Angel Thiennha LE

Angel Thiennha Le, age 6, passed away on August 12th, 2025, at Seattle Children’s Hospital, surrounded by her loving parents, siblings, aunts, and uncles. After a courageous four-year battle with cancer, she left this world having filled it with more laughter, love, and sass than most do in a lifetime. Her spirit was unstoppable—she never let her circumstances define her joy.

From the beginning, Angel met every challenge with fierce curiosity and a spark that refused to dim. She didn’t just endure treatments—she questioned them, memorized them, and made them hers. She’d greet her nurses with a raised eyebrow and a bold, “What do you want from me?” or demand a password before letting them proceed. She turned fear into dialogue, discomfort into play, and uncertainty into moments of connection. Her bravery wasn’t quiet—it was loud, proud, and full of personality.

But her story was never just about illness—it was about joy in defiance of it. She turned her hospital room into a karaoke lounge, singing her heart out and dancing like no one was watching—sometimes recording herself just to prove how fabulous she was. She loved bubbles on the hospital’s rooftop garden, Minecraft with her siblings, and thoughtful fashion decisions before school time. She’d get adorably frustrated with her aunties and uncles for not knowing how to play Minecraft properly, often declaring, “You’re doing it all wrong!” She transformed every space she entered, whether it was a hallway she ruled in a princess dress or a rooftop garden at the hospital where she basked in direct sunlight. That moment—her face tilted toward the sky, eyes closed, soaking in the warmth—was pure joy. She had been told her whole life to avoid the sun, but in that moment, she claimed it.

She adored shopping at the hospital gift shop, and in her final weeks, she made it her mission to pick out the perfect gift for everyone she loved—her siblings, mom, dad, aunties, uncles, and even her favorite nurses. Each gift was chosen with care, a reflection of her deep love and thoughtfulness. She didn’t just give presents; she gave pieces of herself.

Her love for her family was fierce and all-encompassing. Her siblings were her loyal co-conspirators, always shielded by her clever alibis. Her mother was her constant—her anchor, her champion, her everything. From the very beginning, they were inseparable, a duo bound by a love so deep it shaped every moment. Her father’s presence brought her pure joy, lighting her up whenever he entered the room. She adored her aunties and relished in deciding who was the number one auntie for the day—a rivalry so intense it often came down to who earned the coveted right to sleep next to her at night. She had a gift for pulling people close, for creating moments that became cherished memories. In her short life, she was unknowingly an architect of connection.

She is survived by her mother, Hongthuy Vo; father, Nhan Le; older sister, Nina; older brother, Adin; younger brother, Ethan; and grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and a tribe of friends and caregivers who became family.

We learned so many lessons from Angel, but a couple stand out: joy is a choice, and love is a force. She chose joy every day, and she loved with a gravity that pulled us all in. She was bold, brilliant, and beautifully herself.

She didn’t just live—she led. And though she’s no longer in our arms, she’ll forever be in our rhythm, our laughter, our light.