By Liz Menges
Founder of the I’m Not Done Yet Foundation
My son Bobby had a special way of connecting with people. Whether it was through school, marching band, the wrestling team, his family friends, he built real relationships. And at the heart of it all was his innate sense of service.
Cancer was a constant thread through his childhood, but it never defined him. He kept showing up—fully and joyfully—for life and for the people around him. Even as a little kid undergoing chemo, he was raising money for child life services at the Cancer Center for Kids (CCFK) in Mineola. That was Bobby—living large because he knew life was short and always trying to lift someone up.
After Bobby died of cancer at 19, we started the I’m Not Done Yet Foundation in his honor. The name fits perfectly. Even though he’s no longer here, Bobby—our son, brother, and friend—is not done making an impact on the world. We created the foundation to carry his work forward.
Early Lessons in Care and Compassion
When Bobby was six and going through grueling treatment at CCFK, there was a tiny toddler who followed him around the clinic. They spent long days there—getting chemo, blood transfusions, bone marrow aspirations—and one day, a little girl attached herself to Bobby.
She insisted on sitting on his lap during procedures. When “Vanessa” needed a finger prick (which even the oldest and most experienced patients dread), she’d scramble into his lap and cling to his neck. That sense of community—of caring and showing up for each other—stuck with Bobby. It became part of who he was.
He loved the people of CCFK. The entire staff was incredible–many of them spent their whole careers there. Years later, when Bobby was forced to leave college and return home for treatment, many of those same cheerful, familiar faces were still there. They made his third and final cancer diagnosis more bearable.
Throughout his short life, he thrived on the support he received from the community—forever bringing people together, speaking up, and fundraising for the programs that meant so much to him.
At Duke, he was involved in the newly emerging adolescent and young adult (AYA) program at the Duke Cancer Institute, determined to use his experience to advocate for others. He knew his voice could make a difference—and he didn’t waste the chance.
Filling the Gaps in AYA Cancer Care
When Bobby relapsed during college, he suddenly found himself on the adult side of the hospital for the first time. He was only 18, but now he was being treated alongside people decades older, with vastly different lives.
It was jarring. The difference in resources, in energy, in how young adults were seen and treated—he noticed it all. And he talked about it. A lot. He continued his work with Duke’s AYA program and helped build out discussions around what patients in their teens and twenties actually need—emotionally, socially, and psychologically—while going through cancer.
After Bobby died, our family was determined to carry his mission forward. We would raise money and awareness for the needs of AYA patients and survivors, and fight to make their experience better.
We partnered with CCFK to create the Bobby Menges I’m Not Done Yet AYA Lounge—a space just for teens and young adults. Childhood cancer units are often cheerful, and adult floors can feel sterile and overwhelming. This more sophisticated space fills that “in-between” with age-appropriate comfort and belonging.
Through the foundation, we’re also rethinking how hospitals serve AYA patients—designing better spaces, building programs that empower young voices, and making sure the unique needs of this age group are heard and honored.
Preserving Hope: Oncofertility and the Future
One of the most critical areas we’re focused on now is fertility preservation. Cancer can threaten so much, including the chance to build a family in the future. And for young people and their families, that realization hits hard.
When Bobby was 18, he suddenly had to make all his own medical decisions. He started researching everything, including the long-term effects of the treatments he’d had as a child. That’s when he realized no one had ever talked to us about fertility. It devastated him.
Of course, we did what we had to do when he was five—we signed the papers and saved his life. But he wished someone had given us the chance to at least think ahead.
That’s why we partnered with NYU Langone to help make fertility preservation available for young cancer patients. The total first year cost for males is up to $1,500, and for females it ranges from $10,000 to $20,000. Most insurance only covers a small amount—if at all—and hospitals cap support at $750. This deficit leaves patients and families to scramble for additional help during a moment that’s already overwhelming.
Our goal is simple: make sure that, within 24 hours of a cancer diagnosis, patients can have a real conversation about fertility—with real psychosocial and financial support to follow.
Emeline Aviki, MD, MBA, and her team at NYU Langone are doing amazing work, and we’re proud to help fund fertility preservation on Long Island. We’re committed to raising the money year after year, because the hope of having a family one day cannot be overstated.
I’ve met so many families for whom fertility preservation changed everything. One dear friend lost her son while he was engaged. His prognosis was grim, but he and his fiancée preserved his sperm early, and now, his fiancée is expecting a baby. Even in that heartbreak, something beautiful endured—because they had the support they needed, when they needed it.
That’s the impact we want to make. It’s deeply personal for our family, and it’s urgently important for countless others.
Carrying the Legacy Forward
Everything we do at I’m Not Done Yet is about extending Bobby’s legacy—and making sure other young people have the chance to live fully, even in the face of cancer.
If we can help someone preserve their chance to be a parent one day, if we can make programs more supportive for patients in their teens and twenties—then Bobby’s voice, his heart, and his mission will keep going.
We’re not done yet.