Tears are streaming down my face. I can't stop them, and I'm not sure I want to. In a way, I want to feel the tragedy of life lost to cancer because it makes it all real. It makes it personal. It makes me realize the same tragedy could happen to me, my family members, my friends. It makes me want to make a difference even more now that I've seen the chilling pictures of a young woman dying of cervical cancer than moments earlier when I was moved mostly by my own breast cancer journey.

I first read about Heather Lyn Martin on the JANE magazine website, home of a beautifully-written story -- I Hate Tumors -- by Sara Lyle, long-time friend of Heather and senior editor for JANE, a publication for 20-something women. Sara's words powerfully depict the life and death of her friend, stricken with a disease she was sure she would beat. So sure, in fact, she asked Sara to help tell her success story.

Sadly, Heather never got to tell much. Because she died much too soon, at the age of 28. So Sara told the story through her own words and photos -- the same ones responsible for my tears -- and has just recently written a second essay, one year after her first story started reaching young people everywhere.

Sara wrote Why I Still Hate Tumors after inspiring many young women to open their eyes to the realities of a deadly disease. Her words serve to raise awareness about the dangers of cervical cancer -- and the HPV virus that causes it -- and to point women in the direction of resources critical for preventing and conquering the disease.

Sara, because of the death of her dear friend, is saving lives with her message. And she just may save yours.

To see all that Sara has to offer in the fight against cervical cancer and other hated tumors, visit her I Hate Tumors website.

Photographs tell powerful stories. They depict people and objects and landscapes and emotions in deep, meaningful ways. They capture permanent visual representations of moments in life. They paint pictures that even the most well-crafted words could not reproduce.

When Mary Ann Nilan was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2004 at the age of 40, she knew her story must be told -- through pictures. So she asked a photographer to record it all, stating, "I hope the pictures make the road easier for other women." The rest is history.

She calls it a photo essay and titles it The Diary of Healing. For 17 frames -- with photographs dominating each space and text kept to a minimum -- Nilan shares her journey that began with the discovery of breast cancer in both breasts and several lymph nodes, the journey that took her through chemotherapy, a double mastectomy, and reconstruction with implants.

Her photographs document significant stops on her physical and emotional trek. They show her bald head, the wig she wore only once and then let hang on a hook, the scars that crossed her flat chest after surgery, an injection of saline that painfully pierced the skin of her new breasts, her children measuring her hair as it grows in after chemotherapy. The photographs are both hopeful and chilling. They are breast cancer. They are more than words could ever capture.