Gray clouds drifted in the sky that day; leftover snow and ice crusted the ground, frost covered the grass. As all the other fourth graders exploded out of the building that November day, she stayed still. She looked up at the still sky above, and simply asked God why? The anger, fear, pain and confusion consumed her. Tears welled in her eyes, bubbled over, and ran down her face. She took off her backpack and knelt. Taking out the scissors she grabbed a fist-full of hair and began to chop. Lock after lock of her golden brown hair fell to the frost covered ground. Searing pain shot through her, to her skull and in her heart, yet the sensation was almost soothing. She no longer needed her hair; she would no longer have her brunet features in the months to come anyway. What does Ewing’s Sarcoma mean anyway? What does malignant mean to a ten year old? Nothing except, I don’t need my hair.  She stands, lifts her backpack, and moves on, her worn sneakers scuffing the pavement. Explosive pain follows her, and many trials loom before her, but new found strength goes with her… with the loss of her hair. She must live.

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