Cancer, the Only World I Can't Say - Sammi Lupher, Aged 11

I remember the day so vividly. It was early fall, and it wasn't too cold yet - the kind of weather when all you need is a spring jacket and you'll be fine. I was in the third grade. When I walked into the kitchen to look for my mom after school, I heard her talking on the phone.
'She's home, I have to go,' she said.
She hung up the phone and gave me a tiny smile. 'Do you want to go for a drive?' she asked me. 'I need to tell you something.'
I nodded my head, feeling that whatever she was going to share with me wouldn't be good, but I knew I had to hear it.
We drove around listening to music. When we reached my school, she drove into the parking lot, stopped the car and looked at me.
'Remember what Grandma had?' she asked.
'Cancer, right?' I replied.
'Yes. Well, when I was in the shower the other day, I noticed an unusual bump on my breast. I went to the doctor's, and he has diagnosed me with cancer,' she said. Then she started to cry.
I wanted to cry too, but I didn't. I felt like I had to comfort her and reassure her that she'd be okay, so I needed to stay strong. As long as I kept telling her it would be all right, I felt like it was.
And she was okay - for a while. SHe had radiation and chemotherapy. It made her throw up everyday, and she lost her hair. But the cancer disappeared. The whole time I was in the fourth grade, she was completely fine.
Then I went into fifth grade. One day when I got home from school, my mom was sitting on her recliner, crying.
I knew it was back. 'It's back ... the cancer, isn't it?' I asked.
She nodded her head, and I began to cry. I ran over to her and gave her the biggest hug I have ever given anyone. She told me that it was still breast cancer, but this cells had moved to her liver.
Again, she lost her hair because of the chemotherapy and radiation. We also sent her to Chicago once a months to get a special treatment.
Then in March, my mom went into the hospital. She was only there for one and a half weeks, but during her stay she got a lot better. The doctors sent her home. She was doing great ... until one day she couldn't move without hurting.
She was at the point where she had to be in bed all the time, and she couldn't even talk without it hurting like 100 stabbing knives. My family got ready to say good-bye because we all knew she wouldn't be around much longer.
One morning, my mom seemed to be in more pain than usual. My brother Josh and I sat by her bed for over three hours, while I held her hand. The she became quiet. Josh called the hospital and asked if someone could come over to check on her.
A short while later, a nurse arrived and checked her heartbeat. 'She's gone. I'm sorry,' he said quietly.
I actually started to laugh because I couldn't believe it. I was eleven! Eleven-year-olds only lose their moms in movies - not in real life. Even though I knew that it was going to happen, it still didn't seem true.
Some days, I am great. Other days, I just can't believe she's gone. On those days, I want her back so badly that no words can do it justice. I'm sure that sometimes you probably think your parents are just out to ruin your life. Believe me; its really hard to go on without them.
Cancer, the only world I can't say without crying or wanting to cry. I just hope my children, or other people I may love in the future, will never have to go through the same pain I have had to. Many people survive cancer. I guess my mom just wasn't lucky enough.

Shmily - Laura Jeanna Allen

My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word 'shmily' in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving 'shmily' around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.
They dragged 'shmily' with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food colour. 'Shmily' was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave 'shmily' on the very last sheet.
There was no end to the places 'shmily' would pop up. Little notes with 'shmily' scribbled were found on dashboards and car seats, or tapped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. 'Shmily' was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.
It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love - one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was  based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky enough to experience.
Grandma and Grandpa held hands every change they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and world jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome an old man he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew 'how to pick 'em'. Before every meal they bowed heads and gave thanks, marvelling at their blessings: a wonderful family, a good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that colour so she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was once again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they still went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker, until finally she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
'Shmily'. It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's final bouquet. As the crowed thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.
Shaking with m own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew then that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You.
Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.

Learning How To Move On Quote

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it without knowing what's going to happen next.

-Gilda Radner