WrestleMania — the showcase of the immortals. For wrestling fans like me, it’s more than just an event. It’s the dream. The granddaddy of them all. The one show you imagine yourself at since childhood, sitting in the crowd as legends are made.
For most, just getting there is enough to call it a dream come true. For me, it was supposed to be just that. But life had other plans.
When I got the news — the kind that drops you to your knees — WrestleMania felt further away than ever. Between hospital beds and hard conversations, the road ahead wasn’t marked by matches or storylines. It was tests, scans, and the terrifying unknown.
But this story? It’s not just about illness. It’s about the fight. It’s about holding onto something that still made me feel alive: professional wrestling. It’s about the power of fandom, of hope, and of making it to the show that I’d been waiting for my whole life — WrestleMania XL in Philadelphia.
This is my story. My struggle. My celebration. My road to WrestleMania.