I am a survivor’s sister. My story is seldom told, but must be heard. My sister was diagnosed with stage IV Neuroblastoma at five weeks, two days of age. I was eleven. My identity developed as I struggled to survive the challenges that have made me who I am today.
The words, “Sweetheart, your sister has cancer,” were an enormous shock. Questions and thoughts ran through my mind as relatives rushed to Virginia to care for my two-year-old brother and me. I just wanted my Mom. I knew that her attention had to be directed elsewhere, but I was lost in the commotion. The notion of being on my own frightened me. The innocence of my youth was shattered. There was no hiding as I began to enter the doors of my inner self that I never knew existed. I wanted to cry, but felt that I had to be strong. Each day brought new challenges as I searched for my role. Every day I reconciled with my newfound responsibilities. I was left alone.
Within days, it was time to say goodbye. Never before had my heart ached with such force, affecting my whole body. All morning it poured never-ending rain. I was reminded of the quote from Number the Stars by Lois Lowry: “Mama was crying, and the rain made it seem as if the whole world was crying.” As it played through my mind, I knew I would undoubtedly feel this loss forever. The anger I felt consumed me. Selfishly, I searched for the reason I was being tortured.
The stench of the hospital was stronger than ever before. I felt nauseous as I shook from fear and worry. I took the elevator up to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit on floor 5 with my stepdad holding me tightly. The PICU doors were overwhelming and intimidating. I felt small as they towered over me. I wasn’t allowed in because I was eleven, but I had to get in somehow. After what felt like hours, my Mom walked out. “She’s 12,” she said to the charge nurse. I didn’t argue. I had every intention of defying the rule. There my sister was, enveloped in tubes of all colors. I touched her swollen hand and kissed her hot cheek as my tears dripped onto her face. I was enraged when I was told to leave.
My sister survived her struggles, and so did I. Years of treatment, prolonged periods of isolation, and the long road of recovery were, and continue to be, extremely difficult to witness. I cringe at the thought. My sister’s pain was not directly mine, however, the challenges I faced taught me great life lessons. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop and look fear in the face.” Dealing with my fear and worry made me stronger and more confident in myself. I strive to reflect on my story in hopes of better managing the challenges of today. I discovered essential ways to embrace hardship in life and continue moving forward.
My sister is now a seven-year survivor and because of her, I hold a greater passion for life. When I smile, I smile bigger. When I laugh, I laugh louder. When I love, I love deeper. When I think, I think harder. I embody my sister’s struggle. I became the strong and resilient person I am today because I lived through my sister's fight. Watching amazing Grace fight to survive, I found a strength within myself that shapes and guides me to this day.
Read more about Emily’s hero sister Grace Maureen.
