The Deadliest Cancer

During a date with myself, I overheard the table next to me—
a table filled with middle-aged women meeting for a holiday lunch.

I noticed them when I walked in and thought, That is so great.
All those women, together.

Late in the meal, one of them said,
“She had breast cancer. I’m not sure which one, but I know it was the deadliest.”

We know what it was.
Metastatic breast cancer.

The Deadliest Cancer.

She said it so intentionally
as if she was empowered to share that she knew someone who had died
from the deadliest breast cancer.

An anecdote for the table.
Delivered with the certainty of someone who had rehearsed it,
like it was written on a flash card.

The Deadliest Cancer.

It was nothing to her. So nonchalant.

The Deadliest Cancer.

Half of the table then swapped stories.
The women they knew their treatments and their demise.

The Deadliest Cancer.

Someday people will talk about me that way,
if they dont already.

“And at 31 she got breast cancer.”

The Deadliest Cancer.

I think about my youngest nieces and nephews.

“Oh yeah, I think that’s what my aunt had,
I cant remember, but she head really bad breast cancer.”

A vague memory.
An attempt to be relatable in a conversation.

The Deadliest Cancer.

By then I may still be around.
They may refer to me in the present tense-
or the past.

The Deadliest Cancer.

Did you know, statistically, less than 10 people cry at a funeral?

Think of the funerals you have attended.
Were you one of the ten?

The Deadliest Cancer.

Think of how quickly we move on from death.
Turned into luncheon chatter.

The Deadliest Cancer.

I’ve been guilty of it too
“And she passed away”
Never to be spoken of again.

The Deadliest Cancer.

Thoughts:

I have been thinking how to integrate myself into my families lives after Im gone. If they want me there.

I know what you are thinking - you dont know your outcome, dont be so pessimistic. If that is you, take your own advice when you are in my shoes.

Ive thought about making a google map of all the places I’ve been. So they can stand where I stood.

I’ve thought of making mugs with my thumbprint, pressed into the handle, so we can hold hands.

No, I am not planning my demise, but I am preparing for it. To ensure those left behind, if they are, have what they need.

It matters to me. Ive always been sentimental. I would like to say I get it from my mom. But watching my parents age, I know it comes from my dad too.

We have always referred to my sister Claire as the glue to the family. It is true, she talks to everyone, keeps conversations moving.

Since my diagnosis, I have had a change of heart.

It’s me.

How could it not be?
I am the baby, after all.

Are we throwing a party? It’s me.
Family secret santa? Me
Who got cancer
and turned it into a family gathering?

Me.