Logan Pacl stands out among teenagers. At 17, he faces a rare illness known as Sanfilippo syndrome. Often called “childhood Alzheimer’s,” this cruel disorder gradually takes away a child’s cognitive skills, mirroring the effects of Alzheimer’s in older people. But he keeps fighting and uses social media to spread awareness about his condition.
At first, everything seemed normal.
Logan Pacl’s life is a battle against time. Diagnosed with Sanfilippo syndrome, often known as “childhood Alzheimer’s,” the 17-year-old from Silverdale faces a relentless genetic disorder that viciously strips away the very essence of childhood. Caused by a single defective gene, this neurodegenerative disease attacks the brain and spinal cord, leaving behind a cruel wake of lost abilities, seizures, and constant pain. It’s a ticking time bomb, as most children with this terminal illness don’t survive beyond their mid-teens.
For Logan’s family, the heartbreak began early. Born in 2007 with his twin brother Austin, Logan seemed like any other healthy baby. Both boys hit their developmental milestones—until Logan began to fall behind. A year in, the red flags emerged: while Austin was speaking, Logan remained silent. The difference between the brothers grew, signaling the start of a devastating journey.
Sanfilippo syndrome doesn’t just rob children of their future—it erases their past.
Then the news of the diagnosis hit the parents, something no one could have anticipated.
As Logan’s condition worsened, with chronic infections and a noticeably swollen belly, Noelle and William were left searching for answers. In January 2010, they learned that Logan had Sanfilippo syndrome, a terminal illness with no cure or treatment, and a life expectancy that typically extends only into the late teens. “I’ll never forget the day we got the phone call. The genetic counselor on the other end went on and on, and all I thought was, well get to the part on how we fix this. Then she said it, ’This disease is terminal, and there is no cure or treatment,’” his parents recall.
Noelle recalled her initial reaction, grappling with the news that the disease was terminal. The weight of the diagnosis was overwhelming, leaving her with a heart that felt as though it had dropped into her stomach. The severity of the situation rendered her unable to process much beyond the devastating reality.
Noelle described the experience of mourning not just the child she had but the life she had envisioned for him, a life that was abruptly stolen away. The medical advice they received was minimal and unhelpful, simply advising them to take Logan home and cherish their time with him. This lack of concrete guidance only deepened their sense of helplessness.
In their search for hope, Noelle and William discovered an experimental stem cell transplant through online research. Inspired by the success of another mother’s child, they decided to pursue the same treatment for Logan. So, Pacl went through a tough three-month treatment that was basically a bone marrow transplant. He had to endure chemotherapy to wipe out his immune system so it could accept the new stem cells. It was a risky procedure, but it seems to have helped with some of Logan’s physical symptoms.
His mother uses social media to spread awareness about his condition.
At 17, Logan’s life is very different from that of most teenagers. Losing his ability to speak at a young age was tough for him and his family, but over time, he’s become more easygoing. “Life with Logan is anything but typical. Each day is a battle to maintain the skills he still has,” his mother Noelle said.
Since 2020, Noelle has been a vocal advocate for Sanfilippo syndrome, using TikTok to share her family’s story. Her videos have reached a global audience, raising awareness about the disorder and encouraging other parents to seek early diagnosis for their children.
Although Logan’s future is uncertain, the Pacl family is committed to making the most of their time together. Noelle and William used to avoid thinking about what lies ahead, but now they focus on cherishing every moment with Logan and ensuring he enjoys his time to the fullest. Noelle notes that among Sanfilippo parents, there’s a bit of a joke that all their children seem like siblings, sharing similar features like bushy eyebrows, a low nasal bridge, and large, round stomachs.
Even with the demands of caring for Logan, Noelle keeps life as normal as possible for Logan’s siblings, Austin and Aidyn. She acknowledges that having a brother with special needs can bring its own set of benefits.
As for sharing Logan’s journey online, Noelle remains thoughtful about what she posts. While she plans to continue sharing, she’s careful to respect her family’s privacy. “We just live in the moment,” his mother said. “And if something comes up, and we’re like, we can make that, we’ll do it.”
People in comments react differently.
Mostly people express support and empathy.
- You take the most wonderful care of him. You are the greatest mom. © lauralang1108 / Instagram
But some show a bit of skepticism.
- Genuine question, what is your plan when you are gone? © devin_abq.505 / Instagram
- I just wanna know why it’s necessary. People have to publicize their children’s conditions. Why do people think that we all wanna know what’s wrong with your child? I feel sorry for the parents, but I don’t know why you want to put this all out there. I’m sure you have support group publicizing putting your child out there like this. © marlawomble / Instagram
Today, conversations about living with disabilities are becoming more open, especially on social media. Celebrities are sharing their experiences as parents of children with special needs, helping to normalize these discussions and inspire others. This shift fosters understanding and empathy, creating a more inclusive environment for everyone.
I Nearly Froze to Death at 8 Years Old Until a Homeless Man Saved Me—Today, I Accidentally Met Him Again
I never thought I’d see him again. Not after all these years. Not after he saved my life that night in the snowstorm and vanished without a trace. But there he was, sitting in the subway station with his hands outstretched for change. The man who once saved me was now the one who needed saving.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring.
It reminded me of that very day. Of the biting cold, of my tiny, frozen fingers, and of the warmth of his rough hands guiding me to safety.
A little girl standing in forest | Source: Midjourney
I had spent years wondering who he was, where he had gone, and if he was even still alive.
And now, fate had placed him right in front of me again. But could I truly help him the way he once helped me?
***
I don’t have many memories of my parents, but I do remember their faces.
I clearly remember the warmth in my mother’s smile and the strength in my father’s arms. I also remember the night it all changed.
The night I learned they weren’t coming back.
A girl standing by a window | Source: Midjourney
I was only five years old when they died in a car accident, and back then, I didn’t even fully understand what death meant. I waited by the window for days, convinced they would walk through the door at any moment. But they never did.
Soon, the foster system became my reality.
I bounced from shelters to group homes to temporary families, never truly belonging anywhere.
Some foster parents were kind, others were indifferent, and a few were downright cruel. But no matter where I ended up, one thing remained the same.
I was alone.
An upset girl | Source: Midjourney
Back then, school was my only escape.
I buried myself in my books, determined to build a future for myself. I worked harder than anyone else, pushing past the loneliness and the uncertainty. And it paid off.
I earned a grant for college, then clawed my way through medical school, eventually becoming a surgeon.
Now, at 38, I have the life I fought for. I spend long hours at the hospital, performing life-saving operations, and barely stopping to catch my breath.
It’s exhausting, but I love it.
Surgeons in an operation theatre | Source: Pexels
Some nights, when I walk through my sleek apartment, I think about how proud my parents would be. I wish they could see me now, standing in an operating room, making a difference.
But there’s one memory from my childhood that never fades.
I was eight years old when I got lost in the woods.
It was a terrible snowstorm, the kind that blinds you, the kind that makes every direction look the same. I had wandered too far from the shelter I was staying in.
And before I knew it, I was completely alone.
A girl standing in the woods during a snowstorm | Source: Midjourney
I remember screaming for help. My tiny hands were stiff with cold, and my coat was too thin to protect me. I was terrified.
And then… he appeared.
I saw a man wrapped in layers of tattered clothing. His beard was dusted with snow, and his blue eyes were filled with concern.
A man standing in the woods | Source: Midjourney
When he found me shivering and terrified, he immediately scooped me up in his arms.
I remember how he carried me through the storm, shielding me from the worst of the wind. How he used his last few dollars to buy me hot tea and a sandwich at a roadside café. How he called the cops and made sure I was safe before slipping away into the night, never waiting for a thank you.
That was 30 years ago.
I never saw him again.
Until today.
People at a train station | Source: Pexels
The subway was packed with the usual chaos.
People were rushing to work while the street musician did his thing in the corner. I was exhausted after a long shift, lost in thought, when my eyes landed on him.
At first, I wasn’t sure why he looked familiar. His face was hidden beneath a scruffy gray beard, and he was wearing tattered clothes. His shoulders were slumped forward as if life had worn him down.
As I walked toward him, my gaze landed on something very familiar.
A tattoo on his forearm.
An anchor tattoo | Source: Midjourney
It was a small, faded anchor that immediately reminded me of the day I got lost in the woods.
I looked at the tattoo then back at the man’s face, trying my best to remember if it was really him. The only way I could confirm it was by talking to him. And that’s what I did.
“Is it really you? Mark?”
He looked up at me, trying to study my face. I knew he wouldn’t recognize me because I was just a child the last time he saw me.
A man sitting at a subway station | Source: Midjourney
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. “You saved me. Thirty years ago. I was eight years old, lost in the snow. You carried me to safety.”
That’s when his eyes widened in recognition.
“The little girl…” he said. “In the storm?”
I nodded. “Yes. That was me.”
Mark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
I sat down next to him on the cold subway bench.
“I never forgot what you did for me.” I hesitated before asking, “Have you been… living like this all these years?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he scratched his beard and looked away. “Life has a way of kicking you down. Some people get back up. Some don’t.”
At that point, my heart broke for him. I knew I couldn’t just walk away.
“Come with me,” I said. “Let me buy you a meal. Please.”
He hesitated, his pride keeping him from accepting, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Eventually, he nodded.
A man talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney
We went to a small pizza place nearby, and the way he ate told me he hadn’t had a good meal in years. I blinked back tears as I watched him. No one should have to live like this, especially not someone who once gave everything to help a lost little girl.
After dinner, I took him to a clothing store and bought him warm clothes. He protested at first, but I insisted.
“This is the least I can do for you,” I told him.
He finally accepted, running a hand over the coat as if he had forgotten what warmth felt like.
A rack with coats and jackets | Source: Pexels
But I wasn’t done helping him yet.
I took him to a small motel on the outskirts of the city and rented a room for him.
“Just for a while,” I assured him when he hesitated. “You deserve a warm bed and a hot shower, Mark.”
He looked at me with something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite comprehend. I think it was gratitude. Or maybe disbelief.
“You don’t have to do all this, kid,” he said.
“I know,” I said softly. “But I want to.”
The next morning, I met Mark outside the motel.
A motel sign | Source: Pexels
His hair was still damp from the shower, and he looked like a different man in his new clothes.
“I want to help you get back on your feet,” I said. “We can renew your documents, get you a place to stay long-term. I can help.”
Mark smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I appreciate that, kid. I really do. But I don’t have much time left.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled slowly, looking out toward the street. “Doctors say my heart’s giving out. Not much they can do. I feel it, too. I won’t be around much longer.”
A man talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney
“No. There has to be something—”
He shook his head. “I’ve made peace with it.”
Then he gave me a small smile. “There’s just one thing I’d love to do before I go. I want to see the ocean one last time.”
“Alright,” I managed to say. “I’ll take you. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”
The ocean was about 350 miles away, so I had to take a day off from the hospital. I asked Mark to come over to my place the next day so we could drive there together, and he did.
But just as we were about to leave, my phone rang.
A woman using her phone | Source: Pexels
It was the hospital.
“Sophia, we need you,” my colleague said urgently. “A young girl just came in. Severe internal bleeding. We don’t have another available surgeon.”
I looked at Mark as I ended the call.
“I—” My voice caught. “I have to go.”
Mark gave me a knowing nod. “Of course you do. Go save that girl. That’s what you were meant to do.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But we’ll still go, I promise.”
He smiled. “I know, kid.”
A man smiling while talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney
I rushed to the hospital. The surgery was long and grueling, but it was successful. The girl survived. I should have felt relieved, but all I could think about was Mark.
As soon as I was done, I drove straight back to the motel. My hands trembled as I knocked on his door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I asked the motel clerk to unlock the door.
When it opened, my heart shattered.
A doorknob | Source: Pexels
Mark was lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his face peaceful. He was gone.
I stood there, unable to move. I couldn’t believe he was gone.
I had promised to take him to the ocean. I had promised.
But I was too late.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as tears streamed down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry for being late…”
***
I never got to take Mark to the ocean, but I ensured he was buried by the shore.
Waves on the shore at sunset time | Source: Pexels
He’s gone from my life forever, but one thing he has taught me is to be kind. His kindness saved my life 30 years ago, and now, I carry it forward.
In every patient I heal, every stranger I help, and every problem I try to solve, I carry Mark’s kindness with me, hoping to give others the same compassion he once showed me.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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