Most recently, the big C crept back into my life to cause insurmountable heartache and pain. I lost someone I loved so dearly.
But, as stubborn as cancer is, it is not the first time it has come to disrupt and turn my whole world upside down.
At only 28 years of age, I've probably suffered more heartache than many at my age should. I lost my best friend at the age of 14, my first year of high school. We were inseparable and did everything together, and I mean everything.
We were like sisters, and being together since Grade 1 did not help the argument our parents had at times about 'being apart'. Yet, somehow, I've come to think it was meant to be as she was taken so early.
Her name was Aneesah, and a month after her 14th birthday, she left this world in 2007. At that age, my peers were all out and about, but she was in and out of Red Cross Hospital.
We had the weirdest moments, but now, as an adult, I see just how beautiful it truly was.
I was the one who combed her hair out as it started falling out due to the chemotherapy. I got her school work and helped explain it all to her so she wouldn't lose out on her education. It was important to her.
She was such a bright person, she won the local Shoprite competition, and her prize was paid school fees for that year. All she had to do was write an essay about what she wanted to become when she grew up. She wanted to become a chartered accountant - she would have been great.
But I digress. So whenever her family went to visit her in hospital, I went along. I ran as fast as I could when she was allowed back home just to see her.
When she started radiation therapy, she had to wear a bag attached to her chest. Despite everything, she'd find the humour in it all. We made so many plans and promised each other so many things.
The last time I saw her was in hospital.
This time, she was glowing, her beautiful smile glued to her face as always, and we had our last 'buddy session'.
It was during this time, at 14, my best friend gave me a message for most people in her family, should she pass. My naivety led me to believe it was impossible, but I listened. We had plans for that December and listened to two of our favourite songs (which remain on my Playlist today).
I left with a heart filled with joy.
However, cancer was not about to spare me my joy. It came, hitting me like a brick in the face when I saw my best friend's sister and cousins coming around my street corner all dressed in black Salah tops. At that moment, the realisation hit me, and my life changed forever.
I struggled. Her family struggled. It hurt so much. I was overwhelmed. I questioned so many things. I blamed doctors and the Almighty, because how does a 14-year-old girl just die?
The answer - cancer. The disease that does not discriminate in any sense.
It hurt so bad it took me seven years to visit her grave.
Looking at her name (on her graveside), my emotions hit me like a tsunami. I broke down in a cemetery. I sat next to her, right under the tree where she lays. It hit me, yes, my friend lays here covered in a blanket of sand. She will never be coming back. One thing does bring me some solace: I know she would have been proud of what I have done with my life. Almost like we planned.
But, as everyone so constantly reminded me, 'life goes on'. And, it has. But, never without her in my heart, my memory. I always try to keep her memory alive.
Fast forward to 2020: a mother, wife, sister, friend and woman of strength leaves this world. Again, cancer has wormed its way back into my life like the unwanted house guest it is.
My mother's best friend passes on. A real funny woman with a heart of gold and someone with so much strength. Obnoxiously, I thought, agh, cancer has nothing on her.
But, cancer being the narcissistic disease it is, aimed to prove superiority.
This time, in a text message, old wounds were reopened. Michelle McKriel passed away. It was hard. I saw the heartache in my mother's eyes I never want to see again. But, being strong for two beautiful young girls and a husband who just lost their world was her goal.
But, as everyone so constantly reminded me, 'life goes on'.
Later in 2020, I thought I had given cancer the middle finger when someone so close to me, practically my sister, beat cancer. It was a big deal. We had a victory party with our girl group and their children. The memories made were priceless. It made our group's bond even stronger.
I shoved the thought of cancer to the side with pride. While I may not have suffered from the disease, I felt a sense of pride. She beat it!
But, as everyone so constantly reminded me, 'life goes on'.
Then in 2021, it creeps up on me like a predator on its prey.
Cancer returned. This time it was vengeful. It was pissed off.
It brought hurt, but the strong warrior never showed an ounce of pain. Never giving this relentless disease any satisfaction.
Never backing down. Showing cancer what and who she really was - a woman of strength. But, it crept up during the morning hours like the thief it is.
On January 27, 2022, Jasmina Petersen, mother of two, wife, daughter, sister, friend, passed away.
My heart broke, my chest tightened, I couldn't breathe. This time, it has brought me to my knees, defeated by this dreadful disease that has become a thief of life.
It still hurts.
I feel numb.
Emotionally and physically drained.
But, do those words ring true now, does life just go on?
What I do find comfort in is that my three angels are now free from the pain and misery cancer put them through. While they may not be here physically, I know they're at peace.
IOL