Abstract

Matisse Mamas My Dear Piet ATLANTA, GEORGIA - I was asked to join a group of fabulous women, all breast cancer survivors, in Atlanta. The party was hosted by a company with a breathtaking view of philanthropy: they really just want to make a difference for mommies who have breast cancer. The company is Kids II and they search every year for women who’s charities could use a little financial boost. So far, 40 women have seen their foundations benefit from this incredible generosity. I’ve met the people who run this company, and trust me when I tell you – they are unique in all the world. They actually.care.about.us.    So for one of the evenings at this all-weekend party, they took us to the High Museum of Art, a superfantastico art museum. We had such an amazing time, just walking around all of that beauty. And I’m not just talking about those cancer patients, the art wasn’t bad either. ;) I realized at one point that we, all of us, were abstract now. At one point in our lives, we were all painted by Rembrandt, Titian, Raffaello Sanzio da Urbin. All of us cancer gals were exactly as we were originally designed; not a scratch on us. At some point; however, cancer reached out its brush full out paint and splattered us. Now we are an abstract version of who we used to be, in every way possible. But the beauty of that is the fact that we are now a new and different type of art piece. Of course we have scars. Things are totally misaligned, crooked, off center. Entire body parts have been, in most cases, removed, adjusted and stuck right back on like a crazy lego set. As I looked around that museum, I realized that we are STILL ART, however. My fellow patients were still lovely – some so beautiful the rest of us were pea green with envy (me, mostly about their shoes, to be candid). But there you have it. We are abstract. But as a result, we are beautiful. Worth noticing. Highly valued. As a matter of fact, every day we age we become even more miraculous and worth a pretty high appraisal.

Girlfriends

MORTON, ILLINOIS -  You have girlfriends. We all do. What would you do for your friends, how far would you go to help her if she needed you? What would you do for her if she never asked for anything, but nonetheless had needs? 

If she was diagnosed with breast cancer with little ones to care for, a job to attend, a life to lead? What would you do? Would you look at her home and realize that it needs to be spruced, fixed, repaired, redecorated? Would you go to every store in town and do the unthinkable – tell people why you are buying floor tile, paint, etc. (so that your friend has a pretty room to recover from chemo)? Just the discussion of that topic is too hard for some. Would you, could you?

Would you stand by her every moment and encourage her, love her, push her, prod her, prop her up, stare her down, wipe her tears and smack some sense into her when needed? Would you ignore her "I’m just fine" comments and push them to the side while you take charge of being her life assistant when needed? Would you look at her face, smile and tell her she is – IS – lovely; even when she has no hair, no energy, no heart to go on? Would you scour the internet, call everyone you can think of, research until the wee small hours of the morning just to find more about her diagnosis? 

Would you put your own life on hold at a moment’s notice to drive her, fetch for her, answer for her, plea for her? Would you drive for hours with your own family to make sure her children have someone to play with and something to do during her surgery?

Would you be able to do all of these things while being strong, fearless, independent, and breathtakingly lovely? I know someone who has. The lady on the left is my beloved sister-in-law. She is flawless, and she is helping one of her best friends on her cancer journey; much the same way she came to my rescue during my journey. 

I love you, Kristy. And all the other women out there who are in your role of best girlfriend. Caregiver.  Hope provider. Strength giver. We patients could not do it without you. 

Photo courtesy of Shelbyphotography.com.

Rearview

FORT WAYNE, INDIANA -  This is the Fort Wayne International Airport in my rearview mirror.  I only get to see this a few times a month in October, most of the month my car lives in the airport parking lot. :) Am I happy to see this in my mirror as I drive away? Yes and no. Yes; because I miss my family. I like being near them, I like hearing their voices live and not on phone messages. I like to sit down with them and watch them as they tell me about their days.  No;  because I am afraid that most people see October as some big "call to action" and then when November hits, they are all done with taking action. I don’t like that. Today – at about midnight last night, actually – I got an alarming text telling me a stage four patient in Indiana is doing poorly. Needed prayers, comfort, compassion. I’m pretty sure this patient doesn’t care that the official action month is over, because she still needs some help. Four days ago, I met a woman who had been diagnosed that day and was petrified. Ditto for her and the October thing. So I’m issuing my own little request to everyone. Pretend October isn’t anything. Pretend that it isn’t the big pink month. Look at the upcoming holiday season and know that there are cancer patients that will need help getting gifts for their children. That they might need help shoveling their driveways. They could use someone to walk their dog when they come home from chemo. That their little kids might like to go to see the newest movie, but mama or daddy is either too sick or too financially strapped to do it. Get the whole family a little movie gift certificate! And then realize that there are 11 other months that they still have to keep forging on; and your helping hand could make a change in their lives that you never even anticipated. (Then send me an email of what you’ve done – I love love love happy stories!!!) PS: For holiday ideas, check out the Foundation team's suggestions - Other Ways to Spread Holiday Hope.