Today I came home for lunch. There were fire and police vehicles up and down my street. It turns out someone had committed suicide. I felt so badly that someone who lived so close to me was in distress and there was nothing I could do to help.

She was 42 and diagnosed with cancer.

I don't know her story. I know that hearing about this, seeing her son being comforted by friends, reminded me of how awful this disease is and how it can kill us emotionally and spiritually before it ever gets us physically.

If I knew her and her situation, I would have been there to offer my support. I feel awful that she felt so alone and so desperate. Although I don't know the details of her situation, it breaks my heart that she was in it at all.

It couldn't help but hit close to home. I realized that if my diagnosis, my support system had been different, that could have been me. It also made realize how very lucky I am that I have come so far in such a short time. That, yes, there is great hope for a full life for me. That a rash and lymphadema are meaningless in the big picture. That I need to live and rejoice in each moment. That life, for me, is worth living and I am truly blessed.

Rest in peace, neighbor.