It was another #FuckCancer weekend. There are too many of those.
On Friday, a friend from high school died after a year of dealing with kidney cancer. He was what you would affectionately call a gentle giant. A big man whose smile would make you smile, no matter your mood. That’s the image we’ll always remember about him. The smile really did fit his personality. You couldn’t find a sweeter, more gentle man. Gone at age sixty-six is too damn soon!
I told you it was a #FuckCancer weekend.
Two days later comes the first Sunday in June. It’s National Cancer Survivor’s Day! Damn!
According to the National Coalition for Cancer Survivorship, you’re defined as a survivor from the day of your cancer diagnosis until the moment of your death. Being a survivor of this hideous disease is a great thing. Too many aren’t around to help the more than sixteen million survivors in the United States celebrate. So if you are one of the lucky ones, celebrate and be grateful.
However, be aware that the gratitude comes with a lot of guilt. You’re always wondering why me instead of whoever. It’s tough to deal with. It’s even tougher when you had a stage one cancer that was cured in a two hour procedure. No chemo. No radiation. Two hours and done! That’s me. That’s my guilt.
After four years, it does get easier. The gratitude trumps the guilt. At least it does until there’s a weekend like this past one. That side dish of guilt becomes the main course.
Another Cancer Survivor’s Day has come and gone. The 5k’s, walks and parades are over. The celebration continues by the way we to live our lives. The guilt continues, too. I know it will eventually become a side dish again.
Related Post: I went to the wrong cancer walk
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