Why Me!!!

The rain fell in sheets outside my window, each drop tapping against the glass as if trying to pull me from my thoughts. I stared out into the grey afternoon, my reflection barely visible against the storm. It had been a month since the diagnosis, but it still felt like a bad dream I couldn’t wake from. Leukemia. The word lingered in the air, cold and unforgiving.

I was 28, healthy, or at least I had thought so. My life was just beginning to fall into place—a promising career, plans to travel the world, even thoughts of starting a family someday. But now, those dreams were replaced with hospital visits, medications, and doctors who spoke in hushed tones about my chances.

Sitting there, wrapped in the blanket my mother had given me, I couldn’t stop the question from repeating over and over in my mind. *Why me?*

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be me. I had friends who smoked, who barely took care of themselves, yet here I was—someone who ran marathons, ate healthy, and avoided every vice imaginable. I didn’t understand. There had to be some mistake.

My phone buzzed beside me. A message from Claire, my best friend since college.

*“Hey, just checking in. How are you feeling today?”*

I stared at the screen, my fingers frozen above the keyboard. How was I feeling? Broken. Lost. Angry. But I couldn’t say that. Claire was one of the few who tried to understand, but no matter how many times she asked, there was no way she could really know what it felt like to face something like this.

I sighed and typed back: *“I’m okay. Just tired. Thanks for asking.”*

It was a lie, but it was easier than explaining the thousand emotions raging inside me. I tossed the phone aside and buried my face in my hands. The tears came, as they often did these days. Not loud, sobbing tears, but the quiet kind, the ones that rolled down your cheeks and made you wonder if you’d ever stop feeling like this.

I felt weak, not just physically, but in my soul. My body was fighting a battle I didn’t know how to win, and my spirit—once so full of life—was slowly fading. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a stranger. The weight I’d lost, the dark circles under my eyes, the paleness of my skin. I was disappearing piece by piece.

*Why me?*

I asked the universe, but no answer ever came. It was as if the world had gone on without me, while I was left stuck in this endless loop of fear and uncertainty. I couldn’t imagine what my future looked like anymore. All I saw was a blur of hospital rooms and IV drips.

That evening, my mother called. She had been with me through every step, but I could hear the exhaustion in her voice, even as she tried to be strong for me.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” she asked softly.

I hesitated, then said, “Mom, I just... I don’t understand. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and I thought maybe she didn’t have an answer either. But then she spoke, her voice steady but full of emotion.

“Sometimes, there’s no reason, love. Sometimes, life just... happens. And it’s not about deserving or not deserving. It’s about finding the strength to face whatever comes.”

“But I don’t feel strong,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“I know,” she replied gently. “But strength doesn’t always look like what we think it should. You’re still here, still fighting, and that’s enough.”

Her words sank into me slowly, and I realized she was right. I didn’t feel strong because I was waiting for strength to mean something extraordinary, something heroic. But maybe, just maybe, strength was simply waking up every morning and facing another day, no matter how impossible it seemed.

As the days passed, I began to let go of the “Why me?” question. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it was a question without an answer. And I couldn’t keep waiting for an answer that might never come.

Instead, I focused on what I could control—the moments that made me smile, even in the smallest ways. The feel of the rain on my skin when I ventured outside. The warmth of my mother’s hand when she held mine. Claire’s goofy texts that made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t.

I still had my bad days, the days when the weight of it all felt too much. But there were good days, too. And slowly, I learned that life wasn’t about asking *why me*, but about discovering who I was in the face of everything I couldn’t control.

Maybe I would never know why. But I was still here. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.