Cancer took my favorite person from me.  I was the first baby in the family.  From the moment I was born, my Aunt Debbie doted on me, and spoiled me rotten.  I grew up knowing I had the prettiest, kindest aunt of any kid in the world.  I loved my time with her.  She let me do all the things my parents wouldn't let me do at home.  I got to watch all the rated R movies, eat chocolate chip cookies for dinner, play with pocket knives, and ride dirt bikes when I spent the weekend at Aunt Debbie's house.  On Friday nights, sometimes she'd take me to work with her.  I loved going to her office.  Debbie worked at The Grand Ole Opry, where she was nicknamed Dobro Debbie, and I was awestruck by all the country music stars that wandered the halls there.  Dolly Parton, Porter Waggoner, Roy Acuff, Bill Monroe, Grandpa Jones, and countless others all had a part in my childhood because of my Aunt Debbie.  She was my special person.

Eventually, I had a sister, and Aunt Debbie adopted two children of her own, although she never married (she had more love to give, she said).  Even with the other kids stealing her attention, she always made a point to whisper in my ear, "You know you're always my favorite."  I did, too.  I knew it.  We had a special bond.

In 1998, Debbie was diagnosed with breast cancer.  It was a scare to us all, but after treatments and a mastectomy, the doctors thought she had dodged a bullet.  Things were fine for several years, but in 2002 she learned the cancer had metastasized into her bones.  She fought for 4 years, but at the beginning of 2006, she asked to stop treatments.  She was tired - tired of fighting, and tired of being sick.  The next few months were brutal.  The cancer was relentless and unsympathetic.  Nobody should have to endure what that cancer did to my Aunt Debbie's body.  Finally, on April 13, 2006, cancer took my favorite person from me.

I very literally think about her everyday, and I'll be thinking of her every time I'm trying to muster the strength and endurance to push through the training for this fight.  She'll be in my head and in my heart on fight night.  I wish I could have kicked cancer's ass for my Aunt Debbie, but maybe now we can do it for somebody else's favorite person.