Breast cancer. How I hate those words. Renee was a close family friend of mine. She was nice and playful and she knew how to handle me and my little brother whenever she needed to. I sometimes think about how cool it would've been if she lived long enough to be my babysitter. But she died before I ever really needed one. My mom had me call her Auntie Nee, which she considers to be respectful to really close family friend. Clearly, she wasn’t my real aunt. But I loved her the same. I don’t even recall when, but she was diagnosed with breast cancer. That changed my life forever. My mom only told me that she was sick; at the time I was so young I didn’t know what breasts were or what cancer was. Not too long before Thanksgiving, my mom sat me down with some books. I, only being in second grade, had no clue of the painful truth that was about to be explained. At least I knew what cancer was by then. Anyway, my mom started to read me this story about a leaf that is born in the spring, than gets sick and changes color in the fall, and eventually died in the early winter. I was unmoved by the leaf’s tragic tale. I also didn’t grasp the point of the story. Than my mom read me a story about a little girl who dies of cancer. If I were any older, I would’ve understood what was happening by then. But I didn’t, so what came next was a shock for me. Mom recapped on how my Auntie Nee had been sick for a while. Then, in a soft tone, she said, “Aunt Renee died.” My heart dropped, and I immediately started to cry. I cry again now as I write this. Not the loud, heavy tears from that average end-of-fall day, but light, silent tears. At her burial, there was a ladybug. It flew around the mourners for a little while, and landed on her headstone. Ever since then, ladybugs came to symbolize her.

Today I saw a ladybug.