Change has always been difficult for me to accept—especially when it comes without warning. But cancer has forced me to face change again and again, shaping my relationships, my understanding of life, and who I am as a person. Through the losses, the distance, and the gradual shifts it has caused in the people I love, cancer has taught me how to let go of what used to be while still holding on to what matters most. More than anything, I’ve learned that change is painful, but it can also help us grow.
When I was ten, my Nana passed away from lung cancer. She was one of the kindest people in my life, and some of my favorite memories are of our trips to the zoo together. She loved animals, and we’d spend hours walking from exhibit to exhibit while she pointed out her favorites and told me stories. When she got sick, I didn’t really understand what was happening. I visited her in the hospital oblivious to the weight of the situation. Then, one day, she was just gone. It was the first time I ever experienced grief, and I didn’t know how to process it. I felt confused, even numb. Looking back, losing my Nana was the beginning of my understanding that life can change suddenly and without fairness—but also that memories can stay with you, even when people can't.
My Uncle Paul was diagnosed with a brain tumor not long after my Nana passed. He survived, but the surgery he had was very aggressive and changed his life. Before that, he was brilliant at chess, and I always looked forward to trying to beat him, even though I never came close. After the surgery however, he changed. He still remembers how to play chess and is still much better than me at it, but I can’t play with him anymore like I used to. He ended up moving further away into Section 8 housing, and it became harder for me to visit. Our bond faded with time and distance. This type of change was different, one that didn’t happen all at once, but gradually. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that even when people survive cancer, their lives, and our relationships, may never go back to how they were.
Over the past five years, my Grandpa has battled both pancreatic and skin cancer. He’s mostly recovered, but it keeps coming back for him to fight. When I was younger, we used to go fishing and golfing together whenever I could see him. I developed a connection with my grandpa over these activities. But now, because of ongoing treatments and how weak he often feels, we can no longer go out to the pond or the greens. At first, this change made me frustrated but over time, I’ve realized that love doesn’t have to look the same to still be real. Whether we’re on the golf course or just talking on the phone, what matters is being there in whatever way I can especially now when he needs me than ever.
All of these experiences have shown me how deeply cancer can change lives—not just through loss, but through the slow and difficult shifts in connection, ability, and routine. At the same time, these changes have made me more empathetic, more adaptable, and more grateful. I’ve learned how to let go of what was while still finding meaning in what remains. Change will always be hard, but I no longer see it as something to fear. I see it as something to grow from.