Dear cancer,
I am so fucking sick of you taking lives that don't deserve to be taken. Who do you think you are, tearing into people's lives, destroying them, and leaving the surrounding lives perpetually picking up the pieces?
You don't have to know me well to know how proud I am to be from New Jersey. But what I don't talk about maybe as much as I should is my pride in my hometown as well. Roselle Park, New Jersey. Nothing to brag to the travel bloggers about, but for the people inside, it's so much more than a town. My childhood was unique, and it was rare, and I don't put that lightly. I graduated with 150 kids. You could walk from one end of my town to the other in just about an hour. Of course, there was cattiness and drama and shit-talking and back-stabbing, like any childhood anywhere in the world. But when shit counted, we came together.
My graduating class (we fly high) dealt with more grief than many adults do, before we even turned 18. By our senior year of high school, grieving losses became almost a part of our after-school activities. We lost peers, parents, friends. And each time, we hugged each other. We consoled one another. We held each other up. We drank E&J in their honor. We held walk-a-thons to raise money for research. In such dark times, we repaired together, and it was some of the most beautifully bittersweet times of my life, that made me simultaneously so angry but so proud to be where I'm from. How many communities can say that of themselves?
You'd think my little town full of heart would have suffered enough. You'd think we'd be given a pardon. But no. You had to stomp your big ass feet back into the innocent life of a harmless and wonderful individual, just because you could.
Another life taken entirely too soon. A life of potential, of so much joy and positivity. A friend of mine since pre-school, and a friend to so many in my little town. It hurts me that I live in California and can't be with my community to hug and console and hold each other up in this grieving period. It hurts me that I can't offer my condolences to his mother, whom I've known since before I could tie my shoes. It doesn't feel right. But what I can do is try to express my condolences to his family and closest friends through the words I'm writing here. What I can do is donate to the research to end this horrifying disease. And what we can all do, is keep Tooch alive in our hearts, and through our characters. Everyone who knew him knew the positivity that radiated out from his soul. Cancer, you may have taken him away from us, but he'll live on through the people he loved the most. And that's something you CAN'T take away. And that's something I'm proud of.
To Chris's family and dearest loved ones, I can't stop thinking of you, and wishing for your peace. I cannot say I'm sorry enough, and I can't wait for the day when there are no more beautiful souls taken by this ugly, ugly, culprit.
Fuck off, cancer.