A letter

This letter has been forming itself in my mind and in my heart for a long time now — years, maybe. Tonight it demanded to be written.

Dear Monica,

There is a picture of you. The date printed on the back says 2001. It was taken during a camping trip — the one we were all trying to pull the rip cord on Jimmy's life jacket to make it inflate. It is one of my favorite pictures of you, but it has always haunted me. In it you are clearly ill, very thin and wearing a bandana, but there is also an intensity about you. There are three other people in the photo, all partially in shadow. Your face is in full light.

Monica, I have always loved this picture.
You were so tiny and tough; fragile, yet indomitable.

On that trip we went for a walk. The trail was rough, so you held my arm for support. We walked nice and slow, talking the whole way. Sometimes solemn and quiet, other times loud and laughing. Your cancer became real to me on that walk. With every little misstep and stumble the gravity of it settled deeper into my heart, but the sun was shining, and we were happy. Something told me to put that memory in a special place; it was important.

Sometimes, when facing a difficult situation, well-intentioned people will say, "God has a plan," but the words don't bring much comfort when you don't understand the plan or why your part in it stinks.

I was mad at God and demanded to know his plan. We are a faithful family. We've all been praying hard. Why was this being allowed to happen? If this really was some part of a greater plan, I wanted to know how the pieces fit.

I was brought back to that day, walking along the trail with you. When cousins are little they hold hands or walk arm in arm. When they grow older, they stop. In our family, we didn't. Think about all the things our family never outgrew, and all the memories we have, because you held us all so close together.

Those memories are precious, but they still seemed too small compared to the enormity of cancer and your fight with it. Surely, God, the plan is bigger than this.

So, I looked beyond the immediacy of our family. Monica, you have been a part of so many cutting edge treatments. You have helped build a body of knowledge which will help so many people, and you have given hope and inspiration to so many others. There is no way for us to know how far the ripples you sent out will reach or how many lives will be be made better because of the body of research you helped to build. There will be those who believe they can, because you did.

Slowly I began to understand that, while you were facing this bad thing, immeasurable good had come from it. Still, I was not satisfied. Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't God have chosen someone else?

The answer is simple and plainly visible in that photograph. It's because you were strong enough. Your whole life, you've been feisty, which is what this burden required. It demanded someone with the sheer force of will to keep going. When so many others would have crumbled, you stood strong.

Monica, I know you don't like people to see you as, Cancer Monica. You don't want to be pitied or be made to feel weak. The truth is cancer is a part of who you are, but it has not diminished you. Be proud of your story, like we are all so proud of the courage and determination you've shown throughout. You are admired. You are loved.

It's like that walk we took. Yes, you had cancer, but the sun was shining and we were happy.