Dear Cancer: I hate you.

The first time you came into my life, I was 16. You came and took away my mom's breast. You made her lay in the hospital bed and lose all her hair. You took away my entire Senior year of high school and all the special times I should have shared with my mom.

Then, you went the hell away. And stayed gone for almost 14 years.

In May, you came back and into my dad's body. You took the light out of my dad's eyes. My sweet little dad who is only 57 years old. You've made him an old man before his time. You've made me cry more times than I count, for this man, my dad. You've made him walk all hunched over and have headaches that last 30 hours. You've taken away my entire Senior year of college and all the special times I should have been able to share with my dad.

And it's not fair.

My parents, both of them, have taken care of their bodies. They've done the right things. They've not been overweight. They've not smoked cigarettes or done drugs or even drank alcohol. They exercise every day. They've done the right things.

And still, you've come.

Today, my mom called me and said you might be back. She has to visit the oncologist tomorrow. She's not feeling well. She sounds scared on the phone.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. There are not even words for how much I hate you.