The Strength That I Owe You

Aren’t we both just blessed to have such perfectly common names? One Sarah and one Emily among what felt like dozens in every year, and in every class, of our entire grade school experience. I’ve met a lot of perfectly splendid Sarahs in my day — but none as extraordinary as you. What our mothers lacked in originality in naming us, I like to think they more than made up for in good fortune. Okay, maybe this is mostly in your case.

Anyway, I’ve got a theory that we were given such truly mundane names because someone somewhere knew our stories would more than make up for them. Imagine having names like Topanga and Clementine and also getting to play the cancer card left, right and centre. We’d be unstoppable. Seriously.

I joke. (You know this.) Clearly, cancer wasn’t really the look I was going for in my twenties and now, barely thirty, I feel like it lurks around every corner. But here’s the thing. As prepared as I am for my cancer to come back with every day, every hour, and every hospital visit, I’m not at all prepared for the same to happen to you. There’s one simple fact that keeps me going, though. I can’t help but notice that, as much as you’ve fought, and hurt, and struggled, you’re pretty well the strongest person I’ve ever met.

This became abundantly clear to me as you held me up in what was one of the most difficult times of my life. Bustin’ out of chemo and radiation swinging(ish), you couldn’t be reasonably expected to support yourself, let alone anyone else. But there you were. You showed up for me — and, in so doing, taught me a lot about what real strength looks like.

Sometimes, it’s listening to someone’s certifiably disgusting medical stories without flinching, and having the grit to laugh along with them when they insist they’d rather a boombox in their abdomen than a uterus. (My, how I’ve come to regret that statement.) Sometimes, it’s the ability to sit quietly with your thoughts, with your friend, and accept that your collective pain simply is — instead of trying to avoid it, fix it, or cover it up. Sometimes, it’s having the courage to draw a line in the sand, and doing the hard work of advocating for yourself even when it feels like no one else is working for or even with you. Sometimes, it is in true, proud, honest outrage and anger — in owning the feelings you’re entitled to.

This, to me, is one of the most beautiful things about you. Always a challenge, especially for women, you stand your ground in uncomfortable feelings. Not only does your fortitude offer an amazing example as it creates space for others, it gives them the opportunity to know the real you. The Sarah that is fierce, fragile, funny, smart, generous, kind, compassionate, patient (to a point) and, at the end of the day, a person I’ve come to believe has an indestructible spirit. Suffice to say you’re a gift to know, a joy to befriend, and a pleasure to stand beside no matter the weather.

So, maybe your hematologist doesn’t say what we’d like them to this week. Maybe another low-key disaster comes barreling toward you at record speeds. As much as we’d like people and fate to bend to our will, I hope it offers you some bit of solace to know that, should cancer choose to come back at you, I’m going to be right here beside you. In silence, in laughter, and in every little bit of strength I feel in my heart that I owe you.