"Too damn young."

I was up at the ungodly hour of 3:30 AM. I had to be at the Mall of America by 5AM in order help with this year's Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I say "had to" simply because for me: 3:30 is still technically night time. No one should have to be awake that early. But in reality, it was a get to. I volunteered for this particular event, and I was happy and proud to go.

I find women to be so amazing! Particularly breast cancer survivors. They are so strong! So resilient! So able to see past the bullshit the rest of us wrap ourselves in and call a spade a spade. Many survivors come into the store, and they're very open in sharing "I'm a six year survivor" or "I'm a ten year survivor" or "I'm a one year survivor". Husbands come in and purchase gifts for their wives and still get tears in their eyes when they tell me, "My wife is a 20-year survivor. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost her."

At the race, there were women proudly showing of heads made bald by chemo; there were women who made no effort to disguise their chests made flat from mastectomies; there were women who pinned pictures of their mothers, sisters, aunts, and friends to their race number or carried signs like "Lisa's Bosom Buddies". Entire families came out and chose to celebrate Mother's Day by participating in Race for a Cure. A small boy told me that he wanted to walk because his grandma had cancer, and he wanted her to get better. A woman shared the story of her sister-in-law who went in for her annual mammogram in March and was given a clean bill of health, and has just now been diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Two months. Only two months between perfect health and stage 4. Another told me that she walks every year because her sister died from breast cancer when she was 34. She's still angry about it, her voice shaking a bit when she said, "She was too damn young. Too damn young. I walk so that someday nobody else has to lose a sister too damn young."

I spent most of the morning veering wildly between having a fun time and fighting back tears. Just like everyone else. After today, the pink ribbon means just a little bit more than it did. I won't ever look at one again without hearing the pain in a sister's voice, "Too damn young."