As folks were getting ready to welcome the new year on December 31, 2018, a small miracle happened. Her name was Aëla Rolland. She was a beautiful little baby who was born just before the end of one year and the start of the next. It was a symbolic event in many ways. From the outset, Aëla possessed something strange: a brightness, a presence, and a softness that felt like it would endure forever. She came in whispers and then became a song.
Everyone who knew Aëla saw her as more than just a daughter, sister, or friend. She was a lot of fun. From the day she was born, she was nice. Her eyes sparkled with soft wisdom, and her smile could make even the toughest days better. She was nice, considerate, and always wanted to learn more. Her amazing, bright laughter filled every place she stepped into, and her voice, which was always ready to sing, seemed to carry more than just music; it carried healing.
Aëla loved to sing. Music wasn’t just something she listened to; it was a part of who she was. Whether she was coloring quietly or dancing in her pajamas to her favorite song, Aëla’s voice dominated every room in her house. People in her family often claimed that her singing could make them feel better, lift their spirits, and fill empty spaces with something spiritual.
She also loved to dance, not to show off or attract attention, but just because she liked to move. Her tiny feet would whirl about on the floors of the living room, the school stages, and the patios in the yard. For Aëla, dancing was freedom. It was a method to show who you are. Dancing was a way to show that life was moving. She danced when she was happy, when she was excited, and even when she was sick. She was saying, “I’m still alive.” “I’m still me.”
Aëla’s imagination was vivid and beautiful. She liked Peter Pan not just because of the fairies and flying, but also because it taught her that some spirits should never get old. She believed in Neverland as strongly as other youngsters believe in gravity. Peter Pan was more than just a story to her. It was a friend, a fantasy, and a refuge for spirits that don’t want to be defined by time.
Aëla was a ghost that had been around for a long time in a frail, little body.
A Turn That No Family Should Ever Have to Go Through
In June 2024, just a few months after her fifth birthday, Aëla was diagnosed with Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma (DIPG). This is a highly rare and serious brain tumor that usually affects children. The diagnosis changed everything for her family. There is no known way to become better. The fact that the survival rate is so low is terrible. Parents are stunned, physicians are serious, and families are doing all imaginable to keep hope alive.
But Aëla didn’t pay attention to the numbers. She didn’t see any fear in her. She kept on singing.
For 11 months of therapy, tests, hospital visits, and pain, she stayed the same person. The tumor eventually made it harder for her to move around, walk, eat, and even talk, yet it never changed her spirit.
She sang even though it pained.
Even though she was tired, she grinned.
When she hugged you, it felt like the sun on your skin.
She danced with her eyes when her body couldn’t keep up.
Aëla felt pain in a world where youngsters are supposed to be happy. She dealt with it with grace. Her bravery wasn’t harsh or loud. It was deep, quiet, and soft. She didn’t have to be brave in front of everyone. It took courage for her to be herself.
The Day She Flew
After almost a year of fighting, Aëla’s tenure on Earth came to an end on May 16, 2025. She was only six years old.
Meg Rolland’s mom expressed it best:
“This morning, Aëla flew into the sky with Peter Pan near Paulin and me. It broke my heart.”
It was a time of loss that words can’t explain. A moment that no parent should ever have to go through. But the scene is quietly beautiful: a little girl flying away, no longer in pain, leaving behind a broken body but carrying with her an unbreakable spirit.
She didn’t just pass away.
She flew.
What Happens After the Body Is Gone?
There is no way to tell how much people miss Aëla. No one is in her bed. Her clothes don’t move. Her favorite songs sound weird now. But she is still there in every room and corner of her home.
In every one of her drawings, she is there.
You can find her in all of her favorite toys.
You can see her in every video where she starts to chuckle.
You can see her in the delicate prints of her feet that used to dance.
And in the hearts of her family—her parents, siblings, grandparents, and everyone else who loved her—she is still alive. She is there. She is not the past. She is both the present and the future.
Her family says she is
Always six. Always loved. Always in my mind.
Not only did she make me cry, but she also made me thankful. I appreciate every second I spent with her. Thanks for the lessons she taught without even trying. I’m glad they got to see her love up close.
Aëla’s Gift of Light
Some kids live for a long time. And some youngsters live in very deep water.
Ala’s time on Earth was short, but it was full with things that really matter. Love. Sounds. Joy. Wow. Bravery. Being innocent. Magic.
It doesn’t matter what she did; it matters who she was.
She is in every child who spins around to feel the wind.
Every parent who sings to their child, even on the toughest days, keeps her memories alive.
She is still alive when you see Peter Pan, hear a calming lullaby, spin, or laugh.
A Call to Change and Remember How You Live
Aëla’s story is not just about being sad; it’s also about how to survive. She taught us that life isn’t about how long we live, but how much we love. Those times are vital. That softness shows how strong you are. Being there is all that matters.
Aëla saw a world that goes too rapidly and forgets to pay attention to the small things. She had a lot of feelings. She gave without expecting anything in return. In return, she showed us that even a brief life may be beautiful.
Aëla, my dear, may you rest in peace.
You couldn’t handle this world.
But we are better off now that you are gone.
You are:
You have worked with us for six years.
Loved for all time.
Always shining.
Dancing forever.
Always singing.
Always free.
You still live, little star.
And your light will never go out.