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Late last week, advanced lung cancer took my aunt from my family and I. Over the last few months she'd fought bravely through chemotherapy and radiation, but in the end her body became too weak to sustain a new round of treatment and the disease continued marching on. When I learned a few weeks ago that scans had found cancer in her bones I knew it was a losing battle, but I had still held out some vain hope that perhaps she could buy a little more time and see this year to a close, to be able to enjoy one last holiday season with my uncle, her children and the grandchildren. Last Tuesday she was hospitalized for a series of TIA. She came home Thursday, and passed away Friday night. At least she was in her own home and surrounded by family instead of someplace else. We've lost a loving, creative and generous light in our lives. I'm never going to receive one of her unique, home-made crafts as a surprise gift or hear her laughter ever again. I am so upset and angry and bitterly tired of cancer and the role it is played in taking people I care about from this world. I have a medical history that involves cancer. While I was being treated, my father's coworker and friend was taken by a particularly nasty cancer in his abdomen. I was very young, but even then I wasn't sure why it seemed I was going to make it into remission but Mr. S. passed away. Years later, cancer would claim three coworkers I spent a lot of time with. In 2012 I watched breast cancer claim the life of another friend. At the beginning of this year, cancer along with other complications took the life of my cat, a little animal that held a huge part of my heart and had been my companion for almost fifteen years. I was, and still am, devastated by that. A month ago in October cancer claimed somebody I was acquainted with from online. And now this, with my aunt. There's others I haven't mentioned, but the theme is there. The service will be held on Friday or Saturday of this week. It's about an 11.5 hour drive from her to their town, which isn't bad. I have obligations to the animal rescue I volunteer with, as well as special-needs animals at home, and I may not be able to arrange coverage for all of these things, so I may not be able to go pay my final respects. That's almost as upsetting as knowing I didn't get to see her one last time this summer or fall. We can't find a cure of this scourge fast enough. It is insidious, it robs families of loved ones and all it leaves behind is suffering and grief. I miss you already, aunt L.