|
The 4th "It's Always Something"
Teen Writing Contest was a banner year. Teen Program Manager,
Nicole Milan-Tyner, reached high schools throughout southern New
Jersey to encourage students to write about their cancer experience
and 100 teens responded from 24 schools.
Congratulations to this year’s winners!
Poetry
1st Place: Steven Layton, Cumberland Regional High School
2nd Place: Katie Rha, Mainland Regional High School
3rd Place: April Tamburo, Absegami High School
Essay
1st Place: Kristen Valenti, Cherokee High School
2nd Place: Bryan Williamson, Egg Harbor Township High School
3rd Place: Jessica Wright, Seneca High School
Thanks to
this year’s judges who took the time to read all the entries:
Abby Hickerson, Dolly Rudloff, Emari DiGiorgio, Joseph Marchetti and
Lauren Hurtt
None of this would be possible were it not for the
generosity of our contest sponsors. Thank you so much for your
on-going support: CapeBank Foundation, South Jersey Industries,
Wawa, Inc.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
 Insomnia
By Katie Rha, Mainland Regional High School
Second Place Winner for Poem
The
inability to sleep
Seemed to dwell on us all,
Replays of the night our hearts’ stopped,
One in particular.
The
difficulty of falling asleep,
For my father, as he bore his eyes into a blank wall.
For my mother, as she struggled to silence her cries.
For me, as I kept from prying my feelings outside my hard shell.
Staying
awake all night
Was beginning to become a habit.
Dark circles under our rubbed eyes.
Muttering, stumbling, whimpering was a daily routine.
Feeling
tired and gloomy
While the world started to close in.
My only companions were my thoughts,
But even they began to be displeasing as my mind played tricks,
arising questions
and wanted answers.
The sounds
of emptiness
Slipping into the house,
A dark cloud, dim light, grey walls
Loomed over us all.
As dew
began to form on the light morning’s grass,
As rain pitter-pattered onto the lingering road,
As days turned into weeks and weeks into months…
When would we ever wake up?
 A Memory of Sadness
By Bryan
Williamson, Egg Harbor Township High School
Second Place Winner for Essay
On
February 25, 2007, the closest thing I had to a best friend was taken
from me. In fact, the person I lost was my best friend. He was also
my grandfather. Joseph A. Williamson III, my beloved best friend, my
grandfather, my mentor, my role model, my confidant, and my hero,
lost a long and stoic battle with cancer on that solemn day in
February. He passed away due to stage four melanoma, one of the most
pernicious forms of cancer.
After the
death of my grandmother in May of 2006, I was able to spend significantly
more time with my grandfather. This was when I finally got to
actually “know” him. We shared numerous enjoyable memories during the
summer of 2006, easily making that summer the best summer of my life.
I thought that those wonderful times with my grandfather would never
end, that they would last forever. Little did I know that his days,
and my days together with him, were numbered.
I first
noticed that something was different about my grandfather during the
fall of 2006. The hearty, convivial man that I knew as my grandfather
began to dissipate. His health started to deteriorate: he walked
slower, breathed heavily, grunted in pain, and he even fell a few
times. However, my grandfather tried his absolute best to conceal his
deteriorating condition. He maintained his smiling countenance, and
he still talked with me in that tender, warmhearted voice that I had
grown to love. My grandfather also fought his cancer to the best of
his ability. He would insist on going for a walk almost every day. He
used all of his strength to go to physical therapy two days a week.
On February 4, 2007, just three weeks before he passed away, he went
outside and threw the football with me to celebrate Super Bowl
Sunday.
The
survival rate for melanoma patients with tumors 4 millimeters or
larger is around 30%. My grandfather’s tumor was nearly the size of a
golf ball. The chances for his survival were thin, but we (my family
and my grandfather) held onto that slight chance as a mountain
climber clings desperately to the edge of a cliff. My grandfather
attended chemotherapy treatment sessions multiple times a week. On
February 22, 2007, my grandfather’s doctor took my father aside after
a chemotherapy treatment. The words he uttered have pierced my ears,
and my heart, ever since I first heard them. With a dispassionate
demeanor, the doctor told my father the same line he had probably
said numerous times before: “We tried all we could. But sometimes the
chemo treatments don’t always work”.
That
night, my grandfather climbed into his bed for the last time. For the
next three days, he did not get out of bed. Simply put, he couldn’t
get out of bed. My grandfather’s last three days were agonizing,
pain-filled days filled with sadness, torn hearts, and tears. On
February 24th, I saw my grandfather for the final time. I walked into
the room where he lay on a hospital bed. His eyes were closed. He was
almost motionless. I could hear his feeble breathing. In. Out. In.
Out. I couldn’t handle seeing such a strong man in such a debilitated
state. I remember running out of the room, with tears streaming down
my cheeks. Eventually, however, I forced myself to go back. When I
came back, the room was silent, except for my grandfather’s
breathing. I walked closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder.
There was an eerie, macabre feeling in the room. The tension was
palpable.
Suddenly,
my grandfather opened his eyes. I’ll never forget those glistening,
hazel eyes looking up at me. He tried to speak, but his words were
barely audible. However, I know exactly what he said to me on that
cold, wintry day, four years ago. “I love you”.
That was
the final time I saw my grandfather alive. He passed away the next
day, February 25, 2007 at around 3:00 PM. What happened in the days
immediately following my grandfather’s death is unclear to me. My
life was a blur. The only notable thing I can remember is feeling
despondent, gloomy, angry, bitter, and remorseful. I was depressed
for months afterward, but eventually my depression faded away,
similar to the subtle changing of the seasons.
Looking
back on my poignant encounter with cancer, one thing is conspicuously
clear: it has drastically changed me. Cancer molded me into who I am
today. Cancer took from me my most prized possession, something that
couldn’t be quantified, something more valuable than a diamond ring,
something that meant more to me than anything. It was a bitter pill
to swallow, watching someone that I loved so dearly get taken away
from me. But cancer was not the victor of this battle. I, along with
my family, my grandfather’s friends, and even the soul of my
grandfather, are still standing when the dust clears. Cancer takes
something physical away from us. But it ultimately cannot take away
our courage, our vitality, and our hope. I have seen death
first-hand, and I know how devastating it can be. But the devastation
and excruciating pain taper off eventually and leave you with a
renewed and increased sense of hope, motivation, and persistence when
you relive in your heart the fond memories of your loved one. Hope
for life. Motivation for living. Persistence to continue on. By taking
from me what I valued most, my dearest, beloved grandfather, cancer
has made me realize the importance of intimate relationships in life,
and to never take for granted what I am given. Someone once said,
“When the heart weeps for what it has lost, the soul laughs for what
it has found.” My heart weeps, and will always weep, for the loss of
my grandfather, but the enlightenment that my soul has found as a
result of that loss is priceless, and most certainly worth living
for.
|
View
message 
Comment
on this message 
Receive
as RSS 
del.icio.us
Digg
reddit
Facebook
StumbleUpon