Six years ago my mother entered into her greatest battle ever, the fight for her life. It was April of 2006, and I was in my final year of middle school. We had the opportunity to go to France for a week with our charming french teacher and having gone and loved the experience the preceding year, I was itching to go once again.
After hopping off the plane at Charles De Gaulle, I rediscovered the charm and remembered just how perfect Paris was. We flitted from Nice perfumeries, to the swanky beaches of Monaco (which if you want to retire in fabulous style retire in Monaco) and spent Easter afternoon on the quaint Spanish coast.
A week before I was set to leave I had gotten home from school earlier than usual. Most days, my mother was there after school with various snacks, ready to pester us about our days. That day, I was greeted instead by a message on our answering machine. It was from the doctor's office, whose I was unsure but right away I knew something was out of sorts. The words stuck with me, but the cogs in my head would not let them process.
Sure enough, the day after I got back from France, a week before my birthday, they said it. She had the big "C," stage three. Much of that year was a blur and even as I reflect back on it now many of the scenes have been blocked out, the only thing I truly remember was how unsure and scary it all was. And for some reason my mother chose to hide her story among her strength. October became a touchy month in our house, as soon as everything went pink and my mother's mood went south. Other women seemed to wear their ribbons like badges, they were proud of their fight. Sometimes I thought that perhaps I would never forgive her for the permanent frown fixed upon her face. But this year feels different to me.
Remorse and anger is no longer fighting its way through my body. Instead, I feel nothing but pride. My mother is the strongest woman I know by far. Lately discussions have revolved around my leaving for Florida and other tense plans. But when the day ends and my mom snuggles down with me to watch a movie, that is when I realize how much I love her.
So, for everyday of October, I will feed into the pink campaign. Something in my outfit has to be pink. From my unmentionables to my headband, just to remind myself just how strong my own mother is.
Below are the first few days of my pink campaign from last year; 31 days, 31 ways to wear pink and raise awareness.
After hopping off the plane at Charles De Gaulle, I rediscovered the charm and remembered just how perfect Paris was. We flitted from Nice perfumeries, to the swanky beaches of Monaco (which if you want to retire in fabulous style retire in Monaco) and spent Easter afternoon on the quaint Spanish coast.
A week before I was set to leave I had gotten home from school earlier than usual. Most days, my mother was there after school with various snacks, ready to pester us about our days. That day, I was greeted instead by a message on our answering machine. It was from the doctor's office, whose I was unsure but right away I knew something was out of sorts. The words stuck with me, but the cogs in my head would not let them process.
Sure enough, the day after I got back from France, a week before my birthday, they said it. She had the big "C," stage three. Much of that year was a blur and even as I reflect back on it now many of the scenes have been blocked out, the only thing I truly remember was how unsure and scary it all was. And for some reason my mother chose to hide her story among her strength. October became a touchy month in our house, as soon as everything went pink and my mother's mood went south. Other women seemed to wear their ribbons like badges, they were proud of their fight. Sometimes I thought that perhaps I would never forgive her for the permanent frown fixed upon her face. But this year feels different to me.
Remorse and anger is no longer fighting its way through my body. Instead, I feel nothing but pride. My mother is the strongest woman I know by far. Lately discussions have revolved around my leaving for Florida and other tense plans. But when the day ends and my mom snuggles down with me to watch a movie, that is when I realize how much I love her.
So, for everyday of October, I will feed into the pink campaign. Something in my outfit has to be pink. From my unmentionables to my headband, just to remind myself just how strong my own mother is.
Below are the first few days of my pink campaign from last year; 31 days, 31 ways to wear pink and raise awareness.
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| Day One 10.1.11 |
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| Day Two 10.2.11 |
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| Day Three 10.3.11 |
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| Day Four 10.4.11 |
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| Day Five 10.5.11 |
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| Day Six 10.6.11 |
I think most everyone is affected by cancer in some way. Although it may seem unfair and daunting, I think that knowing that you are not alone is the biggest thing. I would love to have all of you, and your friends, join me in Pink October. You do not necessarily have to go full out Elle Woods pink like I plan on, but even just putting in an extra prayer for those who are suffering and even one to encourage those strong survivors.
I would be honored if you would put the button on your page to show your support and spread the word:
I would be honored if you would put the button on your page to show your support and spread the word:
