A final piece of advice from Holly Butcher - written the day before she passed away from cancer at just 27:
“It’s a strange thing knowing you’re going to die young.
At 26, I thought I had time…
To fall in love.
Start a family.
Grow old.
But cancer doesn’t care about plans.
Now, I understand how fragile life really is. Every single day is a gift, not a guarantee.
I’m not writing this to scare you. I’m writing to remind you: really live.
Stop stressing over little things. Be kind to your body- move it, nourish it, stop criticizing it. One day you’ll wish you had appreciated it.
Go outside.
Look at the sky.
Feel the sun.
Just be.
Spend less time chasing “stuff” - more time making memories. Don’t skip moments with people you love.
Laugh more.
Write a note.
Tell someone you love them.
Complain less.
Give more.
Helping others brings more joy than anything you can buy.
Be present.
Put your phone down.
Show up - really show up.
You don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t need a perfect body, or a perfect life.
Just follow what makes your heart light up. Say no to what drains you. Make changes when you need to.
And please - donate blood. I wouldn’t have had that extra year without it. And that year gave me memories I’ll hold close… forever.
Thank you for reading this.
Live your life well.
And maybe… we’ll meet again someday.”
Holly 🩷
Repost & share Holly’s important advice. ❤️
I’m a big guy. I’ve been lifting weights for ten years. I look intimidating, I guess. I was at Planet Fitness doing bench presses. I noticed a kid in the corner. He was maybe 16, really overweight. He was looking around like he was terrified someone was going to laugh at him. He walked over to the dumbbells, picked up the lightest ones, and did a few awkward curls. He stopped, looked in the mirror, and hung his head. He was about to leave. He looked like he was about to quit before he even started. I racked my weights and walked over to him. He flinched when he saw me coming. He thought I was going to make fun of him. 'Hey man,' I said. He looked down. 'I’m leaving, sorry.' 'No,' I said. 'I was just gonna say, your form is a little off. You’re gonna hurt your back.' I picked up a weight. 'Tuck your elbows. Like this. Slow down.' He copied me. 'There you go,' I grinned. 'That’s the muscle working.' We trained together for an hour. I showed him the ropes. At the end, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. 'I almost walked out,' he admitted. 'I felt stupid.' 'We all started somewhere,' I told him. 'I used to be 50 pounds heavier than you. The only bad workout is the one you didn't do.' He’s been my gym partner for six months now. He’s down 40 pounds. Strength isn't about how much you can lift. It’s about lifting others up with you.
Anonymous