The image that has broken hearts across America is heartbreakingly simple: Renee Nicole Good, the 37-year-old Minneapolis poet, mother of three, and tireless community advocate, captured in a quiet moment wearing a soft wool beanie — pulled low to cover her head during chemotherapy for breast cancer she was battling just one year ago.
In the photo, shared widely by family and friends in the days following her tragic death, Renee’s gentle smile peeks out from under the cozy hat, her eyes still sparkling with that trademark warmth everyone who knew her describes as “pure sunshine.” The beanie wasn’t just for style — it was a practical shield against the harsh reality of hair loss from chemo treatments she endured after her diagnosis in early 2025.
Tragically, Renee never got to ring the bell signaling the end of treatment. She was fatally shot by an ICE agent on January 7, 2026, during what her family says was an attempt to support immigrant neighbors amid a federal enforcement surge in south Minneapolis. The image of her in that beanie has become a poignant symbol — a reminder of a woman who fought cancer with quiet courage, only to lose her life in a moment of chaos that has ignited nationwide protests and demands for justice.
A fighter from the start: Renee’s cancer battle
Renee’s breast cancer journey began quietly, as so many do. Friends recall her sharing the news in small circles — a lump discovered during a routine self-exam, followed by the devastating confirmation of an aggressive form requiring immediate intervention. By mid-2025, she was deep in chemotherapy, the grueling cycles that left her exhausted but never defeated.
‘She wore that beanie everywhere during chemo,’ her wife Becca Good shared in a statement after the shooting. ‘Not because she was ashamed — Renee was never ashamed of anything she went through — but because it kept her warm, comfortable, and feeling a little more like herself when the world felt cold.’
Photos from that time show Renee at home with her three children, the wool hat perched jauntily as she read poetry aloud or sang softly — one of her great loves. She was an award-winning poet whose work often explored themes of love, resilience, and community. Even during treatment, she found ways to give back: speaking at local breast cancer awareness events, uplifting others facing similar diagnoses, and reminding everyone that survival is as much emotional as physical.
‘She’d joke about the beanie being her “superhero cape”,’ a close friend told us. ‘It hid the hair loss, but it couldn’t hide her light. She was still Renee — still laughing, still writing, still loving fiercely.’
Chemo was brutal. The fatigue, nausea, neuropathy, and emotional toll weighed heavily. Yet Renee pushed through, supported by Becca, her children, and a tight-knit community in Minneapolis where the couple had recently settled. She documented parts of her journey privately — journal entries turned poems — turning pain into art, as she always had.
The day everything changed: January 7, 2026
Renee’s cancer fight was ongoing when tragedy struck. On that fateful Wednesday morning, federal ICE agents were conducting operations in her south Minneapolis neighborhood under the expanded “Operation Metro Surge” in the second Trump administration. Renee and Becca stopped to observe and support immigrant neighbors — Renee as a legal observer, bearing witness to ensure rights were respected.
Bystander videos and bodycam footage tell a chaotic story: agents approaching Renee’s SUV near Portland Avenue and 34th Street, commands to exit, Renee slowly pulling away — then three gunshots through the windshield by agent Jonathan Ross. Renee was pronounced dead at the scene from wounds to her chest, arm, and head.
The Trump administration labeled her a “domestic terrorist” who attempted to flee and strike officers (Ross reportedly suffered injuries from the vehicle). But eyewitness accounts, footage, and family statements paint a different picture: a mother trying to protect her community, not harm anyone.
Her last words, captured on video: “I’m not mad at you.” Spoken to the agents, they have haunted the nation.
The beanie becomes a symbol of strength and loss
In the wake of her death, the photo of Renee in her chemo beanie resurfaced and spread like wildfire — shared on vigils, protest signs, and social media memorials. It humanizes her beyond the headlines: not just a victim of violence, but a cancer warrior, a poet, a partner, a mom.
‘Seeing her in that hat breaks me every time,’ one mourner posted online. ‘She fought so hard to live, only to be taken like this. The beanie reminds us she was still in the fight — for her health, for her family, for justice.’
A GoFundMe for her wife and children surpassed $1.5 million quickly, with donors moved by stories of Renee’s kindness. Vigils in Minneapolis, Seattle, Portland, and beyond featured beanies as tributes — people wearing them in solidarity, a quiet nod to her chemo journey.
A life of love and activism
Renee Nicole Good was more than her illnesses or her death. Born and raised with deep roots in community, she was an award-winning poet whose work appeared in literary journals and local anthologies. She sang with passion, played guitar, and nurtured kindness in everyone around her.
As a partner to Becca, she built a home filled with laughter and creativity. As a mother, she was devoted — reading bedtime stories, cheering at school events, dreaming of a future with her kids.
Her activism was grassroots: supporting immigrant rights, racial justice, and cancer awareness. She spoke openly about her diagnosis to destigmatize it, encouraging early detection and emotional support.
‘She literally sparkled,’ Becca said in her statement. ‘Even on the hardest chemo days, she’d find a way to make us laugh or write something beautiful.’
The national outcry and calls for accountability
Renee’s killing has sparked fury. Protests rage coast to coast, with chants of “Justice for Renee” and “Abolish ICE.” Governors like Colorado’s Jared Polis called for full investigations. The FBI reportedly opened then dropped a civil rights probe, leading to resignations in the DOJ’s Civil Rights Division.
The Hennepin County Attorney pleaded for public evidence as federal cooperation stalled. Video analysis shows conflicting narratives: was it self-defense or excessive force?
Renee’s story echoes George Floyd’s — Minneapolis again at the center of national reckoning over policing and federal power.
Remembering Renee: The woman behind the beanie
Today, the wool beanie stands as a quiet emblem — of a woman who covered her head during chemo to keep going, who covered her community in love, and whose life was cut short far too soon.
From cancer treatments to tragic death, Renee’s journey reminds us of fragility and fierce humanity. She fought breast cancer with poetry and perseverance. She faced injustice with calm words. And in that simple hat, she showed vulnerability and unbreakable spirit.
Her legacy lives in her children, her words, her love — and in every beanie worn in tribute.
Renee Nicole Good: poet, mother, survivor, beacon. Gone too soon, but never forgotten.
What strikes you most about Renee’s story? Share your thoughts below — the comments are filled with love, anger, and calls for change.
