It's hard to see the light while stuck in the middle of the tunnel. It's difficult to imagine tough times getting better. It's frustrating to manage obstacle after obstacle. It's almost impossible to consider that challenges can actually transform into victories.

Yet somehow, in some way, in good time, most of us do arrive at the end of the tunnel -- where life is not so dark, where we can make sense of all that has come before our glorious exits into the light of the world.

A friend of mine is stuck in the tunnel of breast cancer. I know this because she sent me an e-mail today that struck a chord and took me back to a time when I was stuck -- and was quite certain life would not get better.

My life did get better -- after I survived the cancer treatment that sent me spiraling through my own tunnel -- and I know my friend will soon encounter better times. She may not be able to predict it at this very moment, but one day she will emerge into the brightness. One day, she will see the light. One day, she will be promising someone else that times do get better. One day, she will be amazed that she even wrote these words.

Well, chemo #2 kicked my butt! I was bed-ridden or in front of the toilet since Friday afternoon! It was awful. Stayed home from work today cause still feel a bit queasy. The doctor cut my steroids in the drip cause of the rash/break-out I had the first time, she thought it might have been an allergic reaction. Well, next time, I will take the break-out over this.

And to this I say -- let there be light.

It's day 15 in this Breast Cancer Awareness Month and the survivors spotlighted on this site are stacking up. Yet we've only just scratched the surface of breast cancer survivor stories. And by the end of October, we will have only featured a very small sample of survivors everywhere. There are countless others with their own powerful stories. It's sad there are so many stories shaped by breast cancer. It's empowering too -- because breast cancer survivors are a passionate bunch. They are passionate in their fights, passionate in their beliefs, passionate in their willingness to help others.

A passionate bunch of survivors can be found here on The Cancer Blog. They are all women, of various ages, with various backgrounds, defined by different experiences. They are also quite the same -- for they have all been touched by breast cancer. And their words of wisdom are strikingly similar, despite the contrast in characteristics that define these women and their very individual battles with breast cancer.

Here are seven survivor similarities worth spotlighting.

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.