When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in early June 2024, I immediately turned to familiar Scriptures for comfort and peace. At first I told only immediate family and close friends, people I could trust to pray and not chatter among the community. I wanted to process and share my news my way, on my own timetable. I knew that remaining calm and positive was crucial to successful treatment and recovery. My faith in God was strong. I wanted to keep it that way.
Although I felt well, I knew I was seriously ill. Still, I intended to face treatment head-on with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. Then came the morning I noticed the smiling face of a woman I didn’t know in a Facebook post. The link took me to an obituary.
Kate* and I had three things in common: faith, age, and a cancer diagnosis. Even as she was scheduled for surgery, she’d assured family and friends that she would kick the “Big C.” She died on the operating table, the result of an unexpected complication.
At some point, each of us comes to grips with the reality that we will leave this world. I held off those thoughts for my sunset years, say my nineties. By then I’d be an old lady sitting in a comfortable chair, thinking back on a long, wonderful life. But here I sat, teary-eyed in my comfortable chair, smacked in the face by a grim reality: if Kate could die, so could I. And that was a possibility I hadn’t processed, hadn’t wanted to process.
I sat quietly, praying, pondering. I’d often looked to Psalms 23 for comfort. That morning, as I thought about God walking with us through shadowy valleys, I remembered Psalms 139. The days planned for us are written in God’s book, the one that He keeps for Himself. As I dried my tears and left that comfortable chair, I resolved to lean into faith and face fear head-on.
Some days I had to lean hard. Really hard.
I took pictures of the sunrise on our early-morning drives to chemotherapy, marveling at the beautiful sky. I read encouraging words, colored inspirational pictures, made new friends as I sat in the infusion room. Now, as I look back, I realize just how blessed I was even in that most difficult season.
I still am. Life is a precious gift, no matter how long it lasts.
*Name changed
Copyright 2026 lifeatroomtemperature.com Sherry A. Hathaway All rights reserved.