I don’t remember much about when my grandmother was diagnosed with Stage Four Breast Cancer. I didn’t know what my parents meant when they told me, “Granmom is sick,” but I knew she didn’t have the flu.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I'm pretty sure everyone is already aware of Breast Cancer; it's impossible to name someone who hasn't personally fought it, supported a family member fighting it or known a friend or friend's relative battling it. Awareness isn't the issue; it's action.

We haven't found a cure yet, but there are still steps we can take to catch it much earlier. The simplest means are mammograms and physical exams. I'm twenty-one; I could very easily develop Breast Cancer tomorrow, especially since it runs in my family. However, I can also catch it early if I perform regular exams and pay close attention to my health. You can, too.

Cancer is scary, because there is no known way to prevent it yet, and there is no guaranteed way to cure it. The best we can do is be prepared, and be strong for our families. Breast Cancer can steal identities and torture families. I was young when my grandmother was going through chemo, and I didn't understand at that time why she was losing all her hair. She kept smiling, kept laughing, and only complained about the Ravens or the Orioles making stupid plays. She stayed strong for us, and it saved us all a lot of pain.

The thing about Cancer, though, is that even if it steals a person's identity, it will never define them. The battle was a turning point in a survivor's life, and it changed them, but is not their entire existence. Survivors are still mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, teachers, doctors or managers. They are still people.

My grandma died on a Sunday, and my mother and I went to the game that day. With thirty seconds left and no possible way for the Cowboys to win, my mom and I left M&T Stadium early. As soon as we stepped foot outside of the stadium, a thunderous cheer erupted, as if the planes that flew over during the National Anthem were circling back around. It turns out, the Cowboys tried some kind of fake play and almost scored enough points to win, but the Ravens were able to block it and win the game. I’ve never been a deeply-religious person, but at that moment, I knew it was my grandmother playing a trick on all of us, to let us know she'd made it to heaven safely. Later that season, the Ravens went on and won the Super Bowl for her.

If your loved one loses the battle, you can't give up. That defeats everything they fought for. Celebrate their lives. Remember who they were before Cancer stole them away. I still remember how my grandma used to feed the us fish sticks whenever we complained we were hungry. I remember how her scrambled eggs were never mixed before she cooked them, so they looked like a swirl of white and yellow on the plate. I remember how her house sat at the top of a hill, and when you were down at the water, you could hear her laughing in the kitchen. I remember how her stern, scolding voice made all of us grandkids cower (and you could even see my uncle, my aunt and my dad flinch sometimes). I remember the way she’d sing Hawaiin songs while she cooked. I remember her in her life, and I celebrate it. Breast Cancer took my grandmother, but it will never take her memory away from us. Her spirit is still living inside each of her children and grandchildren, including me.

~In Loving Memory of Ellie, SP4 US Army (Oct. 4, 1937 - Oct. 14, 2012)