Whenever I want throttle my kid, she throws me for a loop and the moment passes. Look for her—she’s the one wearing pink every day in October (want to see a pink shirt get good use; send it this way because it will receive exposure!).
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago, among the shock, horror, and disbelief was this little 5′ pink star who became, in essence, the bell that notified Better Half when something was wrong. Like a little fairy, she hovered quietly, listening, watching. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk to me about my cancer. The only time I saw her laugh was when she, Better Half, and myself held a shaving party. My hair was falling out in clumps; I needed a good shave. A shaving party. They were laughing and smiling, fumbling with the shaver, trying to make me feel better. I was wobbly, sick. I felt like I was dying inside, but that day there were two pink stars beside me. . . .
When I had my last chemo treatment, my family came to watch me ring the bell signaling I was done. Finished. Hopefully. My daughter was 16 and terrified. I could see from where I was standing that she looked about 5 years old—scared to death to walk through that room. I remembered the first time Better Half and I saw the chemo room. As we stepped off the elevator I felt a bolt of lightning run through my veins. It was so powerful that I had a physical reaction. I did not want to go in that room. Ever. It wasn’t a pretty room, but the people in it were gorgeous. Absolutely stunning and beautiful.
After chemo, this little pink star really shone. Who else would have enough courage to wear a Save the TaTas® shirt to high school and upon being made to change out of it by a pious, ignorant principal, would wear the exact same shirt on her very last day of school? Who else would chalk her car windows with pink ribbons and breast cancer awareness messages for the past three years, and upon being told by Better Half to please clean her windows so she could see [a good thing], would rebel and chalk tinier ribbons on her car windows? A breast cancer event? There she is, all bejeweled and pink-ribboned!
God, I love that kid. I can’t say I agree with everything she does, but she’s passionate about her beliefs. Major karma stored up. Give the kid a cause and she’s a life-time member. A pink rock star. My pink rock star.