My boat has capsized in the vast, vast ocean.

All that I hold dear, I kept in that boat. While some of my treasures are still safe in the boat, many have found their way into the icy, cold water.

I, too, am floating. All around me I see loved ones struggling against the waves, the chill and the fear.
Frantically I am reaching out, trying to grab each and every one, but...

I only have two hands.

Some of them make it back to the boat. They are tired and weak, but safe.

I am trying so hard to hold onto all of them all. I can feel my grip slipping.
One minute they are there, the next...They are gone.

I am left behind, trying not to drown in my grief.

And while I thank God everyday for the treasures I still have in my boat,
I miss the ones that I lost in the vast, vast ocean.


This is what cancer means to me.

Although Noah and the Arks may sound childlike and simple, to me it symbolizes so much more. My brother Noah made it into the boat. I cannot even type this without tears overwhelming me. Our family (his arks) did everything we could to keep him afloat during his battle. He won his battle, as did my father-in-law. My grandpa Gil did not. One of my closest friends, Ginny, has been fighting the waves for four years. She is losing and I am drowning. Cancer has scarred my life in so many ways and I have never even had it.
                                                                                                                                --Written August 2010

On September 10, 2010 my dear friend Ginny lost her battle with Adrenal Cortical Carcinoma.
We love you Gin, we will continue the fight in your memory.
 
I was five-years-old when my father was diagnosed with cancer, nine when my grandfather died due to complications during a surgery for his cancer, twelve when my grandmother was diagnosed and told she had six-months to live, and was two days past my high school graduation when she succumbed to this vicious disease that gradually overtook her body. Save the specifics - my story is not unique. Cancer and the impact it has is far reaching and touches nearly every human being in one way or another.

Tonight I attended my first Relay for Life event. It was emotional, it was inspiring, it was heartbreaking. I watched my father participate in the survivors lap, which is the grand kick off to this event and was grateful once again that life conspired to allow him to watch his children grow, see his grandbabies be born and become beautiful little people, and to live a life of example with his wife, my amazing mother.

Hope is a major and reoccurring theme in this event. Hope is noting that my grandmother was given a grim prognosis and exceeded her doctors’ expectations years over. Hope is knowing that not nearly all the survivors of cancer were walking that lap tonight. Hope is knowing that brilliant people are working tirelessly to develop a cure so our children and grandchildren will not hear “cancer” and think, “Death sentence.” Hope is knowing that those who have died fighting this disease are long in the hearts of those who loved them and love them still. Hope is sharing this experience with family and friends and celebrating the victories.

Tonight my three-year-old attended her first Relay for Life event. I know she doesn’t understand yet, but one day, as she grows, and we continue to attend this event together she will learn the history of her great grandparents who she never had the opportunity to meet. She will look at her grandfather and know what an amazing blessing it is that she has him in her life. She will see the circle of our family and know she will always be wrapped in its love. Hope, it’s all around us, we just have to reach out and grab it.

--Written July 9, 2010 as published on Examiner.com