"I am not a has-been. I am a will be." - Lauren Bacall
When I was growing up, I hated pink. I was a tomboy. I wore jeans and tennis shoes. I loved playing war with my brother. Deep in the woods we'd trek until we had climbed over tree branches, creeks, hills, and barbed wire. I loved hearing the leaves crunching under my feet and didn't mind twigs tangled in my hair or "hitch hikers" attaching to my pants legs. The girls at school would have cringed if they had known my secret...that I hated wearing dresses and I would rather be playing football in the mud with the neighborhood guys instead of having a tea party. Pink was just not my color. Pink gave me no pleasure. Even now, at almost 57, I consider myself a tomboy. I hate wearing dresses.
But tomboys can still be tenderhearted. Yesterday, I went to the grocery store. I chose to go to Kroger because it was Wednesday, and Wednesday was senior citizen's day and seniors get a 10% discount. The first time I had ever received a senior discount, I had to ask for it. The woman behind the counter didn't believe I was over 55. I had to show her my driver's license. She said, "you don't look your age." I was flattered. I've always prided myself on looking young. But yesterday, the cashier did not give me the discount. When I confronted her about it, she said, "we only give the discount to seniors 60 and up." I told her I'd always received the discount in Dekalb County Kroger stores and had been told the policy was 55 and up. I asked to speak to the manager. The manager was adamant about their 60 and up policy. As I left the store, I cried. Rivers of black mascara cascaded down my cheeks. Why was I so upset? Was it because of the rejection I'd just faced at the store or was it something deeper?
When I got home, it took thirty minutes to bring the groceries in and get them all put away. I was so frustrated at not being strong enough to carry more than one or two bags at a time. On the kitchen counter, my bottle of Arimidex, the antihormone therapy, sat reminding me that in just a few more days, I'll face a whole new set of challenges. Challenges of bone pain, fatigue, hair loss, mood changes....
Walking into my bedroom, I glanced down at my dresser. There on the dresser top lay several breast cancer bracelets I'd received in the mail from friends. More pink! I hadn't bothered to put them on, I hated pink. I stripped off my Lymphedema sleeves and changed into a flannel shirt. At least at home, I could be comfortable and be my true self.
I made a bowl of soup and sat down at the table to eat lunch. In front of me, I had a stack of magazines. I began flipping through the top one and almost every other page had something pink on it! Pink ribbons were everywhere. I closed the magazine and sat silently for a few minutes. I realized why I'd had the meltdown in the Kroger parking lot. It wasn't that I didn't receive my senior discount, it was about my feeling helpless to control all the changes that have and are taking place in my life. Those pink ribbons are constant reminders that I'm not who I once was...that I am someone different.
Walking into the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. "Who are you?" I thought to myself. On first glance, I see myself as a mid forties woman with a fresh coat of makeup, fairly attractive, looking healthy and fit. But then, as I take a second look...I see a facade. I see a wrinkled woman who's learned the fine art of camouflage. I see fading hair color revealing various shades of gray. I see a woman with no feminine form. I see a deep sadness and pain. I force myself to look for a few minutes longer and then it is too much and I turn away. "I hate pink," I say to myself.
The holidays are coming. In just a few weeks it will be Thanksgiving. Normally, I would prepare a huge feast and have all the children and grandchildren over for dinner. This year, I'm too tired to do it. Two of my daughters have agreed to pick up the slack. They are going to take care of all the details. They'll come to my house and prepare the food. We'll celebrate being together. We'll celebrate being alive and my heart will be overcome with God's goodness. Usually, after the meal is finished, we set up the Christmas tree. It's usually a time filled with fun and joy. This year, I'm just not feeling it. I have no desire to put up the tree...no desire to buy gifts...no desire at all. I want to slap myself silly and say, "what's the matter with you!" I know I have so much to be thankful for and I should be overjoyed to celebrate the holidays but something inside has changed. It hurts me to realize I'm not the same as I used to be...I'm different. I wonder if the kids can see it. I hope they don't. I don't want to upset them.
I know I'm suffering from depression and that really scares me. It's not like me to feel down in the dumps and so alone. As I face this reality, I also realize that even when I don't quite recognize the face staring back at me in the mirror, God does. He doesn't look at my outsides but my insides. He looks on my heart. He knows the trauma I've faced this year. He knows what it's done to my self esteem. He knows I'm struggling and still, He loves me. This grown up old tomboy with wrinkled face and graying hair...this old woman with no breasts, He still loves. Now it's up to me to learn to love myself again...to realize I'm not a "has been" but a "will be." Maybe a good romp in the woods would help jog my memory a little bit.
Breast cancer awareness is symbolized by the color pink and that's okay if it causes women to check their breasts but if you know someone with breast cancer, be sensitive to the fact that the color pink may not be their "new" favorite color. Some women with breast cancer want to surround themselves with pink everything but many do not. It's hard to be constantly reminded of what was instead of what is now. Each of us have to process things in our own way and for me, pink is a constant symbol of the fact that my life is no longer the same. So no, this year, I won't be putting up a pink Christmas tree and I won't be donning my green tree with pink ribbons. In fact, I may not put up a tree at all. Perhaps I'll just take a walk in the woods, where nothing is pink, and enjoy the beauty of nature. That sounds like a tomboy's dream to me, and if I get the urge, I may just climb up in the tree and sit there for a while just thinking of the me that is still to come...the me that will be.
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