MIAMI – With her long silky hair, Jessica LaBonte was a beautiful bride. She wore a mermaid gown with organza ruffles. Her 6-inch platform heels had a shimmery broach with Swarovski crystals.
LaBonte liked bling and muscly men. A handsome Cuban-American stole her heart at a Miami Heat game. He noticed her green eyes. She noticed his dark caramel skin and dimples when he smiled.
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Months later, I would run into the family of sport fanatics at a Miami Heat game. LaBonte's T-shirt, hat and nails were decorated with rhinestones.
"Matthew is the little one. He likes baseball like his dad. Jim plays football," she said. "And Franky is obsessed with the Miami Heat. He got that from his mom."
That was one of the scenarios I had envisioned, as I hoped that one day she would be able to put breast cancer behind her. It never happened. Instead, the last time I saw her, she was bald and was wearing a plain thin gown at the University of Miami hospital near Miami's Overtown.
Our two-year friendship was short, but important. We met on Facebook through a friend we had in common. LaBonte inspires me to keep on walking even when I want to stop and take a break, because the road is getting tough.
HONORING PATIENTS | Inspirational stories
Medical jargon peppered our introductions.
"I'm stage III, Her2 negative and estrogen and progesterone positive. No one in my family has been diagnosed, as far as I know."
That meant that the cancerous cells found in my left breast and lymph nodes fed on hormones. And there are drugs that have shown to be effective on these type of cancers.
"I'm triple-negative," she said. "I don't know the stage. I think its a III ... my grandmother and mother died of breast cancer."
The triple-negative cancer cells do not need hormones to support its growth. And they are aggressive. There is no targeted therapy available yet. Only about 15 to 20 percent of the cases are triple-negative, but it has a high rate among women in their 20s and 30s. It also has a high rate among African Americans and Hispanics.
There were differences among us that went beyond the medical protocols. But we both loved life and our frustrations and fears were nearly identical. From one day to another our mascara, high heels, clutch hand bags, push-up bras and fitted party dresses were rendered useless.
The University of New Hampshire graduate loved to socialize. She had worked at the Loews Hotel in Miami Beach, as assistant to the VIP manager for about four years, when an NBA player recommended her for a dream job. She joined the Miami Heat family in 2006. She was a premium services account manager when we met.
"I miss my health, my freedom, my beauty ... All this has turned me into a little monster in seclusion."
"I know how you feel," she said. "We will get it all back, after we get through this."
When death feels close, philosophizing becomes a spontaneous act. We were talking about the soul and the spirit, when I came up with a weird idea.
"Since we are going to be friends forever, I think we should make a pact. If there is an after-life, whoever dies first must send a message to the other."
She agreed. I forgot about our deal and hoped that it would become relevant when we had wrinkles, were grandmothers and had reached our 70s.
HONORING THEIR MEMORY | Fighting until the end
The evil cells made their way to her brain. She couldn't drive, because there were tumors affecting her balance and peripheral vision. More chemo and radiation would follow, before an oncologist with pain in his eyes would tell her dad, Jim LaBonte, that there was nothing else he could do.
Our last outing was to Serendipity 3, a restaurant in Miami Beach. She wore a pretty long maxi-dress, a long wig and make-up. She picked an ice cream dessert. It was an adventurous choice for a woman who had spent several months on a strict sugar-free raw food diet that excluded animal products.
"This is so good. I just can't stop eating it," she said.
A friend and I took her home. The next time I would see her was at UM hospital's ninth floor. Minutes after I arrived, she had a seizure. I saw the terror in her father's eyes. I ran outside to get help.
Days later, they moved her to the palliative care wing on the seventh floor.
"The goal is to keep her comfortable and manage her pain," her dad said. He rarely left her side.
Before we lost her to high dosages of morphine, I was able to hug her good bye.
"I love you Jess. I will be back tomorrow."
"I love you too," she said. "We hugged."
I would never see her that conscious again. I went to visit her every day. The hospital boutique, which is now closed, had plenty of useless "get well soon" items. I got a bunch of happy face balloons that got in the palliative care nurses' way.
I later opted for more ephemeral things like aromatherapy for the room and coffee and wine for her family. As the days passed, and all you could hear is her heavy, rhythmic breathing -- there was an air of powerlessness in her room. We all wanted her around, but we also wanted her suffering to end.
She had fought for two years, and after trying it all -- she died Sept. 24, 2013. She was 35. There was a fundraiser for the Triple Negative Breast Cancer Foundation in her memory, and a stylish memorial at Hyde, a club inside the AmericanAirlines Arena. Some days later, her dad invited us over to her apartment for dinner.
"If there is anything here that you want to take, you can," her dad said.
She hadn't even died, when I heard one of her friends had taken a Louis Vuitton purse, and another wanted one of her Miami Heat championship rings. I didn't want to be a part of that.
"No, thank you. She lives in my heart."
Her dad opened the 11th floor balcony door. The breeze knocked out a small card from a shelf. It fell unto the floor, and the wind pushed it closer to my feet. I picked it up. It wasn't addressed to anyone.
I was seating near a ceramic container used to keep her ashes. In a way, the courageous fighter had won the battle. The cancer was dead. And in her memory, many would make tribute donations for research.
In my grief, I thought that the fallen card was a gift from my friend. And that perhaps, she was keeping her promise on our after-life experiment.
Here is the message on the card:
What cancer cannot do
It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot conquer faith
It cannot destroy peace
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot steal eternal life
ON THE WEB | How to make a tribute donation for triple-negative breast cancer research
COMPLETE COVERAGE | Your health 