That time of year when everything turns pink

It is that time of year again when everything turns pink for Breast Cancer Awareness month, and it stabs a knife right into my heart. I was going about my normal life and on October 2nd like most American’s on a Sunday was watching the NFL. Then there it was staring right at me, what can really only be described as a pink vomit explosion on every player, referee, coach and supporting staff as far as the eye can see. I used to think it was really ‘cute’ when the big players wore pink, but that was about as far as that went, I wasn’t thinking about Breast Cancer. They don’t have an area in the stadium of women who have battled or are battling breast cancer that they show on TV. They don’t have the players mothers, wives, sisters, friends, and daughters tell their story of their battle of breast cancer, They just turn shit pink. How does this  help women who have or are battling breast cancer?

Although it is rare, men too suffer from breast cancer, I have a family member who is towards the end of his treatment soon. What does the NFL turning everything pink do for him? Is his breast cancer any less than my own mother who passed away last year from breast cancer because he is male? Breast Cancer Awareness month is a farce, who among us hasn’t been affected by breast cancer? I had my own breast cancer scare only 4 months after my mom passed away from breast cancer. All of us know someone who has had, or is in treatment for breast cancer, so raising awareness for something we are all aware of is idiotic.

I understand raising money for finding a cure but the ‘race for the cure’ only donates 21% of the billions of dollars raised to actually finding a cure, maybe they should change their name? My mother walked ‘for a cure’ multiple times to raise money to find a cure, unfortunately it didn’t happen before the disease took her life.

October has hit me hard this year, I cried pretty much every single day for a week so far. Unless I stay inside my house and don’t turn on the TV I don’t see an end in sight. Somedays I don’t remember my mom is gone and I think I should call my mom she will know the answer to this or that. Sometimes I want to call her to tell her something funny my son has done, sometimes I just want to hear her voice. To hear her call me honey once more, one more hug, one more anything. I am so jealous of my friends who have the relationship with their mothers that I once had. I don’t want to be the dead mothers club, it is the worse club to be apart of and no one really understands it unless they are too.