Carlie Kreutzer`

Miss Schmidt
AP English Language and Composition
November 15, 2018
It’s Not About the Destination, It’s About the Journey

If you think about your closest loved ones, more often than not there are people in your

life who you consider family, despite what genetics reveal. You may or may not go as far to call

these people “Aunt and Uncle”. Personally, Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Dominique are as close to

family as it comes. My father and Uncle Jonathan pledged the same fraternity, Sigma Nu, in

1986 at Bethany College. They were, and still are, the best of friends, and there is a plethora of

stories to support this statement. The Thayils have always had a special place in our heart, and

whenever we visit each other, it’s as if we never skipped a beat. They live in Frederick,

Maryland with two kids – Emma, 17 and Kelman, 14. For as long as I can remember, I would

consistently ponder the supportive friendship between the two families and realize how much I

want that type of trust in a relationship.

Our families would go on vacations together in the summer, as Emma’s birthday and my

birthday are three days apart, and we would also celebrate New Year’s Eve together, as that is

my parents’ anniversary. Often when growing up, we would drive to Frederick, or the Thayils

would drive to Pittsburgh just for a visit. Emma and I were best friends since birth, just as our

fathers were best friends. Before the time of iPods, we would write letters to each other, and I

even specifically remember using the chat rooms on the Webkinz website to talk to her. We

would do anything just to update each other. Our friendship was irreplaceable, and still is today.

When I was nine-years-old, I received some unexpected news. Aunt Dominque had been

diagnosed with Stage Four Breast Cancer. At the time, I did not completely understand the full
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complexity of the diagnosis, or the fatal factor of the disease. I can still hear my father telling me

before they were coming to visit, “She is going to be wearing a hat, because her hair is gone, and

she has to draw on her eyebrows. Please don’t stare, she’s still your Aunt Dom.”

A little while later, we had received the overwhelmingly exciting news that Aunt Dom

was in remission, meaning the doctor was unable to find any visible sign of cancer. Of course, I

was still only about ten-years-old when this occurred, so I still did not have complete knowledge

of remission. For me, remission meant “cancer free”, which is far from the truth. Looking back, I

now realize I wish I would have known how common it was for a cancer patient in remission to

be re-diagnosed with the same form, or more aggressive form, of cancer.

As expected, her cancer did return after a year of remission. This time, it was more

aggressive than ever. I still can recall getting updates from my parents, as they would tell me that

Aunt Dom was getting surgery, scans, or tests done to observe and try to combat the cancer. Her

condition was up and down for a long while. Going through middle school, I remember being

confused as to why it seemed like one day her scans revealed that her tumors had been

significantly reduced, then the next day it was as if the cancer had taken over. I kept asking

myself, “why does it seem as if they take one step forward, and two steps back in terms of

beating this awful life-stealing monster?”

The summer of 2015 is the first time I was significantly exposed to her brutal condition.

Since Emma and I were the best of friends, or more like sisters who always spent their birthdays

together, the Thayils had invited me to go to Anna Maria Island, Florida with them. The rest of

my family were not able to come on the trip. The day of our flight from Baltimore to Tampa,

Aunt Dom had to have a minor procedure of fluid being removed from her lungs. She had this

procedure done before, so it was no worry. I remember being upset that we had to spend a few
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hours at Johns Hopkins Hospital because I so eagerly urged to be on the beach in Florida.

Because I spent a week with the Thayils, I was able to get first-hand experience of Aunt Dom’s

condition. My eyes were opened as I quickly realized her everyday tasks were not so simple. She

was instructed by her doctor to write down every instance during the day where she coughed up

mucus from her lungs. She had an abundance of medication to consume, and it was visible how

weak she was. The summer before eighth grade was the time where I understood her condition in

a way I never have before. She was dying.

After the Anna Maria trip, I began to think about Aunt Dom more than usual. She started

to become my source of inspiration, where I would draw my strength. I started to do make an

extra effort, such as pray for her to be healed, or write her initials on my basketball shoes so I

would constantly be reminded of her resilience. I often found myself thinking about the “what

ifs”. What if she never had cancer? When will this all be over? Will she ever beat it? Will it get

worse? Will she die?

I can’t count the numerous FaceTime calls and text messages with my closest friends

when I was either crying or on the verge of tears because the “what ifs” overflowed my thoughts.

Her condition was still up and down as it previously had been. Another Anna Maria Island

vacation was planned for the summer of 2016. I was nervous, yet still excited as always to see

my second family, but mainly anxious for how Aunt Dom would be. It would be the first time I

would spend a long period of time with her since the year before. Little did I know how joyful

and memorable that week would be.

The Anna Maria trip in the summer of 2016 is how I picture Aunt Dom when I think of

her. She had a surge of energy, an upbeat personality, and she added one of the most entertaining

aspects of the week. She took peaceful walks on the beach, woke up early for sunrises and to
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collect shells with my cousins and me, and she had this newfound liveliness about her that filled

the room with a positive vibe. Being that our beach house had a pool, we would spend all of our

time outside. Our time with each other was limited, so we always made the most of it. One night,

as we were outside listening to music and laughing the night away, Aunt Dom spontaneously

decided to push my dad in the pool, then follow by jumping in herself, fully clothed of course.

All of our faces lit up even more, and in that moment, I didn’t think about cancer, lifespan, or

tumors. I thought about how blessed I was to have been able to have an extremely loving and

supportive family.

New Year’s Eve 2016 was spent in a family member’s cabin in Hidden Valley. We had

been receiving several updates about how Aunt Dom was declining, so we were unsure as to

expect when she walked through the door. She appeared to be walking a little slower, speaking

with more difficulty, and overall was weaker. However, we were still optimistic that this would

all go away.

The summer of 2017 was when Emma turned sixteen years old. A few weeks before we

left for another trip to Anna Maria (this time only I would be going on the trip, not the whole

family), she planned a sweet sixteenth birthday party. Again, we were notified that her condition

had gone severely downhill, and again, we did not know what to expect. Her cancer had

metastasized throughout her body, leaving a small chance she would survive. I can hear my dad

saying to us as we pulled up to their house, “Be ready, this is not going to be pretty.” Walking in

that door was not easy but seeing her would be even more difficult. I saw her in a way I never

have before. She was unrecognizable. Her feet and legs were swollen, she had a walker and cane

next to her, needed an oxygen machine to breath and an almost lifeless look. This is when I knew

she was close to the end.

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A few weeks later, we took a train to Anna Maria, as it was too difficult to obtain the

specific type of oxygen tank to fly. Watching her attempt to walk up the stairs on the train was

heartbreaking, she had little to no strength left in her body. That week, she got down to the beach

twice, with the assistance of a specialized beach wheelchair, and dipped her feet in the water

once. On our way home, I was thinking about how I was to explain her situation to my parents,

but in their hearts they already knew.

A week later, my family and I went to Deep Creek, Maryland. Emma was supposed to

join us, but because of Aunt Dom’s declining condition, she had to stay home. On July 31st, 2017

Aunt Dom was admitted to the hospital for shortness of breath. As I received the text from

Emma explaining the situation, I was hopeful, but also realized the odds of her surviving were

little. She told me how the pneumonia in her lungs was causing issues and she also had low

platelets. She was on three antibiotics, a nebulizer treatment, and IV fluids. At this point, they

were attempting to keep her comfortable, as they signed a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) form,

saying that if her heart begins to fail, they will let her pass away instead of reviving her.

On August 2, 2017 at 4:56 AM, Emma texted me saying, “She’s gone Carlie…I don’t

know what to do.” The tears begin to roll down my face, but I suddenly felt a sense of peace, as I

knew she was home with God.

The next day, I posted a photo on Instagram of her holding up a pink shirt which said

“Pink Warrior” on the front of it. I received dozens of uplifting messages from the ones I love

the most, and those who knew my aunt’s condition. I was overwhelmed with the love I was

given. One comment in particular stood out to me; not in the words that were said, but who the

author of the comment was. Sean Nolan, a rising junior at a neighboring school commented,

“God has a plan. I’m so sorry Carlie.” This simple, yet compelling comment stood out because
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almost a year earlier, in October of 2016, Sean had been diagnosed with Burkitt Lymphoma, and

was diagnosed cancer-free in late January of 2017. I knew who he was through a numerous

amount of friends who went to school with him. Through following his Instagram, I was able to

see his upbeat spirit and love for life, which made me overjoyed. I wondered why someone who

had beaten cancer himself and someone who only knew me through mutual friends took the time

out of his day to not only comment on my post, but text me on Snapchat asking how I was.

I was amazed by the way in which he never left my side and always knew when I was

having rough moments. Sean Nolan was, and still is, one of the only people in my life who I

open up to about a lot of issues. We quickly became best friends who understand each other like

no other. I truly believe that without Sean, I would not have been able to get through the period

after Aunt Dom had passed. For me, Sean is a constant reminder that Aunt Dom’s legacy lives

on. When I talk to him every day, I see her love for life, joyful spirit, and resilience in his eyes,

and I smile.

Personally, I am a believer in enjoying the moment. But as I look back on the events of

Aunt Dom passing away, I am flooded with emotions. Additionally, I realize how, because of her

long battle, I have not only grown as a young woman, but also has a child of God. My faith was

tested when I was unsure as to why God took a beautiful human from this earth, but then

strengthened as I met Sean and am reminded that I would not have a friend like him, had it not

been for my aunt’s passing. Her story provides strength for me, because when I am going

through a rough time, I can look back on her battle and realize that if she can endure a brutal pain

for six years, I can make it through my temporary struggles.