I just read "Once you survive cancer, you are invincible."
I had a friend who survived cancer. I don't know what happened to her. I hope she is ok. But here is something fucked up. I wish instead of my grandma dying of cancer, I wish it was me. Maybe then my family would be happy. I can't even remember her when she was close to the end. I remember her voice, her face, her hair if I try. She was the most kindest person I knew. She loved me so much. I know she did. I remember the funeral. I was 3 or 5. She was in her coffin, pale with pictures of my family on her clothes. One of the pictures slipped so I went to fix it. My dad got mad and smacked my hand. I tried to tell him I was helping but he was so mad. I didn't cry. I don't think I did. I didn't know what he meant when I found out she died. But I learned. That was the first day I saw a dead person. It was December. Then as I grew, more died. Its like December is cursed. Or... Is it me?
