Thirteen Lucky Years

Looking back on key moments in my life, whether they be moments of excitement, happiness, fear, or sadness, I can almost always remember what I was wearing on those days. I have no idea why this is the case, and I know it's really sort of weird, but I assure you it's true. For example:

First Day of Kindergarten:Short-sleeved floral shirt with floppy collar, topped with a blue denim vest; blue denim shorts; blue Mary Janes with thick rubber soles. The vest had a strawberry embroidered on it.

The Day I Got My Hair Chopped Off in Fourth Grade:Turtleneck with hearts on the neck; blue corduroy knickers (yes, knickers) with suspenders (yes, suspenders) embroidered with hearts.

The Day I Got My Finger Slammed in a Locker:Yellow sweater with purple hearts on the chest; purple corduroy pants (yes, I loved my corduroy).

The Day I Got Contact Lenses:Button down, short-sleeved shirt covered in light pink, light blue, and light yellow flowers; pink cotton pants.

The Day I Got into William & Mary:Pink turtleneck with Mom's bluish-green Eddie Bauer sweater; jeans. I also remember that Mom was wearing a long necklace with a bell on the chain (it was near Christmastime); she hugged me so tightly when I told her that I was going to William & Mary that I had a bell-shaped imprint on my stomach for a couple of days.

My First Day of College:Black, short sleeved polo-style shirt (but not Polo); white denim jeans (pegged!); black ballet flats with bows; my hair pulled back into a bun, decorated with a black and white scrunchy (remember those?).

My First Date with Robbie:Camel hair blazer (seriously); tweed pants (gross); he showed up wearing a camel hair blazer, too. I was mortified.

That Day:A brand new suit; the jacket was black watch plaid with gold buttons; the navy blue pants matched my navy blue heels; after growing out my hair for a year, it was finally long enough to pull back into a French braid; I still had crispy feathered bangs in those days.

As I sat there listening to the voice on the other end of the phone, I remember being oddly entranced, watching my tears bounce off those gold buttons, making them sparkle. Simultaneously, I was confused, because I hadn't realized I was crying until I saw the buttons shine more brightly.

I think my heart understood before my brain did the meaning of the words I was hearing. My emotions were instantaneous, the thoughts took a while to catch up. I switched the phone from one side to the other, unfolding the hand that had been clamped around the phone, curious to see that my fingers had been clenched so tightly that one of my fingernails had broken through the skin.

I'm sure I must have said something in response to the voice all those miles away, but I have no recollection of anything other than my physical reaction to the news I was hearing. The shaking, the hot tears burning down my icy skin, the prickles of fear running up and down my spine, a strange metallic taste in my mouth. I guess at some point, I must have said, "I love you" and hung up the phone. I don't remember this either.

The only aural memory I have of that phone call is Mom saying, "I have cancer."

For the next three months, I felt like I was holding my breath and I was so scared. I could write volumes about those weeks, but I won't, because the point of this post is to say this: Thirteen years ago this week, Mom became a breast cancer survivor. I don't remember what I was wearing the day she finished her treatment, but I do remember crying even more than I had when I first heard the news she had been diagnosed with cancer three-plus months earlier. This time, though, the tears were those of joy.

Since that day, I have thought about breast cancer every single day. But the thoughts I have now about the disease are not tinged with fear. Rather, they are colored brightly with hope. Together, whether by walking or by making financial donations or by providing the important gift of emotional support, we are moving confidently in the direction of the day when a cure for breast cancer is found.

I can tell you now: I will never forget what I'm wearing on that day!