Like so many others, I was deeply saddened to learn about the recent death of Lisa Bonchek Adams. I was also caught a bit off guard. I had read her recent Facebook page post in which she stated, “Things are quite, quite serious…”, but yet I thought she had more time; after all, things had been quite serious for Lisa for months, no, for years. Maybe it’s just that I hoped she had more time. But it was not meant to be.
I’m still trying to absorb the fact that Lisa has died, as are so many others. Lisa’s writings on her blog will be missed by many. Lisa will be missed by many.
Lisa’s blog posts filled with clarity, wisdom, candor and frank honesty about metastatic breast cancer were posts that thousands of other readers like me had come to anticipate, learn from and simply appreciate both for what they were and for what they were not.
Another reason I was caught off guard by the news of Lisa’s death was because Lisa died on the very same date in March as my mother, March 6th. For me, this date was already ‘taken’. Cancer was crowding in on my day of loss. Two lives to grieve for. Taken on one day. The same day. How could this be? I’m not sure if such statements even makes sense to you, but somehow it felt as if cancer had given me yet another jab to my heart.
This is the way with cancer. It jabs. Relentlessly.
But then every single death to metastatic breast cancer that I learn about (and even the ones I do not learn about) feels like another jab to my heart.
Again, this is the way with cancer. It jabs at your heart. It jabs at your very being.
Last #MetsMonday was the successful Stomp Out BC social media blitz (which is by no means over, so stay tuned). Many in the blogosphere made extra noise about metastatic breast cancer. We stomped. We ranted. We shared. We felt (more) heard. We felt (a bit more anyway) empowered.
This #MetsMonday, perhaps some of us feel “stomped” upon. Or rather our hearts do.
This is the way with cancer. It “stomps” on us too.
But we will carry on each in our own way because this is what my mother, Rachel, Susan, Cheryl, Shelli, Barb, so many others, and now Lisa would want us to do. Carry on.
And we will keep sharing truths about metastatic breast cancer.
We will continue to honor all lives taken by this disease. We will continue to fight for better treatments and outcomes for those presently living with it. We will continue to strive toward making a metastatic diagnosis a rarity for those who come after us.
We will be loud again. We will keep stomping.
And we will not forget.
What do you when you feel “stomped” upon?
What will you remember about Lisa Bonchek Adams?
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I chose to share the image below because the only ‘real’ conversation Lisa and I ever had was about the beautiful purple balloon flower in this photo that I took last summer in my garden. As many of you know, Lisa loved flowers and we chatted about this one. Whenever and where ever I see this lovely bloom again, I will think of Lisa. And I will remember.