"Once cancer happens it changes the way you live for the rest of your life."

While I imagine this quote was pertaining for people who suffered cancer, I feel it is fitting for the friends and loved ones affected by cancer. Sadly, I am one of those people. This awful disease is not something I would ever wish on my worst enemy. Unfortunately, the ugly C word attacked me and my family personally in September 2015.

Let me first by telling you all how absolutely amazing the woman who was diagnosed with this disease was. She was my best friend. She was my angel on earth. She was my listening ear when I was upset and my queen of advice. This woman was my grandma. I've never met a single person who EVER had anything bad to say about her. She was the most selfless person I knew. She pretty much lived her entire life for us. She always made the best meals and always tried to make everyone's favorites. My personal favorite was her homemade mac and cheese (hopefully I can get almost as good at making it as she was). She made everyone feel comfortable and more like family than a guest when at their house. She was a wizard at keeping her house clean despite having guests frequently. She was always the best shopping partner I could have asked for.

My grandparents have lived in Florida for 14 years, making me 7 when they moved 1,000 miles away. Every summer and sometimes spring break, I would travel my way down to spend time with them. I flew by myself for the first time at the age of 12. In the 14 years, I missed one summer and it was the summer I graduated high school.

I was in the dining hall at college when I got a phone call from my mom. My grandma had been having severe heartburn since July and was finally going to the doctor to find out what was wrong. The second I answered the phone, I knew something was seriously wrong. My mom was in tears and had a hard time getting out the words, "grandma has cancer." Time felt like it froze, I froze in my seat. For a brief moment, it felt like I couldn't breathe. That ugly C word. But as her tears began to calm, the conversation drew on and it was hopeful. They caught it, so she would need chemo and radiation and would be okay.

She came to visit in October before she started her treatment in November. We went shopping (surprise, surprise) and out to lunch. She looked so much smaller than when I saw her in June. But I kept telling myself it would be okay. After she left, I would Skype her as often as I could. I didn't get to see her again until December at Christmas time. To watch someone who used to be so strong turn into this fragile woman, puking into the garbage disposal because of the chemo running through her.

The next few months seemed to bring good news. She finished chemo and radiation and the doctor said it was gone expect for a small part near the esophagus, which could be removed with surgery when she gained some weight. Oh wait, then they thought it was possibly only scar tissue, not a tumor. It continuously went back and forth. This is when things started to take a turn for the worse (Thanks Waterman Hospital for being worthless). She still couldn't eat and her stomach started to bloat. She was in and out of the hospital. Oh, it's a blockage. Oh, it's not a blockage.

The very last time I got to see my grandma was Easter weekend. I made an unexpected trip to Florida, as the rest of family was already there. The day after I flew in, she had another doctor's appointment. Everyone walked in the door crying. I knew then and there it wasn't good news. The fluid in her bloated stomach had cancer, it was now stage 4, terminal cancer.

May 14, 2016... This was the night my grandma took her last breath. This was the night that I lost my best friend. That ugly C word took her from me. Took her like it's taken so many others. Never being able to see her laugh, smile, get a hug or kiss from her has changed me in more ways than imaginable.

I miss you more and more every single day. There isn't a single thing I wouldn't do to bring you back here to us. You were the least deserving of the ugly C word. I can't wait to see you again.