Angela's Journey ~
By Dawn G. Prince
O
ctober is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Chances are that we all know someone who's been diagnosed with the disease, or who's lost a friend, mother, sister or niece. I'ven't personally known anyone with breast cancer, but a lady who flashed across my television screen every Sunday Morning never lets me forget that breast cancer is every woman's concern.
I see her face in every woman that's been diagnosed with the disease. And I think of her when I hear words like spirited and brave. The small pink ribbon on the site is in memory of Angela and all the other women whose lives were shortened by breast cancer, those that are fiercely battling the disease and those who are survivors. This is the short essay I wrote when I learned that she'd died despite her gallant fight.
Angela's Journey
(July 25, 1964 – February 19, 2004)
Tears are streaming down my face as I write this. Today, I learned that someone, whom I had never met, lost her ferocious battle with breast cancer. Angela Vecchio-Ozmon, a young mother of two from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, died this past Thursday. She was 39. I never met Angela, but she reminded me of somebody's sister or the girl next door.
Five years ago she came face to face with the beast that is breast cancer. I stumbled onto her story one Sunday morning on The Canadian Broadcasting Channel as she talked about her impending death with much candor on my television screen. My first impression was that she was very pretty; and candid about her then 3 year-old battle with the disease. Through her ongoing video diary, I saw her humanity in that she wasn't afraid of show the gamut of emotions that goes along with getting a death sentence when you weren't ready to go, and you know that you probably won't live to see your children grow up.
Every now and then, I would get snippets of her struggle—how fiery she fought against this thing that had taken over her body. She had a right to think it was unfair. She had a right to want to kick this thing in the ass for damning her in the middle of a wonderful life. I remember on one episode her saying that she didn't believe that she was going to die. I think that defiant attitude kept her going for as long as she did. She would laugh at the thing as when she talked about her funeral. She said she would tell people to come to her funeral,l but it was as if you were inviting someone to a party, and you couldn't give them a date or time. She didn't make me feel guilty for laughing at that because she had a sense of humour about it.
But you could see the fear and resentment and anger in the whites of her eyes. She was filled with trepidation, tears, sadness, bravery, and defiance. I thought how brave she must be to bare her soul to the world. How brave she was to fight the good fight and have to be brave because all of a sudden people were coming to hear you speak about this fight you never asked for—when you didn't set out to be brave or somebody's hero; when all you were doing was fighting for your last breath; fighting for more time. She couldn't take more time out of that bank she talked about, but she spent the remainder of her time very well—leaving her badge of courage in all of our hearts.
It was hard for me to watch without falling apart when her doctor told her that there was more cancer. I cried. She cried. He held her. And still, Angela seemed defiant in beating the beast that was ravaging her body. I kept thinking if I saw her walking down the street, I wouldn't know that she was full of cancer. She was just the girl next door. She was this lithe pretty blond, but the reality was that she was weak from the treatments and fading slowly. And yet, because her spirit was so fiery, I couldn't see her fading. The cancer that had ravaged her body hadn't ravaged her spirit.
The last time I saw Angela was when the doctor told her to treat sending her kids off to school as if it were the last time she would ever see them. That was last October, but I have thought about her often. I think about her the way I think about Terry Fox—that unforgettable young Canadian who hobbled his way across the country in the name of Cancer. Terry Fox is indelible in my memory. I remember Angela Vecchio-Ozmon in that same vein. They were regular people who became heroes because they showed us their humanity, and, if nothing else, that is all we can expect from our personal heroes.
For some reason, I thought if anyone could beat the beast it would be Angela—this fire cracker of a woman. The news of her death came as a shock when I turned on my television a few hours ago. I didn't know Angela, but she struck an emotional chord within me that I can't explain. Like me, she liked the ocean. A few hours ago, I went down to my precious lake and tossed a rock in memory of her. It plopped with a plunk that was reminiscent of her spunk. She did not go gently into that good night.
Back To The Cover
Breast Cancer Journeys
