A little over a year ago, you received the life-altering diagnosis of breast cancer. Although it may sound clichéd, there really is no better way to express the profound impact this has had on your life and the lives of those who care about you.
I must apologize for the delay in putting my thoughts into words. Writing is usually how I process my emotions, but since your diagnosis, I found myself struggling to write. I hesitated because this isn’t my story to tell; it’s yours. You are the one navigating this difficult journey, and it’s your life that has changed.
Once you received your diagnosis, everything shifted for you and those who love you. We found ourselves on an unfamiliar path. After three decades of friendship, we’ve faced numerous challenges together, but none quite as daunting as cancer.
When you first shared the news that it might be cancer, and then confirmed it was, my mind flooded with medical questions: Which stage is it? What’s the prognosis? When will treatment start? I also thought about practical matters: What do you need? How can I help? When can I come by?
Yet there were also unspoken questions that loomed large, affecting every conversation. How would this change our friendship? Would I be the friend you needed, or would I fall short? And most importantly, would you be okay—truly okay, like living to a ripe old age?
While these questions weighed on me, the hardest ones belonged to you. You wondered if you should seek a second opinion (my answer: yes), whether to opt for a single or double mastectomy (my answer: I have no idea), and how to handle the etiquette of cancer gifts (my answer: take your time). You grappled with the heartbreaking question: Is this really happening to me?
Being far away from you was tough, though we stayed in constant communication through texts. At times, I shared in your anger, posed questions of my own, or simply expressed my love and frustration with this terrible disease. When we spoke on the phone, I listened, cried, and tried to offer comfort. You would tell me to stop crying, and I would, but our conversations persisted, now interlaced with terms like chemotherapy and mastectomy.
During your first round of chemotherapy, your first question was, “Do you want to see them?” My enthusiastic response was “Absolutely!” We snuck into your closet, and although your body bore signs of the battle, you radiated strength and beauty, a true warrior. Later, just before your final reconstruction surgery, you asked if I wanted to see the results. Again, I said, “Absolutely!” and we giggled like teenagers in the restroom as you lifted your shirt, discussing the changes together. You looked powerful and beautiful, no longer defined by your scars.
Since your diagnosis, I’ve grappled with whether it was appropriate to share my own trivial concerns. Is it okay to talk about my kids or job stress? Should I still seek your fashion advice when it feels so trivial? Does any of it truly matter?
I often found myself questioning why you were so concerned about your hair, enduring the discomfort of cold caps. Shouldn’t you feel beautiful and strong enough without it? But ultimately, those questions were not mine to answer. Instead, I focused on how to support you and make things a little easier.
This past year has been a learning experience for me. I’ve discovered that a well-timed joke or shared silence can bring more comfort than the often-quoted phrase, “everything happens for a reason.” I’ve learned the difference between a port and a drain and that true beauty comes from within, influenced but not dictated by societal standards.
Most importantly, I’ve realized that I shouldn’t shy away from asking questions, nor should I fear the lack of answers. It’s in these questions where we connect, discover love, and witness each other’s journeys.
And so, I have one final question for you, one that has echoed throughout time in countless forms: Can this experience—whatever it may be—help us grow stronger and bring about positive change? In essence, how can we create something beautiful from this?
Perhaps we already are.
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Summary
This heartfelt letter to a friend battling cancer expresses love, support, and the complexities of navigating such a challenging experience. It emphasizes the importance of asking questions and being present for one another, even amidst uncertainty.
Keyphrase: cancer support letter
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