I Hate Cancer

I hate cancer. I don’t hate much in this world, but I hate cancer with every fiber of my being.

My husband died of Ewing Sarcoma (bone cancer), and I saw how the disease betrayed him and deteriorated his body without Brady’s permission. From the nausea to the back pain to the numbing of his tongue, the cancer destroyed every part of Brady’s body.

But, I don’t hate cancer for taking my husband’s life. I certainly wish it hadn’t, but my husband could’ve died from a multitude of things.

I hate cancer because it changed the way people saw my husband. Instead of seeing Brady as the kind, humorous, and selfless soul that I grew to love, most people saw Brady as the guy who had cancer and died from it. I guess I don’t really hate the cancer as much as I hate the way cancer changed the way most people thought about my husband.

Before Brady was diagnosed in 2016, most people knew Brady as the optimistic class clown who would do anything to make others laugh. People saw him for who he was. After his diagnosis, people saw him as the “sick cancer kid” and most only saw him that way. His cancer was just about the only thing others asked him about, and it became his worldly identity.

Brady hated this. He truly hated being seen as the sick kid. He saw first-hand how differently people treated him once he was diagnosed. He saw how people talked in a higher pitched voice when talking to him, as if he was a little kid. He saw how people would stop and stare at him in public while he was wearing his mask. He saw how people treated him like a dead man walking, and he despised all of it.

So, Brady did everything in his power to hide his disease from others. When we went to college, he told me: “I don’t want anyone to know that I’m sick. I have an opportunity to be a normal guy here.” So, he hid his disease from his college peers, and it wasn’t until after Brady and I left Grove City that others found out about his illness.

Brady’s diagnosis was no more a part of his identity than his height or weight or size of his shoe. He was a believer, a husband, a son, a brother, a friend, a car guy, a hockey player, and even a lover of “Stranger Things” more than simply a cancer patient.

I hate that cancer has robbed Brady’s identity for so many people. His sickness never defined him, but unfortunately, most people only think of cancer when they think of Brady.

When I think about my lover, I don’t think about the dreaded disease of Ewing Sarcoma. I think of the times when he screamed the lyrics to my favorite Taylor Swift songs in the car. I think of the zucchini that he made for me while dancing in our kitchen at midnight. I think of our wedding day when he sweat like a pig while taking our portraits. I think of the kindness and love that he constantly showed to everyone around him.

But, I don’t think of cancer when I think of Brady, and I don’t want you to either.