This Sunday, March 11th 2012 will mark the 8th anniversary of my wife’s passing from this horrible disease. She was 36 years old and we were two weeks shy of our 11th wedding anniversary and it was only three weeks after our daughter turned 6.

Christmas Eve was always one of Cee-Cee’s favorite days but Christmas Eve in 1999 was different. Her stomach was bothering her and she didn’t get to enjoy the usual feast that my family prepared. We didn’t really think it was anything to worry about and with all the Y2K stuff a week away, we were pre-occupied.

The discomfort continued after the New Year and she went to the doctor for an ultrasound where they saw a large cyst and we made an appointment to have it removed a week or so later.

January 28th, 2000 was a crisp, clear day. A little warm for January, but the bare trees and low sun reminded you of the time of year all the same.

When we arrived at St. Vincent’s hospital, we were laughing and joking as we usually did, that was the one thing that was always present in our relationship—laughter. We settled into a room and waited. The doctor came in and spoke with us, we kissed good-bye and Cee-Cee went in while I went into the waiting room. It was a little after 1 in the afternoon.

The waiting room was pretty crowded and there was a TV on in the corner, I was reading a book and barely noticed the time slipping by. As darkness began to fall and the waiting room began to empty, I started to feel an uneasiness. When the 5 o’clock news started on the TV, I was the only one left and was now concerned. The Doctor appeared in the doorway and he was white as a ghost. “We need to talk,” he said to me and we proceeded down an empty hallway. I had no idea what I was about to hear but I knew it couldn’t be good.

When he told me Cee-Cee had Ovarian cancer and that it had spread outside of her pelvic area, I felt like someone hit me in the head with a brick. My knees buckled and I felt like a lost child. He gave me some options and I said that I would rather discuss it with her. He pointed me to a phone but I couldn’t dial, I couldn’t even speak. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but I could do nothing but cry. I finally picked up the phone and called my mother and Cee-Cee’s sister Pat.

When Cee-Cee came to a few hours later (I think, time became a fog at that point) I was by her side. She knew immediately that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” I answered without being able to look her in the eyes.
“I can see the clock, I know something is wrong.”
The doctor was nearby, we both knew that I would not be able to deliver the news. When he finished explaining to her, Cee-Cee smiled (she had the most beautiful smile) at me and I saw a strength that I had never seen before and that I would never have. She said she would fight this and that she would win and she wanted to call her family. What still amazes me is that a still half dazed Cee-Cee called her family and assured them that she would fight and she would be okay.

The surgery was the following Tuesday and because of her age they were able to be aggresive and attack every cell that they could see and even some they weren’t sure of. Chemo was next and Cee-Cee once again took control, shaving her own head so that the disease wouldn’t control her. Six months later, she was feeling good and it looked like she was going into remission.

They always told us that if it was coming back, it would probably do so within two years. Almost two years to the day it came back. Cee-Cee once again was strong and defiant. She had the surgery and treatments and kept smiling the entire time. She even comforted the new patients while she was getting chemo, helping them deal with it as well.

Six months later, it was back again and this time it wasn’t going away no matter what. When the doctor told me that she probably wouldn’t make it another year I locked myself in the basement of the pizzeria that I owned at the time and broke everything I could get my hands on. I threw things, I screamed and yelled and then cried. When my parents got to me I was slumped against the wall.

The next few months were brutal, how could I look at her smiling and fighting, even while she was wasting away, smiling and fighting and I knew the end was inevitable and coming? That was the most difficult time in my life. I was resigned to what was happening, I was trying to prepare myself and she would still never give up. It was so hard to look at her knowing this.

Thursday, March 11th, 2004 at approximately 10:40 PM, Cee-Cee took her last breath and I was by her side. The most difficult thing that I have ever done in my life was the next morning, telling our 6 year old daughter that Mommy went to Heaven the night before.

The wake was on the Saturday and Sunday that followed and the crowd was so large that the funeral home opened three rooms for us. I was overwhelmed at the amount of people that came to say good-bye to her. Thinking about it now, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Cee-Cee’s smile and her faith, strength and courage touched many people.

In the year that followed, I was consumed by anger and it has taken me eight years and this site to finally allow me to air out Cee-Cee’s story. I truly believe that she watches over me and every thing I do, I believe she is always still with me and helped me through that dark year and helped me get my life back together. I still see her smile everyday, I miss her and not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.

Danny Konczynski
Staten Island, NY