Crispy cool mornings, soft pjs, ludicrously priced mum pots that never bloom all the way, pumpkins in pastel colors, high school football, the smell and color and taste of cloves and cinnamon: These are a few of my favorite things. Don’t misunderstand. I am a summer girl through and through. Cold natured to my core, you will never hear me complain about the heat. But, I cannot deny the excitement I feel when that first temp dip hits hard. It’s easier to breathe. It’s easier to linger outside at night with a few less mosquitos lying in wait. The stores burst at their seams with plaid and houndstooth and muted dark colors. Pumpkin everything is king. There is, of course, a meme I love to reference that perfectly details the metamorphosis of a southern woman in fall. There’s this pug. That’s already funny seeing as… it’s a pug. She’s swathed in a chunky fall scarf. She’s got a Starby’s cup and Ugg boots. She has long, luxurious hair. The caption reads “five minutes after I see a leaf hit the ground.” Sure, our days may flirt with the 90s for a bit longer, but our nights are the stuff of dreams.
Fall is for snuggling. Fall is for reconnecting. Fall is for slowing down. And, maybe, as a result of all things cozy, fall is for reflection and remembrance. Thus, the pink ribbons of breast cancer awareness will adorn everything from #2 pencils to yogurt containers, since everyone’s gotta make a buck off of the misfortune of one single type of cancer. Don’t get me started. Fight like a girl. Think pink. I pink I can – I pink I can. Save the tatas. I realize I benefitted from this ideology about breast cancer, but I consider it “mean girls” cancer. Breast cancer awareness is the “you can’t sit with us” cancer. They got the pink ribbon. They got the attention. They got the better survival rate. I often wonder about the khaki ribbon cancer or the chartreuse green ribbon cancer. How are they faring these days? But, back in 2009, when I was just finishing cancer treatment and the world felt a smidge more hopeful and a tad less like a haunted maze, I was asked to give Forney’s version of a TED talk. Relay for Life invited me to headline their event. I was honored and terrified. They asked me to speak for 10 minutes, which seems like a very short speech until you’re on a stage with the sound of your own heart beating in your ears like the drum solo to Wipeout. That’s where I first learned that I get ridiculously dry mouthed when nervous. I develop sudden onset lisp. My voice goes up 25 octaves. Think Mariah Carey glass breaking harshness. I was partially recovered from an intense war with lymphedema in my right arm. The remedy for lymphedema is an 8-layer bandaging regimen that forces confused fluid to vacate a limb. However, 8 layers of bandages looks cartoonishly big, to the point of not being able to hold your arm naturally at your side. The shorts I chose for the occasion were a bit long for me. I was in a “don’t want to show my body” phase. The t-shirt gifted to me for that occasion was a size large. My hair had started (but not finished) growing back in, post chemo. I recall having a little boy’s burr haircut, except in the back. The little circular bald spot on the back of my crown took nearly a year to catch up to the rest. I joked, to the masses, that I was coining the term monastery chic. I may or may not have referred to myself as a friar. No one laughed. I went on to tell my story. I used cliched terms like “if I can do it, you can, too.” I probably encouraged people to never give up. I may have referenced the old 70s Paul Masson wine commercial starring Orson Welles. He reminds us that it took Margaret Mitchell 10 years to write Gone with the Wind, hence they’ll sell no wine before it’s time. Pretty sure no one understood that reference of good things taking a bit, either. I suddenly understood I had missed my mark in an embarrassing fashion. I looked like an awkward 12-year-old boy and sounded like Niles from Frasier. What was I even doing there? Why did I think I could pull off a speech? Why, I figured I’d probably set the world of cancer research back a decade.
Somehow, I finished my 10 minutes of terror, nearly dropping the mic and barely missing a fall down the shaky stairs of the makeshift stage where I’d been standing. There were hundreds of people. My husband and stepson were in the audience, sitting on a blanket. Kevin had tears in his eyes. He had recorded the entire thing on whatever non iPhone device we were using in those days. I had to jump back into the throng of the crowd when they called my name. I was asked to start the fundraising laps off with a playlist of my choosing. I used the CD given to me from my daughter’s funeral the year prior, since I’d selected a multitude of songs to play while that very large crowd exited the church. Kevin, Carter, & I held hands and walked a lap to REM’s Everybody Hurts. The other details have remained a blur all these years.
My engagement that evening lasted until around 10 pm. Relay for Life is an all-nighter. People form teams and spend the evening taking turns walking a track to raise money for all sorts of types of cancers – the mean girl ones and the khaki ribbon ones, too. Later, I sat back down on our blanket. A woman approached me to tell me how much she enjoyed my words. She was a young, single mom of 3. She was having difficulty making sure her kiddos did their homework at night because cancer treatment was making her so tired. Her breast cancer was metastasized throughout her body. She shared with me that she had no help and doubted she was going to beat her diagnosis. I am often haunted by those words. I think of her every fall. There, by the grace of God, go I. Happy fall, y’all.
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