Family Matters

Home isn’t just a place.
It’s where life happens in the middle of the room.

For the Titus family, that place is a cozy white couch—the kind layered
with soft pillows and years of memory. It’s wide enough for two growing girls, two dogs, and parents
who’ve learned not to mind being squished together. Behind it, playful family photos line the wall. Children’s drawings are taped proudly in place. There’s open floor space for impromptu performances, science experiments, and, in harder seasons, quiet centering prayer.

This is where Franny laughs—gentle and warm, the performer in her impossible to miss—and where Johnny appreciates time with his family, thoughtful and grateful. It’s where 8-year-old Luna bounces in to introduce the new puppy or display her favorite squishy NeeDoh toys on the coffee table, and where 13-year-old Stella watches it all with a quiet, observant calm.

This living room isn’t styled for a catalog. It’s lived in. Loved in.

And after the weeks Johnny spent in the hospital for cancer treatment, it became something even more sacred.

For years, that couch held the small, everyday moments that make up a family’s life. They never imagined how quickly those moments could feel fragile.

But Johnny’s sudden diagnosis of appendix cancer a few months ago brought the idea of home into sharper focus for them.

At 41, cancer was not something Johnny was expecting when he had abdominal pain that didn’t feel right. He was overall healthy and young, so the doctor initially sent him home. But as the pain continued, Johnny pressed on, feeling in his body that something wasn’t right and determined to find an answer.

After a colonoscopy, the doctor found something that needed to be examined further through surgery. That operation identified a rare mass in his appendix that had burst, potentially spreading cancer cells into the rest of his abdomen. To treat this, his surgeon recommended HIPEC (hyperthermic intraperitoneal chemotherapy) surgery.

“There’s not one organ that they don’t have to physically manipulate with their fingertips because they’re looking for cancer that a scan cannot find,” Johnny says. It is an intense 10-hour procedure involving removal of the tumor and part of his colon, followed by heated chemotherapy administered in his abdomen and being physically shaken for two hours to distribute the treatment throughout every part of the abdominal cavity to prevent the cancer from spreading. “They’re shaking chemo into every single nook and cranny they can possibly get into because it’s microscopic seeds that plant themselves and then grow. They’re trying to get that,” Johnny says. His first surgery was in July 2025, and the HIPEC surgery was in September. It was during the first surgery, Johnny says, that they discovered the cancer had spread and was stage IV. “It’s so rare. One in a million,” he says.

While the procedure was intense, the recovery was difficult and painful. Johnny spent five days in the hospital and then ended up back there for eight more. During that time, he couldn’t be discharged until he was able to walk 10 laps around the floor. To him, a few steps felt like 10 miles, he says. And through it all, all he wanted was to go home.

For Franny, that became her singular focus, too. She kept picturing the four of them back together on the fluffy white couch in their living room. With Johnny’s diagnosis, she wasn’t sure they would ever all be there again. “I remember when it happened, thinking, ‘Are we ever gonna be right here together again?’ I didn’t know,” Franny says.

Her mission crystallized into one clear goal: bring him home. The thought of their family gathered in that room — shoulder to shoulder, safe and whole — became Johnny’s motivation as well, the reason to push through the pain and get strong enough to leave the hospital.

“I just wanted him home. That was the focus of my mind,” Franny recalls.

She remembers one day in particular when Johnny wasn’t doing well. She had to reach for a deep, steady strength to encourage him. She told him he had to get up and helped him into the shower.

“He was trembling. He was cold from the water. I blow-dried his body. And we started with, ‘Let’s get you home.’ Every step is a step closer,” she explains. “No one wants to be home more than someone lying in a hospital bed.”

And eventually, after weeks of uncertainty, they did.