There’s a chance it’s going to rain tonight, a chance you’ll wear blue tomorrow, a chance that you will survive cancer and a chance that you won’t. Despite everything in modern day technology, doctors are only able to tell patients the chance that they will beat their disease, but they are never able to tell you how many chances you have left with your loved one. If there is one thing I have learned from cancer, it’s to always take chances and to always live today like it’s your last day because you never know when you will get your last chance.
When my parents and I moved to South Jersey from Pennsylvania, we discovered we had more friends than we realized. As soon as our house was rebuilt, we found our out of state friends and relatives calling more and more to ask when they could come down for a visit. In fact, the first summer we lived here, there was only one weekend we didn’t have a guest. One visit I remember in particular was a visit from my Dad’s friend Kevin and his wife Jen. Kevin and Jen flew into the area from their home in Oregon and stopped at our house one September day. School had been started for a few weeks now and I was busy making an Egyptian Pyramid out of cardboard and candy-corn when the couple stopped in. I remembering sitting at the counter listening to Kevin, Jen, and my parents talk as I hot glued candy-corn one by one to the cardboard pyramid. I occasionally joined into the conversation, but I mostly listened. It was the first time I had met Jen and I always was shy around new people. But soon, I didn’t feel so shy around Jen. We discovered that we had the same interests; we liked reading, knitting, and doing crafts. Jen was a person that you could easily warm-up to she was just so friendly. After awhile, I decided I needed a break from hot gluing, so I went to my room to watch T.V. for a little, leaving the adults alone in the kitchen. After a couple of hours, I came back out to find Jen sitting in my seat glue-gun in hand and she was almost done gluing candy-corn on one side of my pyramid. I didn’t know what to say or how to thank her. This was a lot of help considering my project was due in two days. She told me she didn’t mind and she enjoyed doing it. When it came time for Kevin and Jen to leave, we hugged and I thought I couldn’t wait to see her again; she is someone I want to know.
On their next visit the couple brought with them someone new, baby Reese. During the whole visit, we sat on the couch and talked while Reese was passed around the living room. Every time Jen looked at or even talked about Reese, you could see her face light up. Just by looking at Jen hold Reese, you could tell how much the little baby meant to her. After that visit, we were kept updated through emails, Christmas cards, and phone calls. One phone call we weren’t expecting. Kevin called my Dad and told him that Jen had been diagnosed with leukemia. When my parents told me, I was surprised because I didn’t know someone that young could get that disease. I didn’t know how severe this form of cancer could be to someone as young as Jen, but about a year later I found out.
At the end of January, I came home from school and called my Mom. She told me that Jen had passed away. When I found out, it was like time stopped. I couldn’t believe that she was gone. I couldn’t believe that the last time I saw her was going to be the last time I saw her. I kept thinking, “If I would have known I would’ve….” I would have told her more, asked her more, even listened to her more. Then I kept thinking about Reese. Reese was only three years old when her Mom passed away. She won’t even have the memories I was lucky enough to make with her mom. Over the next few weeks Jen was on my mind almost all the time. Practically everything I looked at, heard, or said made me think of her. I was still thinking about what I wish I could have done the last time I saw her and I realized that I can’t keep thinking could’ve, should’ve, would’ve or I’ll be thinking that my whole life.
When I realized this, I started to take chances I never would have taken before. I started to come out of my ‘shy shell’ more in class, I started to volunteer for more activities, and I started to cherish every moment I spent with someone, no matter how insignificant it seemed. Jen’s battle with leukemia helped me understand that nothing is ever unimportant or not worth mentioning. At the time of the Candy-Corn Pyramid, it seemed like a memory that was just another memory. I never knew that it would one day be a memory I would treasure forever. But that’s the thing, you never know. You never know when you’re going to see someone for the last time or if you’re ever going to see him or her at all. I was blessed to have had the chance of meeting Jen. So after her death, I try to treat every moment I spend with someone as if it’s my last. Because you can’t go through life thinking could’ve, should’ve, would’ve.
When my parents and I moved to South Jersey from Pennsylvania, we discovered we had more friends than we realized. As soon as our house was rebuilt, we found our out of state friends and relatives calling more and more to ask when they could come down for a visit. In fact, the first summer we lived here, there was only one weekend we didn’t have a guest. One visit I remember in particular was a visit from my Dad’s friend Kevin and his wife Jen. Kevin and Jen flew into the area from their home in Oregon and stopped at our house one September day. School had been started for a few weeks now and I was busy making an Egyptian Pyramid out of cardboard and candy-corn when the couple stopped in. I remembering sitting at the counter listening to Kevin, Jen, and my parents talk as I hot glued candy-corn one by one to the cardboard pyramid. I occasionally joined into the conversation, but I mostly listened. It was the first time I had met Jen and I always was shy around new people. But soon, I didn’t feel so shy around Jen. We discovered that we had the same interests; we liked reading, knitting, and doing crafts. Jen was a person that you could easily warm-up to she was just so friendly. After awhile, I decided I needed a break from hot gluing, so I went to my room to watch T.V. for a little, leaving the adults alone in the kitchen. After a couple of hours, I came back out to find Jen sitting in my seat glue-gun in hand and she was almost done gluing candy-corn on one side of my pyramid. I didn’t know what to say or how to thank her. This was a lot of help considering my project was due in two days. She told me she didn’t mind and she enjoyed doing it. When it came time for Kevin and Jen to leave, we hugged and I thought I couldn’t wait to see her again; she is someone I want to know.
On their next visit the couple brought with them someone new, baby Reese. During the whole visit, we sat on the couch and talked while Reese was passed around the living room. Every time Jen looked at or even talked about Reese, you could see her face light up. Just by looking at Jen hold Reese, you could tell how much the little baby meant to her. After that visit, we were kept updated through emails, Christmas cards, and phone calls. One phone call we weren’t expecting. Kevin called my Dad and told him that Jen had been diagnosed with leukemia. When my parents told me, I was surprised because I didn’t know someone that young could get that disease. I didn’t know how severe this form of cancer could be to someone as young as Jen, but about a year later I found out.
At the end of January, I came home from school and called my Mom. She told me that Jen had passed away. When I found out, it was like time stopped. I couldn’t believe that she was gone. I couldn’t believe that the last time I saw her was going to be the last time I saw her. I kept thinking, “If I would have known I would’ve….” I would have told her more, asked her more, even listened to her more. Then I kept thinking about Reese. Reese was only three years old when her Mom passed away. She won’t even have the memories I was lucky enough to make with her mom. Over the next few weeks Jen was on my mind almost all the time. Practically everything I looked at, heard, or said made me think of her. I was still thinking about what I wish I could have done the last time I saw her and I realized that I can’t keep thinking could’ve, should’ve, would’ve or I’ll be thinking that my whole life.
When I realized this, I started to take chances I never would have taken before. I started to come out of my ‘shy shell’ more in class, I started to volunteer for more activities, and I started to cherish every moment I spent with someone, no matter how insignificant it seemed. Jen’s battle with leukemia helped me understand that nothing is ever unimportant or not worth mentioning. At the time of the Candy-Corn Pyramid, it seemed like a memory that was just another memory. I never knew that it would one day be a memory I would treasure forever. But that’s the thing, you never know. You never know when you’re going to see someone for the last time or if you’re ever going to see him or her at all. I was blessed to have had the chance of meeting Jen. So after her death, I try to treat every moment I spend with someone as if it’s my last. Because you can’t go through life thinking could’ve, should’ve, would’ve.
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