Solo Mother

My grandmother is a breast cancer survivor. It meant she had a special bra. It didn’t mean much more to us grandkids, when I was young. But when they began the Walk for the Cure, there she was, my eighty-something grandmother on her daughter’s arm, wearing the badge of a survivor, giving inspiration to women thirty, forty years younger than she was. Young women with wild-colored hats would come up to touch her, be close to her, see this white haired, beaming little stooped old lady walking along the streets of Washington, DC, laughing as though the surgery she underwent, the fear she withstood, as though it were nothing.

Inspired by this blog, I’ve shared a snippet of my grandmother’s laughter and courage with you. Share some pink m&m’s with someone you love and help fund a cure. My aunt is dying of another sort of cancer. There’s no hope for her but grace and peace. I wish she were whole and well. I am blessed that my grandmother survived cancer to love me, teach me, guide me.

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