My daughter, a hero who left this Earth too soon 💗

October 6, 2025
Full Moon in Aries 🌝 ♈
Sun in Libra ☀️ ♎

Full Moon Greetings, dear Friends❣️

I hope this note finds you well and that you’re taking gentle care of yourself while seeking balance and equilibrium during Libra season. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do this month.

When I open my eyes to how nature responds to less sunlight, dryness, and cooler nights, I see change, decay, release, and the quiet work of composting back into the Earth. Just now, as I write, an acorn dropped onto our roof from our neighbor’s majestic oak tree whose southern branches stretch gracefully over our home. In this warm and dry autumn, the leaves still cling to their branches, but the acorns are falling freely—reminding me that release has its own timing.

On this Full Moon in Aries, I want to share with you my deceased daughter’s organ donation story. Yesterday, I had the profound honor of sharing it at Lifebanc’s Annual Organ Donor Memorial Service—a gathering for the families and friends of donors. It was deeply moving to speak Sierra’s name aloud in a space filled with others whose loved ones, too, gave the gift of life.

Thank you, dear friends, for taking the time and energy to read and share this moment with me. Your presence here means more than words can express. May this Full Moon bring you clarity, courage, and gentle illumination on your own path. 🌕✨

Warmly,
Jennifer💫💖💫

Lifebanc Donor Memorial Service, October 5, 2025

Good afternoon. My name is Jennifer Bochik, and I am honored to be here with you today. First, I want to acknowledge the courage it takes for each of us to be in this room. We are gathered because of love, because of grief, and because of the extraordinary gifts our loved ones gave through organ and tissue donation. To the families here who carry both sorrow and pride in your hearts: I stand with you. To the Lifebanc team: thank you for giving us a place to honor our loved ones and to hold one another in community.

Today, I want to share with you the story of my daughter, Sierra.

Who We Are
My husband Bob and I have been married for 24 years, and together we raised two children — Sierra, our firstborn, and her younger brother, Vanner, who is now 22. 

As a family, we were spirited, adventurous, active, and social. We loved to laugh, to travel, to get outdoors, and to be together.

Sierra was born on August 25, 1995, and from the very beginning, she was larger than life. Gregarious, funny, silly, loud, sociable, and incredibly smart. Her teachers adored her, but she was always being called out for talking too much in class — and that pretty much captures her spirit. She was the one invited to every party, every gathering, always surrounded by friends and family. She had a way of walking into a room and filling it with light.

She was also determined and hardworking. She started her first job at Dairy Queen at 16, and never stopped working after that. She worked her way through college, balancing jobs with school. She was a competitive swimmer from the age of 6 through high school graduation, and she carried that discipline and drive into her studies.

After high school, she went on to Ohio University to study Spanish and Nursing. Life threw her a curveball in 2018 when she was in a car accident during spring break, and that disrupted her path. I’ll share more about that shortly.  

One of my favorite memories as a family is from the summer of 2009. The great recession had hit our family hard — my husband had lost his job in the housing crisis, and I was driving a school bus. We had that summer wide open, and we decided to do something big: a two-month road trip across the country.

So the four of us packed up our Subaru Forester with our tent and camping gear, and we camped our way across the United States. We saw the Wisconsin Dells, Theodore Roosevelt National Park, Glacier National Park in Montana, Deception Pass in Washington, Yellowstone, and the Badlands. We set up camp, cooked meals outdoors, hiked, and watched the stars.

When we arrived in Glacier National Park, we pulled into our campsite at Lake McDonald late at night, set up the tent in the dark, and fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to the most breathtaking view I have ever seen: the clear blue lake, mountains towering above, sky and mountains reflecting in the water, and colorful rocks on the bottom of the lake visible through the surface of the water. It felt like waking up inside a postcard. I felt so grateful that this was our view for the next few days.

But Sierra? The first thing she noticed was that her phone didn’t have service. 

She panicked. As any parent of a teenager can probably imagine, that phone was her lifeline to friends. And though we promised we’d find spots where she could connect, for Sierra the trip became as much about chasing cell service as it was about chasing waterfalls and mountain views.

But here’s the thing: when she wasn’t searching for a signal, she settled into the rhythm of camp life. She made us laugh, she lifted our spirits during the hard parts, and she gave us memories that became the glue of our family story. That was Sierra — always keeping us laughing, always keeping us connected, and always leaving us with stories worth telling.

Years later, she and Vanner both told us that trip was their favorite family experience, and they dreamed about whether we could ever do it again.

Sierra’s Final Chapter and Donation
I mentioned earlier that Sierra’s life was forever changed by a car accident in 2018. The car she was riding in flipped over, and by the grace of strangers who rushed to help, she was pulled from the wreckage. Shaken but conscious, she managed to call us, telling us through tears that her neck hurt terribly. When EMS arrived, they carefully secured her to a stretcher and rushed her to University Hospitals. There we learned the severity of her injuries — her neck was broken. She was taken into a five-hour, emergency, life-saving surgery to reconstruct her shattered vertebrae.

Physically, she healed in remarkable ways, but emotionally and mentally she was never quite the same. She carried deep sadness, and we believe the trauma of that experience left invisible wounds. In the years that followed, she struggled with substance use as she tried to cope with her pain and the derailment of her dreams.

Through all of it, she continued to push forward. Her injuries forced her to leave Ohio University, and Sierra, resilient as ever, came back home to Cleveland, enrolled at Cleveland State, and graduated in 2021 with a degree in Spanish and a minor in Psychology. The same month her brother graduated from high school. 

But after Vanner left to serve in the U.S. Army, Sierra’s struggle with addiction grew more severe. It was heartbreaking to witness as her parents — wanting to support her recovery while also learning how not to enable her addiction. We lived in constant fear of losing her.

July 2022 became a month of heartbreaking transitions. Vanner came home on military leave at the end of June, spending ten precious days with us before leaving for South Korea on July 10. We celebrated the Fourth of July together, savoring the time before his assignment on the other side of the world.

While home, Vanner urged Sierra to care for herself and focus on her recovery. He told her he didn’t want to get bad news while he was so far away. The siblings shared some tender moments before he left, and Sierra handed him a handwritten note to read after his departure — a gesture none of us realized would mark their final goodbye.

On July 12, 2022, our fears became reality. Sierra went into cardiac arrest from fentanyl poisoning. EMS revived her, but she had suffered irreversible brain damage. She was placed on life support, and doctors determined she would never wake up. But in the very darkest hours, there came a light. Sierra had made the decision to be an organ donor. And in those first raw days of grief, when time felt blurry and unreal, we learned that her life could still ripple outward — that her story did not end with her death. Even in death, she would give to others.

The team at Lifebanc walked us through every step of the donation process with such tenderness and care. They gave us space to honor Sierra, to sit with her, to hold her hand, to say goodbye in our own way. They treated her with dignity, and us with compassion.

The process was complicated, as many of you here know firsthand. There were difficult decisions to be made, painful waiting, and the surreal experience of holding on while knowing goodbye was near. At the same time, the Red Cross worked to bring Vanner home from Korea so that he could be with us. He arrived home just minutes after Sierra was pronounced dead.

On July 16, 2022, I said goodbye to my only daughter, knowing she left this earth having made a difference in the lives of others. That day, Sierra became a hero. At just 26 years old, one month shy of her 27th birthday, she gave her corneas, tissue, kidneys, pancreas, and liver so that others might live. Her final act was one of courage and generosity. 

Even now, those words feel heavy to speak. To lose a child is unthinkable. To lose her in such a sudden and devastating way left us shattered.

Living With Grief and Finding Hope
When I whispered goodbye to Sierra, I told her, “I forgive you, I will love you forever, and I will keep your spirit alive.” I knew from that moment on, I was the keeper of her spirit. It became my mission to carry her memory forward.

The first year after her death was raw and disorienting. I had to leave my job because I could not summon patience for the ordinary stresses of the workplace. I relearned how to take care of myself in the deepest grief — trying not to isolate, finding healthy ways to cope, and leaning into writing to process my feelings.

I made a vow: to embody the best of Sierra’s traits. To live boldly, loudly, unapologetically. To laugh more. To care less about what others think. To savor joy even in the midst of sorrow. I learned that grief and life can exist together — that it’s possible to mourn deeply and still embrace the beauty of being alive. That is the paradox of love and loss.

One of the greatest sources of healing for me was the bereavement group for parents that Lifebanc offered. One year after Sierra’s passing and ten weeks with a room full of strangers who, like me, had lost children. None of us wanted to be there. And yet, we showed up.

In each other’s faces, I saw courage. I saw the pain of loss, but also the determination to keep moving forward. That group changed me, and I am forever grateful for it.

Grief is not something you “get over.” It is something you carry, something that reshapes you. For me, losing Sierra has been learning to live with a heart that has been broken open.

At first, the pain was overwhelming. There were days I couldn’t imagine moving forward. The absence felt unbearable — the empty chair at the table, the silence where her laughter used to ring, the ache of all the milestones she would never reach.

But slowly, in time, I have found ways to keep living — and more than that, to keep living in a way that honors Sierra.

I have learned to let grief and love exist side by side. I have learned that joy can still be present, even with sorrow. I have learned that healing is not about forgetting, but about remembering differently.

Sierra taught me so much in her 26 years, and she continues to teach me now. She reminds me to laugh, to connect, to live with heart. She reminds me that love doesn’t end with death — it continues in the way we live, the way we give, the way we show up for others.

Today, I carry Sierra with me in everything I do. I share her story so that others can know the gift of organ donation, so that lives can be saved, so that no one waiting for a transplant waits in vain.

And I carry her with me in smaller, quieter ways — in moments of laughter with my family, in long walks outdoors, in the beauty of a sunrise or the sound of rushing water. She is there. Always.

So while grief will always be part of me, so too will hope. Hope that Sierra’s legacy lives on in the people she saved. Hope that love can carry us through even the darkest night. Hope that by sharing her story, we invite others into the circle of life that donation makes possible.

And that is why being here today matters so much. None of us chose this path, but here we are, bound together by grief and by the heroic gifts of our loved ones.

It is an incredible honor to share Sierra’s story with you. And it is an incredible honor to mourn with you, side by side. Together, we are the keepers of our loved ones’ spirits. Together, we honor them — our heroes — who in their final moments gave the gift of life.

Thank you for allowing me to stand with you today. I’d like to conclude with a blessing.

May peace wrap gently around the hearts of all who grieve.

May you feel the presence of your beloveds in quiet moments, in sudden beauty, in the breath between tears.

May you be held by memory, strengthened by love, and softened by grace.

And when the waves of sorrow rise, may you find your way to shore, again and again, with tenderness, courage, and care.

The Planets🪐

  • Full moon in Aries today, October 6, 2025 🌝 ♈
  • Mercury in Libra moves into Scorpio today, October 6, 2025 ♎ ➡️ ♏
  • Venus in Virgo moves into Libra on October 13, 2025 ♍ ➡️ ♎
  • Waning half moon in Cancer on October 13, 2025 🌗 ♋
  • New moon in Libra on October 21, 2025 🌚 ♎ 
  • Neptune retrograde in Aries moves back into Pisces on October 22, 2025 ♓ 🔙 ♈

🌄 Sunrise today in Cleveland is at 7:29 am
🌇 Sunset today in Cleveland at 6:59 pm

New moon in Aries intentions 🌑🔥: I begin again with courage and tenderness, allowing my grief to be both teacher and companion as I step forward. I intend to honor my emotions as they rise, trusting that each wave of sorrow also carries the seed of strength. And I intend to channel the fiery energy of Aries toward creating new pathways for healing—ones that invite passion, purpose, and love to coexist with loss. May this moon remind me that beginnings and endings often share the same sacred ground. 

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