Light the Night and Survivorship: The Importance of Remembrance

I have written about the Light the Night walk put on by Blood Cancer United, formerly known as the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. As the date of my local walk approached this year, I began to ponder the notion of survivorship. It's not as if this title, survivor, has not crossed my mind since my sister's death on July 1. The looming date of the Light the Walk only exacerbated those thoughts.

For those who have not attended a walk for themselves, I highly encourage you to seek one in your area and participate if you've been affected by blood cancer. For context, let me explain a bit about the walk. Participants each carry a lantern: a red lantern is carried by friends, family, and supporters of those who have endured or are currently enduring blood cancer. Yellow is carried in remembrance of those who have died from cancer. And survivors carry white lanterns. There is a ceremony to celebrate each lantern, and events similar to a carnival atmosphere for those who attend.

To those outside the world of cancer, it may be strange to have an entire pavilion and an event dedicated to cancer. From my first time attending, the thing about this walk that has always struck me most is that it is more than a remembrance. It is also an opportunity for those who are going through something, or have been through something, to feel less alone. It is a place of community where you get to meet people who are going through or have gone through something similar to what you are. An event where patients mingle with caregivers and families have the opportunity to show gratitude to those who cared or are caring for their loved ones.

Every year that my sister attended, she was given a survivor T-shirt and a white lantern to carry. And I, although I worked in the field of oncology and lost patients to both blood and other cancers, always elected to carry a red lantern. I entered the field of oncology as a caregiver, so it always felt right to carry a red lantern in support of my sister. And so, year after year, together, we would go, each carrying our individual lanterns. Due to my sister’s death, I have wondered if her inability to carry a white lantern negates her also carrying the title of survivor.

My sister battled cancer for 11 years, and along with being a patient, she was regarded as a survivor. This was not a title that my sister really felt comfortable leaning into until she was told she was in remission post-transplant. And when re-diagnosed with cancer several years ago, I know she again struggled with the identity of survivor as she once again battled stage IV cancer. While I refute the terminology of one "losing their battle to cancer", admittedly, survivorship is not a title I gave much thought when the outcome is a person dying rather than gaining remission or a cure. Yet, with the walk drawing near this year and my sister no longer here, I have often found myself contemplating it.

While my sister was not here to carry a white lantern this year, I chose to attend the event, just as I had when she was still here. It was different this year for many apparent reasons. Aside from her absence, the most glaring reason was that when it was time to pick up a lantern, I carried a yellow lantern in remembrance of my sister. And as I walked around Washington Park with my friend Dan, I was flooded with memories of years past: when I had attended both with my sister and for her when she was too sick to participate in herself. Admittedly, I am unsure if I will continue to attend in the future, as I am still in the throes of grief. What I can say with certainty is that although my sister ultimately succumbed to a disease that ravaged her for over a decade, she survived for 11 years. She beat the odds and statistics regarding her expected outcome. She endured more than most can fathom. And to me, dying should not strip away a title that was earned throughout her time from diagnosis to death. And while her death removes the title my sister may have disliked most in life- cancer patient, my sister will forever remain a daughter, sister, and friend, and a cancer survivor.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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