Even when I'm speechless, I'm never word-less...

I've been trying to figure out a way to distance myself from cancer since it started in our family in 2008. My dad was diagnosed that May and we were shocked beyond belief. Brain cancer. Wait, WHAT? It was devastating. My dad had no symptoms and was young, healthy, active, loving, funny, ridiculous, intelligent, caring. He was amazing. And 1 1/2 years later, he was gone. It was an incredibly hard road with so, so many devastations, but we learned to grieve in our own ways, on our own terms. 

My sister was then diagnosed with colon cancer in July of 2011 - just a year and a half after our dad’s death. We had begun seeing a way out of our grief and were operating as a family unit - a very small one - but we were together and we were putting one foot in front of the other. My sister’s struggle was the most heart breaking, terrifying and traumatic thing I've ever experienced. She died almost exactly 1 year from her diagnosis, at 33 years old. It crushed my mom and I to our shaky inner cores and left us questioning everything.

In the years since both my dad's and my sister’s diagnoses and deaths, we have learned to see the light and beauty in the world so much more than we see the dark and sadness. My great love for my sister and dad are ever present and stories about them flow freely, easily and lovingly. I now have the most fascinating and beautiful daughter and a wonderful husband. My mom and I are as close as ever and she lives blocks from us. 

Grieving half of our small family and the loss of their presence has been the hardest work of my life.

And then, 2 weeks ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

My grandmother always said it comes in threes.

I’m now in a position to have to fight for and, quite literally, defend my life from the inside out. My doctors are hopeful that it was caught relatively early, although final pathology will provide more detail. I'm also very aware that there are so many amazing human beings who make it through this diagnosis, or similar diagnoses, and move forward with long and healthy lives. I am, with everything that I have, hoping that can be me. 

I have been through dark tunnels before and I have always been able to see the light. But the light at the end of this particular tunnel is so vastly different. It now has the face of my daughter and the image of her so frequently bursting through our bedroom door and asking my husband to turn on the music. With a little voice, every single time, asks “Mommy, do you wanna dance wif us?” And more than anything in my entire life, I REALLY, REALLY do.