Hey Cancer, I’m here to remind you just how terrible you really are.
I’m flooded with memories of a happier time. Picture this: an electric night filled with laughter, drinks, and dancing like we were still young. My partner and I were out with friends for dinner, but the night spiraled into a whirlwind of joy and carefree moments long past the assumed bedtime of parents. We shared inappropriate jokes and fond memories of life before kids, and there was one friend who laughed so hard she couldn’t contain herself. It was a night when smiles were abundant and laughter was endless. We felt normal.
Back then, we didn’t know your name, Cancer.
Recently, I walked into that same bar just to grab some sushi takeout, but instead, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia so thick, it was almost palpable. I found myself surrounded by familiar faces, once vibrant and full of life, now just reminders of what we used to be. We were the ones who could sit in a restaurant, enjoy a meal, and share drinks without a care in the world. Now, as I waited for my crab rangoon, I realized we’ve lost that vibrant spark. It’s been nearly two years since Cancer made its unwelcome entrance into our lives, leaving us heartbroken and fundamentally changed.
Now we bear the weight of sadness and frustration. Our days are filled with hospital visits, doctor appointments, and chemotherapy sessions. The fun dinners we used to share have been replaced by feeding tubes and a cabinet full of medications. Communication has dwindled to tear-filled conversations, and laughter feels like a distant memory.
My children were blissfully unaware of your existence, and I resent you for forcing me to explain your cruel reality to them. They feel the heaviness of our home, the fear and uncertainty that lurks in the background. I’m exhausted from telling them that “Daddy doesn’t want to be sick” or “Daddy wishes he could play.” It breaks my heart to hear one of my little ones wish for her “old dad” back.
Cancer, you’ve drained all my tears, and now my sadness has morphed into anger. I’m furious with you for stealing our joy, our laughter, and our precious time with our children. The dreams we made—trips to Disney, camping adventures, father-daughter dances—now hang in a cloud of doubt.
Let’s not overlook the intimacy you’ve robbed us of. I may not be a master chef or a perfect housekeeper, but I took pride in that aspect of our marriage. We had our differences, but we loved fiercely.
Seeing older couples walk together fills me with rage. You’ve robbed me of the opportunity to grow old with the man I married 15 years ago. We used to joke about growing old together, but now I’m left wondering if that future is even possible.
Cancer, you’ve taken so much from us, including the essence of who he was. The doctors see only a frail shell; they don’t know the man who used to swim the length of an Olympic pool in record time. He was a powerhouse, full of life and vitality, and you’re trying to erase that.
I’m outraged that you’re diminishing the spirit of a man who once thrived, who held my hand through the toughest moments and celebrated our children’s births with tears of joy. You may have stolen much from us, but the memories remain.
In this dark time, we’ve realized that we are not alone. There are countless individuals rooting for us, reminding us that hope still exists. School families pray for us on days we struggle to find the words to pray ourselves. Friends and neighbors step in to help with our kids or bring us meals. It’s these acts of kindness that keep us afloat, not the medications or treatments.
My children still experience moments of normalcy, riding bikes and playing soccer, giggling at silly things. Even though you’ve taken so much from us, Cancer, you can’t claim the memories we cherish. You won’t erase the laughter we shared, the love we built, or the moments that shaped our family.
So here’s my message to you, Cancer: You can take many things, but you cannot have these memories.
I’ll leave you with a simple gesture—the middle finger. That’s what you deserve.
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Summary: This heartfelt piece reflects on the emotional toll that cancer has taken on a family, highlighting the memories of a joyful past and the pain of living with illness. It emphasizes the importance of community support and the indelible memories that remain despite the hardships faced.