Indeed, I have much to say to you, Cancer. I have much to say EVERYDAY, but this day, the five year "anniversary" of Allison's diagnosis, I believe I have more than ever to say to you. It may not be what you think. It may not be what I would have said five years ago, but I am changed, I am different, I was never to be the same, from that moment, on October 17, 2:15 in the afternoon, that most beautiful of Chicago's autumn days with the sunshine lighting up the room, us passing the time, as we did for four days, waiting, and wondering, hoping and praying. Please God let it NOT be a tumor, cancer, let us not hear the words we knew we might hear, that hundreds, thousands of us before, and since, have heard. But when those two doctors entered the room, one looking at the floor, one looking straight into my eyes, I knew, WE knew. As the doctor approached our girl, his patient, and tenderly caressed her arm, we knew. And the tears sprang. And they have never stopped.
I could use some of the all too common quotes that one sees in relation to cancer, "cancer sucks", "F*&% Cancer", and so on. I could curse and scream, cry and moan. I have, and I probably always will. But I also knew, right from that moment in time, that cancer was NOT going to define this beautiful young lady, on the threshold of her life, and it was NOT going to define us. She wouldn't allow it, therefore, we will not, either. Oh God, yes, we were shocked and saddened but the diagnosis, it had to be wrong, especially since Allison was "too young for lung cancer". We were brought to our knees in a fashion like never before. We were beyond devastated at what she would endure, what the side effects may be, what cancer may take from her. It was so mysterious, how could this beautiful 21 year old daughter of ours hold the lung of a 60 something year old smoker? And how dare people ask us, upon learning of the diagnosis, "did she smoke"? I wanted to scream, and still do at times, upon hearing the question over and over again. But, over time, I learned that, like us, many people are uneducated about lung cancer and the statistics, and maybe it was going to take Allison to help them learn. Sadly, I learned more than I ever imagined, right here in the confines of our loving family, and the education has not stopped.
In seventy-seven days Allison was gone. We could say cancer robbed her of her life, of her future, of ours, of her sister's and all those who faced a harsh reality that their smiling, life of the party friend, was gone. In many ways, we are all just now beginning to grasp this concept, proving, once again, that time has no relevance in matters such as this.
Yes, CANCER, I have a lot to say, many things to say to you. This day is difficult for me, for us. The memories are still as raw and fresh as the day we faced the giant together, surrounded by the love of family and friends. Allison didn't fight alone, we didn't either, and we still do not. It is Allison's warrior image that keeps us fighting, whether it is to just get up, face the day, walk the dog, run the errands, work a job, take vacations, see the world, participate in the Lung Cancer 5K, decorate for holidays, celebrate birthdays, show up for social engagements, or accomplish what once was done with ease. CANCER, you didn't rob us of our daughter, our sister, our grandaughter, niece, cousin, and friend. You may have slowed her body down and eventually took over to the tiniest of crevices, but you didn't take her from us. Instead, what you gave us in return, is an eternal presence, a constant companion, a heart that beats stronger than any before it, for her spirit fills ours, and we are one with her, never to be separated, never to be alone, or never to be forgotten. You have taught us that THIS world is temporal, and as you keep striking, over and over again, with no discrimination at all, and you wear down the bodies, you intensify the spirit. You leave legacies like none before them. You give us the gift of time, the chance to say what most may never have the opportunity to say, and that time becomes our greatest treasure.
CANCER, you don't WIN at all. I would never take back the memories of that strong spirited daughter of mine, fighting with everything she had, to live....to go have dinner with friends, giving them a lasting memory, lying on the bed with her sister watching Ellen every day, laughing and planning for their day, what to eat, what to do, and when the simple things, like playing a game, or watching a movie, became the great accomplishment! I would not take back the friends and family who came to lay with her, eat with her, laugh with her, LIVE with her, even if living held a new definition. I would not take back the image of her older sister rocking her to eternal rest, watching in wonderment as two sisters' souls entwined and became one. I would not take back the talks and plans for eternal life, the questions and the hopes of peace and comfort it held. I would not take back the unseasonably warm November evening when she and I walked her beloved Barkley for the last time. I would not take back any of it, except for it to have never have happened at all.
Allison looked you right in the face, CANCER, and she won. You didn't rob her of the beauty of this world, her beauty, her smile, and you won't rob us. Perhaps it is because of you that our senses have magnified and our travels have broadened. Travels near and far, yes, some days just to the porch or deck to listen to the chimes and speak to a loving God, to "her" pink blooming tree in the yard, to touch a bloom, caress it as though it were her face, or to far off places where she leads us to explore. Does it make sense to you, CANCER, when I tell you that you took nothing from us, yet you took everything?
I know that you will not stop! I know that others will hear your word and fight their own battle, follow their own journey, and make their own way. You are not finished, in fact, you have only begun. If you can strike the healthiest of young woman, "strong as a horse" her doctors would say, with lung cancer of all things, fine one day, heading to college classes and planning to become a teacher...if you can infiltrate and magnify and become relentlessly aggressive, it is clear you will not stop. But guess what? WE will also NOT STOP, for Allison, for Michael, for names way too numerous to mention. I only wish I could honor each and every one right here, right now. But I do, in my heart and in my soul. And whether those special souls are survivors, or soar alongside my daughter in sweet, heavenly peace, I can assure you, CANCER, you have not won.
CANCER, you are part of every day of my life, now. You always were to some extent. You hovered. You visited others, mostly the older ones, and my heart was sad. One day I opened my eyes to see that no one could really escape you at all, you infiltrated children, babies, folks of all ages. Then you attacked my own and brought a true and new understanding of your meaning, and now you have given me a different mission. You have taught me to do what I can, whether it is participate in a walk/run, take a meal to the families, send a card, make a donation, sit and talk, pray alongside the family as their loved one enters final hours, whatever it is that the spirit nudges, you have given me the gift to know. You have grown me up spiritually, to put no God before the Heavenly Father who promises all things to those who believe. You have given me the true and utmost respect for a new day to live and breathe and take nothing for granted. True, it would be easier to focus on what you have taken away. I cannot do that. Allison will not allow it. It is not fair to those who still depend on me and it is not fair to myself.
CANCER, I have something to say to you. You are relentless and cruel, menacing and piercing. You have taken much, taught me every parent's worst nightmare in burying my child, but perhaps it is because of you that I am who I am today. I do not choose it, I do not want it, I didn't opt for this journey. I give in when I must, I grieve every day and in every way. I cry tears from the inside that often make it to the outside, every single day of my life. Yet, at the same time, I smile, I smile because she lived, she didn't die. You didn't win. You didn't take her from me.
As I write today, I grieve for my child and I grieve for all those, including myself, who knew, and loved, a fabulous soul, Felicia Levo Harrington, gone too soon, a short battle with pancreatic cancer...mother, wife, teacher, whose legacy will be everlasting. Here today, gone tomorrow, like so many before her, and so many yet to come, teaching us to seize the day, for this is the day the Lord has made.
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