Stories That Connect Us

Cancer arrived the first time like an explosion in my life: sudden, jarring, turning everything I thought I knew about tomorrow into question marks. With three children under seven, I wasn't just afraid of dying; I was terrified of becoming a ghost in their future milestones - missing first days of school, graduations, first loves, wedding dances. The second diagnosis felt like the universe doubling down on a cosmic joke, except this time I knew the language of oncology, the rhythm of waiting rooms, the particular journey that follows those three dreadful words - you have cancer. Through it all there were days I felt like I was cheating death; other days I wept because I knew death was busy with someone else. The truth that took me longest to learn was this: survival isn't a prize awarded for faith, virtue or grit, and resilience isn't about being strong enough to never shatter. Cancer forced me to discover that you can be shattered and whole at the same time, that survival is less about armor and more about showing up anyway. What changed wasn't my cancer diagnosis; what changed was my understanding that being ordinary in the face of the extraordinary is its own kind of grace. I didn't conquer anything. I wasn’t a “hero”. I just kept showing up, one appointment at a time, one blood draw at a time, until the very act of showing up became a daily prayer of gratitude for another Tuesday with family.