To You Whose Life Has Been Ravaged by Cancer

To You Whose Life Has Been Ravaged by Cancer,

I read a searing article on Salon.com by Sarah Beth Lowe today that gave me greater insight into the horror that is the disease known as cancer. While reading it I thought back to a visit over coffee I had with an old friend who went through breast cancer. Thanks to Providence, circumstance, and/or fortitude she survived her ordeal, but cancer claimed one of her breasts before all was said and done.

During the chat my friend told me how she neither felt like a survivor nor worthy to wear any type of pink gear. It didn’t make sense to me. She battled and conquered arguably one of if not the greatest scourge of mankind today. I understood only a small portion of what she meant. Doubt never entered my mind, but my understanding was limited.

So very many people come to mind whose lives have been ravaged by cancer. In addition to the friend I mentioned earlier, another friend—a mother and wife who experienced breast cancer not once, but twice, and also lost her husband to colon and lung cancer. I think of the new wife and mother who was recently taken from her husband and nineteen-month-old son due to breast cancer. Just yesterday, a friend told me he underwent chemo, radiation treatments, and reconstructive oral surgery for a lump on his tongue a few years ago. There’s the dear friend, a hospice nurse, who underwent a mastectomy back in the ’80s. And then there’s the death of my own father who fell victim to esophageal cancer over twenty years ago.

Sadly, we all know someone whose life has been turned inside-out—patients and care-givers alike—thanks to cancer.

To all of you, I’m so sorry you experienced that hellish period. I grieve the humiliation, degradation, the unimaginable and excruciating pain you endured, along with the isolation, and scars (emotional and physical) you carry.

Ms. Lowe mentions in her article that she feels like “an undeserving survivor.” To Ms. Lowe, my friends, and anyone who contends with cancer: you are most definitely deserving of the title survivor and all the benefits therein, because that is what you are. And a lot more.

You are courage. It takes courage to get out of bed and do even the smallest things you need to do live when you’re staring death in the eyes. Unimaginable amounts of courage are necessary to shut the world out and stay in bed in your pajamas for days if need be in order to marshal your strength so that you can face another day.

You are grace. To suffer the fumbled and feeble attempts of family and friends at being there. For you to endure those perfectly rendered disappearing acts by people who simply don’t know what to do or say without strangling someone is a testament to your unmerited favor. And it takes grace to let us know that you’re not in the mood for platitudes or pettiness because you are … fighting for your life.

And you are beauty (a combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses). Regardless of whether you come out the other side of your battle cancer-free or you are taken from us sooner than any of us would want, the beauty of your spirit in your ability to love before, during, and after cancer is what will always remain with us. The light of your spirit inspired those of us who love you long before cancer barged onto the scene. And now that it is here (or come and gone), it only serves to make your light burn brighter.

Thank you for being the tremendous human being God created. And know that I, along with countless others who may not be able to put it into words, love you—scars and all.

Love,
Clay