My mom died from breast cancer.

You can imagine how freaked out I was when I "found a lump" 3 weeks ago. I scheduled a doctor visit and mammogram right away, then called my sister. She talked me through all the things it could be and affirmed me for doing a breast exam.

Mamogram was a week later, my husband went with me.

Fibrous cyst. Whew. Same thing my sister found 4 years ago.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. #writepink is encouraging everyone to say a little something.

Everyday during those two weeks of waiting, I told myself "I'm sure it's nothing", and "I'm still too young for this to be happening". But fear and anger kept creeping in. My mind sketched portraits of myself pale, skinny and bald. I pictured other morbid scenarios, which is beside the point. The results came back NEGATIVE.

I am thankful to be fully present, enjoying family and marriage and work and community - reminded to live and cherish life.

Every June, I write about my mom, the amazing Pamela Jean Whitby Strong, whose perfect, beautiful and precious life was taken by that insidious, murderous, careless bitch we call breast cancer.
See past posts here:
Remembering Pamela
In Memoriam
St. Pamela's Feast Day
Remembrance

Mom was first diagnosed at age 45 with breast cancer. She muscled through a couple of years of chemo and surgery, then was clean for 5 years. Then, the tumor metastasized and for 3 long years, she took it to the mat. Chemo, surgery, radiation, chemo, surgery, radiation.

Then experimental.

Then I had my first baby. Then one last surgery. Then a family trip to Bahamas. Then she was gone.