Messages from Beyond

Two years ago today, my then 28 year old cousin Andy succumbed to Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. We were very close as kids, only 4 years apart, and the loss shook me terribly. I wanted to spare him his pain and suffering so badly. He was a "good kid" and didn't deserve to go through that. I didn't know how to console him when the doctors told him that the cancer had spread to the extent that treatment was no longer an option.

I remember the day before he died, I had called his home, where he lived with his mother, step-father, and brother, to speak to him. I felt the desperate urge to let him know I loved him, but when I called, my uncle told me that he was incoherent and wouldn't understand what I was saying to him. My biggest regret is not insisting that my uncle hold the phone to my cousin's ear so that I could tell him what was on my heart.

The next morning, my oldest cousin called to tell me that Andy had passed away. I remember crying out and crumpling to the floor. My cousin was gone.

The very next year, my doctor noticed a mass in my left breast. The mammogram he ordered for me showed calcifications, not a good sign. As I was laid out on the biopsy table, I closed my eyes. I saw my cousin Andy, clear as day. I approached to hug him, but he pushed me away with such conviction that I immediately opened my eyes. I felt confused by what I had just experienced. I felt rejected, but at the same time, I felt a sort of peace and reassurance. I couldn't explain it very well in words. Three days later, I was diagnosed with cancer of my own. I chose to interpret the push as Andy's way of telling me he didn't want me there with him -- that I wasn't going to share the same fate. I had no idea of knowing then that I was going to beat Breast Cancer... but I knew I was going to survive. And I have. Thank you Andy.