Honoring Special Women Loved and Lost to Breast Cancer

I completed the 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk in '05...it was awesome!

Greetings and salutations! Hope this finds you well! Since October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I feel compelled to write about very special people who have lost their lives to breast cancer. Ya might need to grab a hankie for this one.

First and foremost, my paternal grandmother, Janice S. died at the age of 65. Her cancer started as breast cancer, then spread to her lungs and brain. Although she was a long time smoker, she also had a family history of breast cancer. She was ultra-creative, a writer for most of her successful career, writing copy for advertisers, and songs for my sisters and cousins. She was the ultimate devoted grandmother, she lived wherever we did, cooked amazing meals and had a cool dress up drawer filled with gaudy jewellery, clunky heels and wild wigs. My sister, Marcy and I donned the super-cool garb and transformed ourselves into "Rosemary and Tequila", two women of the world. (Not really sure where we got the name "Tequila" from at age 7 and 4...hmmm?)

My mom's very close friend, Cathy Smith, also died in her early 60's (I think), had breast cancer to start, then spread to other areas of her body. She was probably one of the most down to earth, fun people I have ever known. She was "Green Peace" before it was trendy.

My friend, Chelsea, lost her friend Alicia to breast cancer in her 20's. Yes, her 20's. Although I didn't know her personally, I saw the loss through Chelsea's eyes, and it was devastating that a girl in her 20's should be robbed of the vast experiences yet to come.

I was also touched by breast cancer a few years ago, by a girl who I had about 2 brief conversations with, named Sherrie. First conversation was in the cafeteria during lunch with Cole, when he was in kindergarten. If you have ever had lunch recently in a cafeteria with 150 kindergartners, the noise level is equivalent to a Bon Jovi, circa 1985, concert. (Sing with me: "We've gotta hold on to what we got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not, we got each other, and that's a lot for love...WE'LL GIVE IT A SHOT!...")

Anyhow, my eardrums throbbing, Sherrie was one of the sainthood moms working in the cafeteria to help control the mounting chaos. I was having lunch with Cole, back when he would let me sit next to him in front of his friends. I was wearing my mahjong tile bracelet that my mother in law gave me (I play mahj on Tuesday nights sometimes, when I can get out of the house) and she asked me if I played. We were really screaming to try to be heard. I screamed to her yes, I play, she yelled that she knows how to play, so I gave her my card and told her to call me if she wanted to join in on a game sometime. She checked out my business card and realized I was in pharmaceutical sales, sharing with me that she was a pharmacist, but now stayed at home to be with her two daughters who, I think were in 5th grade and middle school. The lunch hour ended and I scurried back to work.

The second conversation I had with Sherrie was on a field trip. I took the day off to go with Cole and his class to the fire station. Sherrie was there helping out. She said hello and that she was getting ready to go have some surgery. She didn't elaborate on what kind, but it didn't seem very serious. She was smiley, upbeat and carefree and we were trying to control the kids assigned to our group, so the conversation was short and scattered.

Months later, I heard she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I didn't see her around school again. I often thought of her and wondered how she was doing. I eventually heard that she was very sick and not coming back to volunteer at school.

Time passed, life was busy and hectic and running around all the time, working and taking care of the kids. One day, I was working, visiting doctors' offices as I normally do. I was walking quickly into a medical building, hoping to get in and see one last doctor before they closed for lunch, breezing past a man helping a very weak, sick woman walk. He had his arm around her shoulders, taking baby steps, carefully and lovingly.

I entered the office and was told to sit in the waiting room for a few minutes. Ten minutes passed. I was getting anxious waiting. Suddenly, the door slowly opened and the couple who I zipped by ten minutes ago, inching along, came in. It was Sherrie and her husband. She had lost all of her hair and looked pale and weak. She appeared to be in immense pain. They sat in the chairs across from me. He held her in his arms, while I sat there with my big obnoxious sales bag by my feet. Her eyes were closed and she was quietly moaning. I didn't know if I should say hi to her, would she want anyone to see her in such a fragile state? No. Should I say hi to the husband, sharing that I knew Sherrie from school? I couldn't. Nothing seemed appropriate. There were no words. After all, we had just had 2 conversations, but I thought of her so often and wondered how she was doing. And now I knew just how she was doing. I said nothing. I was empty. My heart hurt.

The nurse opened the door to the completely silent, heavy waiting room, and I came flying through the door, safe from my uncertainty and horrific sadness.

I saw her obituary in the paper several months later. I read it feeling like even though I merely had 2 brief, scattered, casual conversations with this woman, that I lost a friend. I thought of her husband and her daughters and wondered how they were coping. The other day, while I drove through Parent Drop off, I noticed the school dedicated this area to her memory. I feel that I met Sherrie for a reason. Some people come into your life even for a moment and they can touch your heart. I know Sherrie has touched mine.