Pink runs, pink toothpaste packages, pink yogurt.
I am sick of pink articles, pink signs, pink nail polish.
Every time I see pink it reminds me that my mom has cancer.
It reminds me that the first time an “expert” saw her breast mass two years ago they said it was nothing.
You bastard.
You fucker.
You may have taken my mother away from me. If you would have done your job she may not be going through chemo. She may have had no lymph node involvement.
22
TWENTY-TWO LYMPH NODES
EVERY
FUCKING
ONE
You should wake up for the rest of your life and explain to her grandchildren about why their first lesson in death wasn’t their dog, it was their Beama.
Please nurses, doctors, techs at Mayo Clinic.
Please, Please take care of my mom.
Please make up for the mistakes of another.
Please give her more Christmas mornings, more afternoons of knitting, more time to teach her grandchildren all of the things she has taught me.
I cannot fathom a day without my mom. My teacher, my guide, my wisdom, my strength.
Not yet.
Not now.
The pink that is so empowering, that gives hope.
Please be my hope too.
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