Semantics? Perhaps.

We support those whose lives have been 
touched by cancer

is a common phrase used by
cancer societies, foundations and organizations offering assistance.

Touched?

My life was not touched by Erin's cancer diagnosis. I find the word to be much too gentle, too kind, too humane... almost intimate.  Erin certainly felt more than the mere brush of a hand.  A cancer diagnosis brings with it the impact of a hurricane; its winds scatter the debris left by the force that has upended its victim's tidy life, and its torrents of water threaten to drown those of us who work diligently to make headway through the devastation in the aftermath of the upheaval.

Invaded. Assaulted. Broken. Changed.

These feel more accurate.

Touched? I don't think so.

~ ~ ~

This poor mother has lost her child to cancer.

Lost? No.

Erin was taken from me by a disease.

She died. She passed away.

I did not lose my child. I was meticulously conscientious. I understood her diagnosis. I took her to treatments and I gave her treatments. I watched everything.  I saw too much. I followed the instructions of the doctors.  I gave her the correct medication when I was supposed to.  I took her to school. Once she had her license, I leant her my car. She took herself where she needed to go. Out with friends. To radiation. To coach volleyball.  To college. I respected her judgement and I trusted her to be independent yet cautious, but I knew where she was at all times. My instincts told me, even when she was a normal teenager and forgot to call.

I lost carries a connotation of carelessness, a lack of accountability and forgetfulness. I have lost my keys. I've lost phone numbers. I've lost my place in a book and I suppose I've lost my marbles for short periods of time.

But, I was very responsible and always took good care of Erin.

I did not lose her.
How could I possibly lose anything that dear to me?

She died.

~ ~ ~

After a valiant three-year fight, 

Erin Potts lost her battle with cancer.

I personally don't care for the use of lost here either. 

Erin maintained courage, dignity and grace.

Those dying of cancer all have a staggering ability to do just that.
They live with a looming deadline, the unimaginable,
and all the while they enrich the lives of those
who stand with them.
That's not losing, it's rising to another level of being.

Over the course of three years, cancer eventually made its way throughout much of Erin's body. In spite of the attempts of the physical encumbrances to slow her, she persisted on, living until she took her last breath.  She had strong ideas about certain things and made conscious choices until the very end about the way she wanted to live her life.  Her spirit transcended the physical effects of the disease.  We saw her strength outshine her pain. Her smile lit up the room.  She accepted her course and she was the winner.

On the last day, Erin was finally at peace.
She did not lose to cancer.
People who die from cancer are not losers.
~ ~ ~
Semantics? Perhaps.

PS ~ Please click on the comments below, and read the entry written by Barbara about word connotations as they pertain to the subject of suicide. At my first meeting with the TCF group, she shared information about the preferred phraseology concerning her son's death.  Prior to my attendance at group meetings with TCF and due to the fact that my experiences have been limited primarily to the cancer-world, I was naive on many levels about the subject of suicide and about things other families face related to the sudden deaths of their children.  I'm grateful to be enlightened by our group members on an ongoing basis in areas that are foreign to me. Thank you for sharing, Barbara.  As painful as all of this is, we truly do learn from one another's experiences, don't we?
Thank you to Robin as well.