June spent more than two decades in restaurant management. She was known for running some of the cleanest restaurants in every place she worked—no shortcuts, no excuses. Her standards were high because her pride in her work was higher. Customers trusted her. Employees loved working for her. She believed that if people showed up and gave their best, they deserved respect in return.
In 2022, June and her husband made a bold decision. After years of building careers and stability near family and friends, they chose something new. They left behind the familiarity of home and moved to sunny Florida—excited for a fresh start, warmer days, and a slower, more relaxed chapter of life. It felt hopeful. It felt earned.
June wasted no time getting back to work. As soon as she began looking, she was hired. She was genuinely excited—energized by the opportunity and proud to start over somewhere new. This was supposed to be the beginning of something joyful.
Within two months of starting her new job, June began scheduling routine appointments to get established with doctors in the Tampa area. Just five months later, her life changed forever. She was diagnosed with cancer.
The diagnosis brought shock, fear, sadness—and something many people don’t talk about: embarrassment. June worried about having to tell a new employer. She worried about needing time off. She worried about being seen as unreliable or “too much” so early into a job she had worked so hard to secure.
Despite everything, June kept working.
She worked through chemotherapy. She worked through exhaustion. She worked after a double mastectomy. She worked while cancer spread—to her brain, to her spine, including a rare spinal cancer. There were days she didn’t recognize herself. Days she was confused, disoriented, and unsure of where she was or why she felt the way she did.
And still, she showed up—until her body physically could not anymore.
I watched my mother change before my eyes. The no-nonsense woman who had always been the caretaker became someone childlike and vulnerable. At the time I needed my mom the most, I became her advocate. I became the one encouraging her, protecting her, educating others, and fighting for her dignity—until the very end.
June passed away on December 31, 2023.
That loss changed me. My grief became a calling. It ignited a passion to make sure no one else has to carry this kind of burden while also worrying about their job. My mom’s story is deeply personal—but it is not unique. Too many families are forced to navigate illness, fear, and loss while employment protections fall short.
June’s Law was born from that truth.
If you or someone you love has faced similar challenges, your story matters. Please share your story to help show why stronger workplace protections for cancer patients are urgently needed.