It is everywhere this month.
The reminders about breast cancer.
Even HH wears a shirt to work reminding us of the women we love and the hope for a cure.
I can't help but think of my friend Michele who died over a year ago of breast cancer.
A mother with a preschooler.
Or my friend from California with two daughters who lost her breasts and hair and chemo, but beat it and lives cancer free.
Or our family member who is fighting the disease right now, losing her hair, battling the nausea and weakness, trying to live.
I think that seeing all these signs for hope, signs of people working together for a cure should bring some sense of goodness.
But, I can't help but think of the loss every time I see pink.
To realize the risk.
To worry about my own mortality.
To wonder if that intermittent pain in my armpit means something.
To search for lumps, irregularities.
I went to the doctor yesterday and had my breasts checked.
I asked if I needed a mammogram.
She said not yet.
Mine feel healthy, fine.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
But, I still worry.
The pink everywhere makes me nervous.
But, that may just be my personality.
As a child, I would cry every time I heard sirens, knowing it meant something was wrong.
But maturity tells me that those sirens and the pink mean that a rescuer is on the way!