Tuesday, May 25, 2010

I Used to be a Fly

In my past life I may have been a bread baker.

Or maybe not, judging from the burn on the palm of my hand.

This is what happens when you try taking loaves out of the oven with a dish towel (instead of hot pads) while cradling the phone in the crook of your neck telling your husband all about how awesome your first visit to the chiropractor was (even though the chiropractor would most definitely NOT approve of holding the phone with your neck she just worked so hard to adjust).

So maybe I was a bread baker for a bunch of peasants, baking bread to earn the roof over my head in an English countryside full of flowers and sheep and shepherds (yes, this makes no sense, peasants baked their own bread so maybe I was just a happy, countryside-dwelling, bread-baking peasant, hey, nothing has changed at all) - speaking of shepherds, I've been having a hard time viewing last weeks finale of Grey's Anatomy online so please, keep all the spoilers to yourself. I'll get to it, someday.

But there are a ton of other things to do right now, typical of end-of-the-school-year-craziness. There is a bike rodeo (don't ask), a play, Night of the Notables and 5th grade graduation. There are birthday parties and graduation parties and my friends daughter just went to prom!

[How that affects me? It doesn't. But still...PROM! HELLO!]

Remember your prom?

1991 - with half a bottle of Aquanet holding my bangs in place (same boyfriend I have now)

Mine was all big bows, big hair and Psychedelic Furs. How about you?

Speaking of bows and ribbons and all things Pretty in Pink, I have a newfound respect for those magnetic pink ribbons I see all over the highway. I've viewed pink one way for my entire life and all that has changed now. Pink has taken on a whole new meaning for me, far beyond the Molly Ringwald poutiness of my youth, far beyond the baby girl pink that sprang into my life with the birth of my daughter.

I'll never look at pink the same again and that is just the way it is. Pink is no longer soft, or angsty, or delicate. Pink is strength. Pink is power. Pink is courage.

It's been one week since learning of my mom's breast cancer diagnosis and pink is all I see everywhere I go. On walks. In stores. In my dreams.

I know she's going to fight like a girl, kick that cancer right on outta there and show it who's boss and even though pink may not be her color, it is mine. Because I'm fighting for her - and I don't care who knows it.

Katie, my mom and me, 2009

It's time to call in the troops, oh faithful Internet. It's time. We're all fighting really hard over here and if you've got any fight to share - please send it her way. The last thing I want her to feel is alone.

She is not alone. You are not alone. We are not alone.

I am no good at telling my mama how much I need her. When I was little I would just go sit by her, nestle into her bosom, listen to the ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of her heart and everything seemed right, even if it wasn't.

Now it's my turn, to let her rest her head on me. To let her put all her fear on me. To let her know that it will be okay. Even though it was hard to convince me as a teenager, a young mother, an emotional 30-something that things would turn out fine, my mom did a great job. And you know what? She was always right.

Things were always fine, even though I thought they wouldn't be.

So now mom, you get to take your own advice.

And I'm here every step of the way.


How this went from rambling nonsense to a post about my mom's breast cancer, I'll never know - but since I'm on the subject and apparently on a roll (if you've managed to find the end of this post), I'm going to share with you all out here in this wide open space that I've put together a team for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure 5K on Sunday, June 6th. Our team is appropriately named JANE'S JUGS.

If you're local and you'd like to come walk/run with us, please click the link below.

If you'd like to contribute to our fundraising efforts, that same link will also allow you to do that.



Anonymous said...

Oh, honey.

I don't know how we got so lucky, to have you.

Thank you.

Jug woman

aka, mom

Becky at lifeoutoffocus said...

way to make me cry. the part about your mom got me. and then to see your mom's comment. DOUBLE got me. Sending prayers your way.

ps. nice dress lol

Connie Mace said...

Though I’ve tried to research the author, I’ve been unable to locate and thank the wonderful person who came up with these words which added firm resolve to my walk in the days of intense grief.

Cancer is So Limited

It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot corrode faith
It cannot destroy peace
It cannot kill friendships
It cannot suppress memories
It cannot silence courage
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot steal eternal life
It cannot conquer the spirit

carrie said...

Connie - I cannot thank you enough. Thank you for YOUR strength.


Kendra said...

Did I miss the post where you mentioned your mom's diagnosis? I'm so far behind in my blog reading that maybe it just got by me. I'm so sorry to hear about it and am so proud of her and of you for approaching her diagnosis with such a positive spirit. My sister's MIL is a recent survivor, and I know that since her diagnosis, my perception of the color pink has changed too. It makes me feel good to look out on a sea of the ultimate feminine color and know that it represents a fight to end suffering, not just a pretty lipstick. Go Jane's Jugs!