When Ana was 11 years old, she was diagnosed with a rare type of cancer called inflammatory myofibroblastic tumor (IMT). Five years later, on March 22, 2017, Ana passed away because of this disease. Her death left her family shattered, and her mother, Jacqueline Dooley, has spent years navigating life without her.
In the months after Ana’s death, Jacqueline’s grief was all-consuming. It was a deep ache that settled in her chest, leaving her unable to do much other than sit in her yard, watching birds at the feeders. She stepped away from her freelance marketing work, outsourcing her projects while she tried to make sense of her loss.
Now, as Jacqueline approaches the seventh anniversary of Ana’s passing, she reflects on how her grief has evolved. It hasn’t disappeared—it’s simply changed. For Jacqueline, surviving grief is about learning to adapt. Over time, she’s come to terms with not holding on to every memory or ritual that reminds her of Ana. Instead, she focuses on cherishing the moments that truly capture Ana’s vibrant spirit.
One of those cherished memories is Arkomo, Ana’s imaginary world. Arkomo was a miniature kingdom Ana created with tiny toys, Legos, clay, and other bits and pieces she collected. From a young age, Ana loved small treasures—tiny stuffed animals, miniature frogs, and shells that fit in her palm. As a toddler, she’d gather her toys into piles, guarding them fiercely like a little dragon. These piles eventually gave way to more structured creations, like cities made of blocks and Legos, where her animals starred in elaborate adventures.
But Arkomo was different. It wasn’t just a game; it was a masterpiece. Ana built it on her dresser, crafting roads from tiny vinyl bricks, planting trees from Playmobil sets, and populating it with Squinkies—tiny rubber people and animals barely half an inch tall. She even made a sign that read, “Welcome to Arkomo.”
The world of Arkomo was delicate and wobbly. Bits of clay held everything together, and every now and then, tiny inhabitants would topple off the dresser. Jacqueline would carefully put them back in place, knowing how much love and effort Ana had poured into creating this magical world. Despite the clutter, Jacqueline couldn’t bring herself to take it down, even when friends suggested she clean it up.
As Ana grew older, Arkomo was slowly packed away. By the time she was 11, Ana had moved on to new interests like My Little Pony, gemstones, and Funko Pop toys. Arkomo was stored in a box, its pieces used occasionally for school projects. When Ana was diagnosed with cancer, the little world stayed tucked away.
Recently, Jacqueline rediscovered that box while cleaning. Inside were the remnants of Arkomo—the tiny animals, plastic trees, and vinyl roads. The clay that once held it all together had crumbled. Holding those pieces brought back a flood of memories, but also a sense of loss. Jacqueline realized she couldn’t pinpoint the last time Ana had played with Arkomo. Last times, she reflected, often pass unnoticed.
Jacqueline wishes she had taken a photo of Arkomo in its full glory or written down more details about Ana’s life. That’s her advice to other parents: write everything down. These moments, big and small, are precious, and they fade over time.
As the seventh anniversary of Ana’s passing approaches, Jacqueline wants to celebrate her daughter’s life rather than retell the story of her death. Ana was an extraordinary child with a vivid imagination, someone who brought entire worlds to life. Through Arkomo, Jacqueline invites others to remember Ana—not just for the tragedy of her loss, but for the beauty and creativity she brought to the world. She hopes that when people see tiny treasures, they’ll think of Ana and the magical worlds she created.
