I am a board member at UMCC for their Patient and Family Advisory Board.  I was at a meeting the other evening and was listening to the story of one of the other members.  She is the sister of the patient.  Her sister's story was the story that I had feared when I learned of my diagnosis.  A mother of three kids under the age of 10 at the time, with stage IV cancer.  She was terminal, which was not my fate, but something that haunts me to this day.  And then to top it off, I learned that she had lost a daughter at 2 weeks to cancer....really devastating as I recalled my own fears when I learned that E was on her way.  That night would have been her sister's 51st birthday....

We painted the living room and family room over the weekend.  He pulled the piano away from the wall and there was my poster signed by family and friends my celebration of life party after treatment.  I turned away from it quickly as I felt the tears sting.  The emotions of that time just rushed forward.  I would think that I would have moved on and yet I still feel like I'm standing still.  The tears still burn, the pain still reverberates in my bones,  my breath still goes shallow and my chest tightens.  Why can I not get beyond this??

I am a five year survivor.  Five years.  I have been blessed over and over, everyday.  And then I get hit with the pain that others have - this member's sister story, A's daily turmoil, story upon story of those who have lost and I realize that I have not done enough, no where near.  I have drowned in my own sorrow each time.  Yes, I feel pathetic...

I stayed beyond the meeting end to help a staff member with a project she was doing.  She was creating a video for her advocacy class.  On white boards that we were to hold up, we were to write what we wished we had known during our treatment.  My sign simply stated "I wish I had known more than I was told."  That statement was simple, yet holds so much.  There is still much I don't know.  And honestly, sometimes I don't want to know more.  A double-edged sword.