You were supposed to survive. I’ve seen so many survival stories portrayed on t.v, in books and on the radio. This form of cancer has only ever been portrayed to me as the cancer that among all others is easier to cure. No one told me it’d be this hard. No one warned me that when you were diagnosed I’d be too afraid to go see you in your final days. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were, are, one of my biggest role models. You only ever treated your body and your soul with the utmost respect. Always eating healthy and never feeding negative thoughts on yourself or others. Your laugh still pops up in my head and between tears and a heavy heart, I find comfort in it. The sense of humor you had wasn’t dry, it wasn’t immature or the annoying kind. You always made the room light up. Parties were quiet without you. Your husband isn’t the same without you. He laughs but you can tell by the way it’s cut short that he’s still hurting like he deserves to be. So sudden, so painful to watch. I didn’t go to see you when everyone was saying their goodbyes. I saw you once a couple of months before. Barely 100 pounds, yellow eyes, sounding as fragile as you looked. If only I had known that when I hugged you and said goodbye that it would be the last. I could have hugged a little tighter, gone to see you once more, said i love you a million more times. I was too busy holding back tears, hoping and praying you would pull through. It was only the beginning of a very long end. None of this was supposed to happen.
Forever wishing we had more time, praying wherever you are in the life beyond this if there may be one that you are well.