Every year, in the closing days of September, I walk into a store and am hit by the pink. Pink ribbons on everything. Pink coloring on things that aren't pink the other eleven months of the year. I'm reminded that October reminds me of pain, loss and mourning.
It doesn't matter if I've been doing really well, or if I've been struggling. The pink comes and it feels like I'm back at square one.
It's been over four years. You would think after four years, I might be able to see pink, know that it's breast cancer awareness, and not want to fall apart.
You'd be wrong.
My aunt was diagnosed at 57. She died less than two months from her 59th birthday.
My mom's other sister was diagnosed at 57. She is currently cancer free. She turned 58 in April.
My mom is a year away from 57. How am I not supposed to be filled with fear?
I've seen the pain. I've had to say goodbye. I withdrew from my other aunt because I couldn't deal with it again. I cannot help but be terrified that my mom is next.
Everyone says that time heals. I've also heard countless times that it's okay to mourn still. And every July 12th, I mourn. Every September 5th, I remember.
And every October, I hate shopping.