I can remember the day so clearly.

I had just started 6th grade.  I was worried about going to a new school with kids I hadn’t grown up with my whole life, learning how to use a locker, and trying out for sports.  I didn’t think I’d be worrying about a deadly illness that alters so many lives each year, each day, each second for that matter.

My mom hadn’t been feeling well for a while, but I figured it was nothing serious, until she went to the doctor and sat me down that evening.

She had cancer.

Stage 3 colon cancer to be exact. I am from Augusta, Georgia.  It’s a large town with a small town feel, if that makes sense.  Everyone knows everyone, well at least the parents do.  Life was happy there.  I grew up with an older sister to play with, a mom who loves me, and a dad who always tells me to be the free spirit I am.  Things aren’t always happy, though.

One-day life hits you in the gut so hard you think you might never catch your breath again.  For me, that was the day my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t believe her at first.  Sitting in her bathroom I sat there sobbing as she broke the news.  Sobbing because I was angry, because I didn’t understand why this happened to her, because it wasn’t fair.  She didn’t cry when she told me.  She was strong and sat there holding me.  That night after I finally got my emotions under control I realized I had to be strong for her.  She couldn’t do this on her own.

Stage 3 colon cancer is no joke.  Things were bad.  My mom was in her late 40s when she was diagnosed.  Most people don’t even get a colonoscopy until they are 50.  If my mom had waited that late, she wouldn’t be with me here today.

Death.

People shy away from it, don’t want to talk about it, dance around the word like actually talking about it will make it happen, but there it was staring me straight in the face. My mom’s cancer was advanced and it wasn’t the best scenario, but then again with cancer is there even a best scenario?  She was going to have to go through chemo and radiation as well as an intensive surgery.  And then even more chemo.

I can remember her barely being able to walk into the house because she was so exhausted from treatment, crawling into the garage because she was so fatigued. My mom didn’t give up.  She was more than this sickness.  She wasn’t going to let it cripple her and wither her away.  She never complained or said she was tired.  She was scared, terrified even, but she didn’t let it show because letting it show let the cancer win and that wasn’t happening.

I remember hearing a lot of things I didn’t understand, medical terms, all much too technical. To be honest, I didn’t really want to know what it all meant because I was scared one day someone would say she only has a year left, or a few months.

Before my mom had surgery, she went through 6 weeks of chemotherapy as well as radiation.  I could see how it drained her, sucked the life out of her, but she kept on going.

Then the day of the surgery came.

I remember being at the hospital.  I’ll never forget that sterile smell.  It burned my nose and made me feel sick to my stomach.  I sat in the waiting room with family and friends waiting…waiting for the doctors to come out and say your mom is fine, everything is ok.

That isn’t what happened.

It had been 8 grueling hours.  Each minute that went by I got more afraid. I couldn’t imagine my life without my mom.

I was supposed to be worried about boys and middle school drama but here I was worried about if I would ever hear her voice again.  I couldn’t imagine not having her look in my room every night and tell me she loved me and would see me in the morning, or tell me funny stories and laugh with me.  My mom’s laugh is so distinct.  It’s so loud and high pitched I could always pick it out of a crowd.

As I’ve gotten older I notice more and more that I laugh like her, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. The eighth hour came and doctors walked out and said if my mom stayed under any longer she probably wouldn’t survive.  We didn’t know what else to do but pray.  I remember standing there with hot tears streaming down my face beside my family and friends as we stood in a circle and began to hold hands and we prayed.

Prayed for her to live.

Prayed for her to be healthy and the cancer to go away.

Prayed for her not to leave us so soon.

I was so angry because I didn’t understand why God did this to her.  I realized, though, that it made my mom stronger, which is hard to believe that was even possible.  It made her stronger for the other events that were to happen to her later. They say rain makes trees grow deeper roots.  My mom grew deeper roots in all this rain and darkness.  She was still a guiding light.

She survived the surgery.  I remember seeing her after it. She had so many tubes feeding into her pale, frail body. I felt sick. I hated seeing her like that but at the same time I was just happy to see her breathing. See her chest moving up and down.  I can say that without her I wouldn’t be the person I am today and I probably wouldn’t be at the University of Georgia like I am now.

After my mom recovered from surgery, she had more chemotherapy.  The day finally came when she finished her last treatment and she went into remission. She is now cancer free 8 years, has run multiple 5ks and a half marathon, as well as receive two promotions at work. She was strong then and still is strong now.  The whole time I thought I was going to have to be strong for her because she needed me but it turned out she was strong for me and my family.

She never let the cancer stop her.  She didn’t let it weigh her down because if she had it would have consumed her. I remember her telling me the statistic when was diagnosed was that 1 in 4 people get cancer.  She looked at me and said “I got cancer but I hope I was the 1 out of the 4 members of our family to get it.” She would have rather her suffer than to see us suffer. I can not think of a greater amount of love and sacrifice than when she told me that.

After watching my mom’s battle and seeing her survive I have been a member for Relay For Life for many years.

I not only Relay for my mom, but my Granny and great-aunt Dot who survived breast cancer, my cousin Nick who is currently battling Leukemia, and my Pop who passed away from lung cancer my sophomore year of high school. It’s not just about the loved ones I know affected by cancer, though. It’s about everyone who was affected, is affected, will be affected.  It’s about having hope in a better tomorrow.

My mom had hope, and so do I. I have hope that there will be a day where there is a cure.  Until then I fight.  I fight for loved ones lost, for those currently battling, and for those who will battle. My mom never gave up, and neither will I. She taught me strength and courage, and she continues to do so everyday. She is a force that cannot be stopped and everything I aspire to be.

So I encourage you to sign up for Relay For Life, donate to someone’s page, or participate in a local Relay For Life event near you. Together we will finish the fight.

If you would like to donate to help me meet my fundraising goal here’s the link.

The summer before my sophomore year of college, I took my dad to his annual colonoscopy.

As he was waking up from under his anesthesia, the nurses called me back to see him, where he was in a room with other patients waking up from their procedures. My mom had warned me that morning that his Parkinson’s disease would make him take longer to wake up.

I was joking with him about how groggy he was when the doctor came in. The doctor sat me down and said, “It doesn’t look good. It’s probably cancer. Once your dad is more awake, I want to meet with both of you in my office,” but all I heard was “CANCER.”

Cancer had already had a huge impact on my life.

I watched as it took three of my friends’ parents, one of my high school classmates, and other cousins and aunts. I was numb. That day we scheduled scans for the next week and more doctor appointments.

The doctor said he wanted to go ahead and do everything they could as soon as possible, so we did. Dad had scans done that confirmed he did indeed have colon cancer, and it had already spread to his liver. Doctors removed the cancerous part of his colon. Then he went through countless rounds of chemo to decrease the size of the cancerous spots on his liver so the cancerous part of his liver could be removed with more surgery.

That summer, my family became much closer. I had always been a daddy’s girl, but while I was in high school, we argued a lot. After his cancer diagnosis, we definitely grew closer again. I enjoyed being a part of my dad’s recovery: spending the nights with him at the hospital and going to his chemo appointments.

My dad completed more chemotherapy treatments, just in time so that he could be finished for our trip to Daytona Beach. But as soon as we returned home, the doctor told us that Dad’s cancer wasn’t gone. There were still some spots on his liver, so he went through more rounds of chemo and some radiation.

The cancerous spots decreased in size but haven’t completely gone away yet. He just finished his third round of treatments three years after his cancer diagnosis. After watching him endure so many rounds of chemo and radiation, eventually I started to feel a little frustrated.

I kept thinking why does it have to be my dad?

Why couldn’t I have been one of those people whose family was totally unaffected by cancer?

This fall, my grandfather was also diagnosed with colon cancer. He took chemo pills and went through radiation.

My family thought that since we had already gone through so much chemo and radiation with my dad, we would know what to expect with my grandfather’s treatments. However, instead of really helping, his chemo and radiation treatments just seemed to hurt him more.

After numerous hospitalizations and a COPD diagnosis, Hospice moved my grandfather into my parents’ home. Over spring break, I got to come home and spend lots of time with him. During that week, he really perked up and stood up for the first time in almost two months.

My parents started to talk about the possibility of taking him out of Hospice because it really looked like he was going to get better. I left home the last Sunday of spring break and kissed my grandfather goodbye and he told me to “look out for the car behind the car in front of you” like he always did.

I was planning on coming back home just two weeks later to celebrate Easter with my family, so I didn’t think much of our goodbye that day. Just three days later, my grandfather passed away.

My sophomore year, I joined UGA Relay For Life soon after my dad’s first cancer diagnosis. Relay gave me a way to help in his fight against cancer. As an executive board member of Relay this year, I have become friends with so many others whose lives have been affected by this terrible disease. Many have lost family members to cancer and yet continue to fight for a future without cancer.

For a long time, I felt helpless against cancer. I can’t help but think that if my grandfather had just lived two weeks longer, I could have said a real goodbye to him. I Relay for that two weeks.

I Relay so that one day some girl can have two more weeks with her grandfather because I know how much that time would mean to me.