Kimberlly Renee Thomas was a single mother of two amazing children who were the light of her life.  An aspiring chef, Kim worked a variety of different jobs trying to support her family setting aside whatever was left over in the hopes of one day going to culinary school.

At age 29, Kim found a lump underneath her arm.  With the long history of breast cancer in her family, she thought it might be worth looking into but, with no health insurance, she figured she was probably too young for it to really be anything to worry about.  She didn’t share the news.

Several months passed and the lump started to become painful.  Kim also noticed that it had grown.  Although she had gotten a job with health benefits, they didn’t take effect until 90 days.  She’d heard about pre-existing conditions so she wasn’t sure if she should go to a free clinic.  Fortunately, I was in town to run in the October 2006 Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.  The night before the race, Kim mentioned the lump.  Immediately concerned, I called the rest of the family.

Fortunately, Kim’s 90-day point was only a couple of days later.  The breast exam, the mammogram and the biopsy happened in quick succession.  The walk to the doctor’s office was almost unbearable.  Then came the news that would change the lives of so many in unimaginable ways.  Breast Cancer, Stage II.

Since Kim was so young, aggressive treatment was deemed most appropriate. Her oncologist decided on two cocktails of chemotherapy, a course of treatment that would last 24 weeks.  By Christmas 2006, she’d lost all of her hair.

The next few weeks didn’t change much in Kim’s eyes.  She still had two kids to take care of and a ton of bills to pay.  Other than chemotherapy treatments and booster shots, Kim didn’t slow down one tiny bit, despite her doctor’s recommendations. 

The first cocktail seemed to be working.  The lump was shrinking and the doctors were optimistic.  The second cocktail, however, seemed to have the opposite effect.  Her lump began to get bigger and health was slowly deteriorating.  The chemo wasn’t working.

A unilateral mastectomy was the next course of action.  A biopsy of the lump revealed a term we would never forget. 

“It’s called Triple Negative Breast Cancer.  We think we got it all but…it’s aggressive.  It’s the most aggressive.  It’s…the most fatal.”

The doctors decided to do a round of radiation just to be sure.  After three months of radiation and a PET scan that was “all clear”, Kim was out of the woods and a sigh of relief ran through our entire family.  It was August 2007 and it was finally starting to feel like summer.

While in the middle of radiation, Kim was called into Human Resources office.  “We’re going to have to let you go.  You’re costing too much in health insurance,” she was told.  After working tirelessly night after night, 12-14 hours on her feet, Kim decided it was time to take a break.  She decided to move back to El Paso, Texas where she’d grown up.  Always the workaholic, it didn’t take long for her to become restless.  She felt that she was given a second chance at life. It was time to make a move.  After years of putting it off, she finally enrolled in school.

Born to cook, Kim started getting excited for one of her favorite holidays, Thanksgiving.  She started having difficulty with simple tasks like writing her name and thinking of words she used on a regular basis.  Soon, the migraines came and vomiting followed.  Worry set in and it was back to the doctor.

“I don’t really know how the tell you this.  Your cancer is back.  It’s spread.  It’s on your liver, your lungs and your brain.  It’s Stage IV…we’ll try to buy you some time.  You probably have somewhere between 6-18 months.” 

It was December 11, 2007.  It was the day of the first ever Triple Negative Breast Cancer Symposium. 

Daily treatments of radiation, a course of chemotherapy and a strong will to fight were not enough to win her battle with breast cancer.  We lost our Kimmy on February 29, 2008.  Her 32nd birthday was the next day.

Throughout her life, Kim was known for a smile that could knock you off your feet and the most infectious laugh ever heard.  Kimberlly’s kids, Tiffany and Malcolm, were the light of her life and now light up mine every day.  In a way I’m sure she couldn’t even imagine, she’s challenged us to become a stronger family, full of fight and full of love. 

Being unable to help her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  But watching her fight, and surprisingly, even watching her let go, taught me invaluable lessons for my life.  My big sister is “that woman” for me. 

“That woman” who knows strength beyond our natural human ability.

“That woman” whose death somehow gave us a life we’d otherwise never know.

My big sister Kim - that’s my girl.