In July 2005, Amy Wilson was diagnosed with breast cancer. In the months that followed, Amy endured a lumpectomy, a mastectomy, reconstruction, and chemotherapy. In January 2006, Amy's treatment ended. And she set off on a journey of survivorship.

In August 2006, Amy found out her cancer had spread to her brain and lungs. Her doctors gave her two to 12 months to live. On Thursday, October 5, 2006, Amy died. She was 35 years old.

Amy became my friend shortly after her original diagnosis and eight months after my own breast cancer diagnosis. A mutual friend brought us together and for a little more than one year, we shared a rich connection, cemented in shared struggles and victories. Through phone conversations and e-mail exchanges and cards and gifts sent through the mail, Amy and I shared a special friendship. But I never looked Amy in the eye, never offered her a hug, never met her husband and children. I knew her only from a distance. Still, our partnership was powerful. It was comforting. And sadly, it is over.

Our same mutual friend called me Friday morning to tell me Amy had passed away -- a mere 15 months after her battle began, three months shy of the end-of-treatment anniversary she happily anticipated, five years from the age of 40 -- the age she had determined would mark her first true survivor milestone.

I miss Amy. I miss the pieces of hope that vanished with her death. I miss that I never met her, never hugged her, never said goodbye.

Amy, whose journey was chronicled in her local Ohio newspaper, is survived by her husband, her two children -- Luke, age five and Ella, age two -- and among others, her mother, who is currently fighting her own breast cancer battle.