Too many days.
Too many days, that awful, despicable, rude, ruthless bully called “cancer” has knocked on the door of those I love.
That day in high school when it took the life of the mother of my best friend Cyndi.
That day just out of college when my roommate Sandra’s mother was diagnosed. Doctors gave her less than a year. She got the rare last laugh and lived 10 more.
That day in 1997 when it was my other roommate, Heidi’s mother who was diagnosed.
In 2003, it was my own mother.
And just last year, as I shared with you here, Dear Reader, it was Heidi, herself. Diagnosed with breast cancer.
Cancer won each of those days.
Gave us moments we thought we were defeated.
Then, there was last week.
Last week, hosted the night cancer didn’t get to win.
That night.
That one night something so special happened.
Sandra and Heidi, my dear friends, my college roommates had their bat mitzvah.
Yes, you got that right.
Bat mitzvah.
As in the ritual that Jewish girls have to enter adulthood when they reach 13 years old.
Only, when Heidi and Sandra were growing up, they didn’t have that opportunity.
So, they decided to do it, well, now.
Together.
I flew out to California for a service and the night I knew I would not miss.
My date? Of course, it was Cyndi. Cyndi, who lost her mom to cancer. Cyndi who has shared every milestone with me since that first day of kindergarten.
Sitting side by side that night in the synagogue pews, Cyndi and I smiled looking up at Heidi and Sandra having their sacred moment.
We smiled this night because we knew this was the night that cancer could not win.
We smiled because we knew there is not a single person who chooses cancer, but here were Heidi and Sandra showing us that you still do get to choose.
No matter what your faith.
You get to choose to do what’s important.
You get to show that, sometimes, it’s not too late to do what many might’ve done decades before.
You get to choose the bond of lifelong friendships, of being there for the darkest and happiest of times.
When it came to the part of the service where the rabbi asks, “Is there anyone who has a loved one who is ill who needs our prayers?” Cyndi stood up.
“Who are you praying for?” the rabbi asked in front of the entire synagogue.
“My younger sister, Jennifer,” she shared as the tears began to flow.
See, just last month, cancer came knocking again. This time it’s Jen who is fighting breast cancer.
As Cyndi sat back down, we prayed, we cried, we hugged.
Holding onto each other.
Holding onto hope for Jen’s recovery.
Protecting against all the days that cancer tries to take away.
Holding onto the knowledge that cancer can never take away that night, or our friendship, or our commitment to each other.
On that front, cancer will never win.
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