KILLEEN, TX – Killeen resident, Vicki Lynn Cosper Wilson, 59, has always loved music. But she never could have predicted how that love would bless her in her time of need.
She knows she leads a charmed life. Three sisters, all close. A harmonious and happy childhood. Three amazing sons. Career. Travel.
One glance at her, and it is obvious: large, piercing azure blue eyes, fiercely chiseled cheekbones, alabaster skin, and an unrelenting smile that suggests she might be somehow lit from within.
These days, she admits, she is more frail than she might normally be, perhaps a bit less muscular, but persistent and strong. Filled with purpose.
She starts her story at a timeline of her own choosing, describing herself as a working mom back then. A caregiver for her elderly mother. It was 2015. And she had begun to lose her vision. Brain surgery, they recommended. She did not flinch. Not as scary as it sounds, she says. Within two weeks, she was up and around and back to normal.
They had lived in exotic places, she said. Hawaii and Japan. She homeschooled her boys. 
Made lifelong friends with the people of Okinawa. Admired their culture. Learned their music and their games, and the differences between her birth culture and theirs.
Multigenerational families remained intact, she observed. Even played sports style games together. Her children embraced all of it – the gentle climate, ocean and beaches. Language and customs. She taught English and math for a local school.
After returning to Texas, her boys finished school and began college. That was her cue, she said, enrolling in the A&M-Central Texas graduate program in teaching. She loved it, she said happily. The faculty. Her lessons. Every bit of it.
She had been placed in a teaching practicum at Meadows Elementary School. Embraced by the principal and the assistant principals, and fellow teachers. But her heart – her already happy heart was made most incandescently joyful inside her music classroom.
She and 20 pre-K to fifth grade children laughed and played Pass the Pumpkin where little ones formed a circle and danced until her piano would halt unexpectedly. The last one to find their place had to take up an instrument and play along with the melody she offered. Repeat.
Until, she said, she learned that she had breast cancer. A routine self-exam revealed a lump. A mammogram and biopsy confirmed it. Between stages three and four, her doctors told her. Chemotherapy.
Throughout the challenges, she was reminded of everything she loved. Teaching. Her students’ words of encouragement. Their hip high hugs, as they held her, their little arms wrapped around her unabashedly, offering hope. Thank you, Miss Wilson, they told her. Thank you for coming to teach even when you don’t feel well.
May 2024. A phone call from the hospital. Urgent, they said. She heard the words. A radioactive pellet into her lymph nodes to prevent the cancer from spreading. Double mastectomy. Reconstruction.
No, she said. The chemotherapy had already taken her hair, weakened her body until she sat on the floor and cried. Her support team had surrounded her. Dropping whatever they were doing to stand by her. And besides, the A&M-Central Texas graduation was on Saturday, and she was determined to walk.
They would gather again. At 5:30 a.m. that Monday. Surgery on Tuesday. Still and all, she refuses to call herself strong. But, she admits, maybe she is a little bit stubborn.
Witness the following Saturday. Released from the hospital that very day. Frail but fierce. She joined the processional in her regalia. Received her graduate degree, hooded by the dean. Cancer would not take this from her. Not that night. And, if she could help it, not any night.
Almost two years later, and through it all, she has never given up. Through everything, what she brought into this fight for her life, remains with her to this day: Her love for music. Her love for teaching. Her love for the little ones she taught to play instruments and dance. Her future and all of the blessings it can hold.
For the next 18 months, the treatment continued, she says. But so did her strength. Through as much of it as she could, when she was able, she was present in her beloved classroom. Even during a second round of chemo finally completed in January 2025. Once again, she rang the bell – the challenge of more chemo completed – as a circle of loved ones: her sons, her family, and her friends.
Two A&M-Central Texas employees were supporting her that day: Dr. Linda Black sent prayers, and Ms. Kim Kuklies, executive director for the university’s educator preparation services, was there with friends and family – just where lifetime friends and mentors belong. 
So, it was no surprise when she spoke from the heart about her former student, her colleague in teaching, and her very good friend.
“I deeply admire Vicky Cosper Wilson's unwavering motivation,” Kuklies said. “Despite facing challenges that tested her strength and resilience, she remained steadfast in her goal to positively impact the lives of her students. Our community is a better place because of teachers like Vicki.”