I am an wuss.

This entry was due over a month ago, but during that time I never found the time nor the drive to write it. Although my blog was pink, I did not have the time to write about the disease that has taken so many lives, destroyed many more, and yet changed more lives for the better. One month and a job change later, I find myself writing about the Terry Fox run press conference while trying NOT to tear up.

Like many, cancer is not something I take lightly. My aunt died of brain cancer. My mother is in the high-risk category for breast cancer, as she has relatives like our cousins who have been diagnosed with the cancer. Call me silly, but I consider cancer to be one of most insidious afflictions ever to infect mankind. Simply because cancer, unlike AIDS, has no warning. There is no way to prevent it; once you get it, that’s it. Of course, it’s not a death sentence, far from it. But if you should lose the fight….

I remember the passing of Datin Seri Endon from breast cancer last year. I remember the passing of Puan Sri Rosaline (the wife of Tan Sri Dato’ Francis Yeoh, the MD of the company I work for) this year and how it hit Emilie. I remember the disbelief and the near-breaking down in college. I remember my aunt’s passing six years ago. I remember mom going into surgery to remove a suspicious tumour. I remember. Remember this poem by Dylan, and take comfort in it… as I did.

Do not go gently into that good night.

Do not go gently into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words have forked no lightning they
Do not go gently into the good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learned too late they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gently into the good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray,
Do not go gently into that good night,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.