I have a second chance. Cancer isn't always as kind.

Some of you know that I had a deadline the other day to meet a $5,000 goal for my LIVESTRONG fundraising. I didn't make that goal. As it prohibited me from being able to fulfill a promise to my daughter, I was pretty disappointed.

On a personal level, and please do not take this the wrong way or as me being ungrateful, it was most disappointing to have worked so hard this year, while fighting cancer actively, running 2 major events that beat last year's numbers, and to have still fallen short. Previous "angel" donors weren't able to give me a boost this year, and I'd made the mistake of thinking that one of my events would have been bigger than expected, and I didn't run with a couple of smaller events.

In the past, I would have beat myself up into a pulp, cried my eyes out, and second-guessed every decision I made that caused me to fail. I'd have then turned my self-loathing into anger and lashed out at every single individual like a petulant child.

You do realize that when I say, "In the past," I'm referring to just over one year ago, right?

Don't I look like myself?

That bratty single child in me is, at this moment, lying face down in her bed, kicking and screaming, tearing at pillows, refusing to come down for dinner and making the lives of all around her a living hell. But she's a much smaller part of me.

Well, maybe not. This goal was a big one. I was resigned to the fact that $25,000 was going to be out of reach and gave in to the $15,000 goal. As time ticked away, and the donations just didn't come in the way that they did last year, I started to panic, but LIVESTRONG set a special incentive at the $5,000 mark that made it "ok" to "settle" for $5,000.

I assumed, making an ass out of you and me, that the money would just come in effortlessly. Until the deadline passed, and I was still short.

Unlike cancer, which rarely gives second chances, LIVESTRONG gave an extension to those of us reaching for the $5,000 mark.

I now have until 5pm Friday, October 5, 2012, to finish raising $5,000.

As of right now, I am $1,500 away from the mark. That seems like a lot, doesn't it? But, here's the way I see it.

I have 1,716 Facebook friends. I have 678 connections on LinkedIn. I have 1,212 Twitter followers. Of course, there is quite a bit of crossover, so let's figure that there are 500 "real" people all told.

If I do the math correctly, if all of the 500 "real" people I presume are, in fact, "real," that means each would only have to donate $3 in the next 24 hours in order to meet the goal.

That's it. It's totally do-able.

So, now, I just have to figure out how to reach those 500 "real" people.

Are you one of the "real" ones?

Absent friends

Annually, December 15 brings dread. It has since 1992. 20 years ago, at just about this time, there was an interruption in the universe that so many people were unaware of, but shattered life as I knew it. One man's poor choice in life ended my best friend's life. It wasn't in a flash, his demise was a drawn out circumstance. A series of poor decisions. One that could have been prevented a thousand ways.

He was a suicide survivor. He'd faced death and found a new life once he lived again. He discovered a new mission. His future was laying at his feet, and it was so ridiculously bright and full of light. He had a heart, a mind, a smile and a relationship and work ethic that inspired so many around him.

And, just like that, his light was snuffed out.

He didn't get to have a diagnosis. He didn't have the chance to consult with doctors. He didn't have the opportunity to have surgery. He wasn't lucky enough to have chemotherapy as a tool.

All he had time to do was to get hit head on by a drunk driver at an intersection, then sit in his car, legs pinned by a steering wheel, wait for emergency services, ask for help getting out, and, with one person's turned back, he and the car were gone in a flash.

As I've been fighting my fight, as grateful as I am for the support network that has emerged, largely out of the woodwork, I'm just as aware, and mournful, of absent friends. Those that I'd give anything, absolutely anything, to hold hands with, consult with, laugh with, and share with.

Aaron comes to mind immediately. I swore to myself I wouldn't forget what his laugh sounded like, but as time passes, I'm starting to have to sit down and think hard, and then, I struggle to remember. Then I remember his smile, which is marked indelibly in my mind, and his laugh makes me smile. I remember the first time we danced. I remember the close friend I had. The hugs and embraces, awkward and loving, we shared.

Aaron was my guardian. He made that abundantly clear, not only because he told me repeatedly, but because he showed that in his actions. Even after he was gone, his protection was apparent. He's still here, even though he's not. It's a curse and a blessing.

But when I close my eyes, it doesn't matter, because I can see his face, his smile, and I feel safe again, if only for that moment. I know his presence is here, keeping me safe.

Tomorrow, I go in for Round 3. I won't see him. I can't talk to him. But I know he'll be there, by my side, watching over everything. After 20 years, I know that much hasn't stopped.

Aaron is the one who taught me not only how to LIVE STRONG, but that I had to LIVE STRONG.