You’re a cancer survivor until you’re not.
Once you’re declared to be in remission, or the scans show you’re cancer free, you’re known as a cancer survivor. I’ve been a cancer survivor since last year, showing no signs of the disease anywhere in my body. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t think about it.
In fact, just about every time I have some little ache or pain that is unfamiliar, or doesn’t go away for awhile, I instantly think, hmmm, wonder if that could be… Honestly I had to tell myself a long time ago that I’m not going to live in a state of fear that the cancer is going to come back. I trust the team of doctors who cared for me and they told me there’s only a very small chance of my particular type of cancer returning. They could be wrong, but I choose to trust their experience and expertise.
And then another friend dies this week, after her cancer came back.
This is the third friend in the last five years.
First there was my friend and mentor – my teacher and the principal who nurtured and supported me as a teacher like no one else – Jeri Pfeifer. I remember the day I met Jeri, on the steps of the campus center at Abilene Christian University and introduced myself as a senior who would be one of her student teachers to supervise in the spring. Jeri saw abilities in me I didn’t yet know I possessed and she affirmed those, helping me grow confident in my role as a classroom teacher and speech coach. She challenged me and called me into her office when I needed to calm down, always asking through those steely blue eyes, “what else is going on?” She listened to me and defended me and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, wishing I could pick up the phone or get in the car and drive to Abilene to talk to her.
Then there was my friend, Carolyn, from high school. The funniest, most talented girl I knew as a teenager. Carolyn was wonderful on stage and could make me laugh like no other. We laughed mostly at ourselves, along with Carolyn’s best friend, Christi, who remains dear to me, too. The three of us could entertain ourselves for hours, making up skits for pep rallies and announcements and the senior banquet. I’m sure no one ever thought we were as funny as we did, but we surely enjoyed each other’s company. The last class reunion we had, we reconnected instantly, picking up right where we left off. I don’t want to imagine what the reunion next month will be like without her.
And just this week, my friend, Kim died, from the cancer that came back just this past August and ravaged her body so quickly. I got to know Kim first through her role as administrative staff at my church. But she was one of the women who insisted on taking me to chemo treatments two years ago, because she remembered what it was like. She and another friend took turns coming to pick me up every three weeks for chemo day. They would bring things to read or work on while we were there, but very rarely did they retrieve it from their bags. Mostly they sat and talked to me. Sometimes Kim asked me about CenterPeace and encouraged me in that work. Her eyes glistened and she smiled from ear to ear as I talked about welcoming people to the table who had been ostracized. She had the heart of Jesus listening to me. She would sit all day with me, and when we left, she asked if there was anything that sounded good to eat. If I mentioned it, she took me home and then went to pick up whatever I wanted.
I don’t know why their cancer came back. I don’t know why they couldn’t have had a form of breast cancer that was more treatable, like mine. I don’t know all the details of their disease and treatment to distinguish it from mine, try as I might. I don’t know why I’m here and they’re not.
And I don’t know that mine won’t come back.
But I know this: All I have is today. This very moment. Life is short and there is much to relish about this life. I will choose to enjoy the time I have, to love people better, to make every day count for the work God has blessed me with on this earth. I will use every minute of every day to further the Kingdom and there is no time to waste on pettiness and things that don’t matter. I have wasted time worrying about things that are of little, if any concern to God. I want to spend my time working toward bringing people closer to him, rather than pushing them away.
This is how I want to live my life.
Hold me to that.
Rest in peace, my dear sweet friends who made life better for those around you.
Until I see you again.