Four days after publishing The Cancer Effect, I heard the news that no one wants to hear. Lisa, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer only months before I received the same news, passed away. It couldn’t be. I didn’t hear right. Lisa, who had endured six rounds of chemo, lost and grew back her hair, and selflessly returned to raising her family, had lost the battle. Lisa. After being cancer free for several years, she bravely faced more treatments when cancer traveled to her bones, then the liver. Five years, cancer free. Then it crept back, uninvited, unexpected, unwanted.
Like lightening, cancer strikes where it wants. Sometimes there is a warning, such as sounding thunder in the distance, or light drops of rain. What are the chances? Even less that it will strike twice in the same place. But it happens, and when it does, it isn’t kind.
Because of Lisa, I stopped in the middle of my day and cried.
Because of Lisa, I pondered once again the miracle of each day as I watched the evening’s sunset.
Because of Lisa, I paid attention to the changing leaves and cool breeze, remembering it is her favorite time of year.
Because of Lisa, I vowed I would make my life worth living every extra day I have been given.
Because of Lisa, I added to the dedication in my book, “. . .and to those who valiantly fought, but lost.”