hit me:
This is what I do.
I don’t sell policies. I don’t push protection.
I give people a way to love their families financially, even when they can’t be there physically.
I help people put plans in place before the diagnosis, the accident, the moment everything turns upside down.
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I work with young parents who think they’re invincible.
I work with cancer survivors who say,
“If I can help just one person avoid what I went through — then maybe it was worth something.”
And I hold space for those in the middle of the storm.
The ones too tired to fight on both fronts — health and bills.
And if there’s one thing I believe — it’s this:
💬 Financial protection is love in action.
It’s not about fear. It’s about peace.
It’s about having one less thing to carry on the hardest day of your life.
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So… if you’re healthy, I urge you: protect yourself now.
And if you’ve already walked through fire — let’s turn your story into someone else’s safety net.
That’s the mission I’m on.
And I’d be honored to have you on it with me.