Connie was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer more than eight years ago. She’d battled the the disease with the courage and determination of the fiercest of warriors. Facing death’s door more than once over the years, she’d remained defiant and returned to fight some more.

She fought on and on through countless medical appointments. She endured multiple surgeries and rounds of chemotherapy and radiation. Between the cancer itself and the treatments’ side effects, her body was mercilessly ravaged. She became increasingly more frail, but still she refused to give up.

And then a few days before the baby shower, her doctor presented the bad news. Connie’s body was no longer responding to treatment. They had run out of options.

So on that Monday, the hospice team showed up to offer their assistance. Her comfort became the priority. Unfortunately, her condition seemed to deteriorate rapidly.

Thursday morning it was evident she had just hours more to live. Lying in a hospital bed in her living room, she was surrounded by loved ones who spoke softly to her, patted her hands, and stroked her hair. As they watched over her and shared favorite memories, they managed, for the most part, to keep the smiles on their faces and the atmosphere light.

Shortly after noon, her breathing slowed, and then it stopped. With her husband, daughter, and son-in-law at her side, she slipped peacefully away. And as she did, all those present surrendered to their grief. The need to comfort her had passed. The smiles for Connie were released, and the tears flowed freely.

Since her passing, people have asked me how I’m doing. There are unpredictable weepy moments, but all in all, I’m doing all right. Do I miss her? Absolutely. And I know I’ll miss her more terribly as the reality continues to settle in. But I’d witnessed what cancer had done to my friend. I’d seen how relentlessly it had attacked her body. And now I take comfort in knowing she no longer has to bear the anguish.

Of course, I wish her life could have been different. I wish she could have been spared the cancer. Connie never wanted to give up her career, so I wish she could have continued working for as long as she wanted. And I wish she could have had the years to enjoy her retirement.

How I wish she could have lived to welcome her granddaughter into the world—to hold her in her arms, to rock her, and to spoil her.

All the wishing in the world could never change what WAS, so I’ll try to keep my focus on the blessings of what IS.

I’ve learned it’s healthier to put my energy where it is better-serving—in love and gratitude.

Funny how, no matter the question or issue, the answer always seems to come back to that. It’s always love and gratitude.