Lately I haven’t been sure if its the fact I’m getting older or there are more things in the world going wrong; sickness, death, war. It seems every time I turn around I hear of someone I know suddenly diagnosed with some horrible disease, or dying unexpectedly. I believe the list is endless and this can’t be good for us or our moral as the human race.
But I have a confession. I get like this, at this time of the year. The days are shorter, greyer, colder and wetter. They’re actually all things I love and not the reasons behind my mood.
This Sunday it will be three years since my mate, Ned, died from breast cancer. I’ve written about her before, so I won’t bore you with the details, other than to say she was passionate about breast and prostate cancer awareness. And all she wanted to do was save one person’s life.
Today, it’s two years since my second cousin, Kim, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s written about her story here too. And thankfully she is well, but she said to me on Facebook today, she would keep fighting the good fight for Ned. Appreciate it, Kimmy. 🙂
Another friend, Bev, died three years ago in March, from breast cancer. Her fight was long and horrific but with peace and acceptance. Something I will forever be in awe of.
Ned loved the beach – especially the beach above, which is our ‘local’, Thomas River. And as much as I enjoy the beach too, it’s one of those places you can come, spend time and within a short time of you leaving, there is no evidence that you’ve ever been there. The waves wash away our footprints, the seagulls will cry, but we won’t hear them. It is a lonely, wild and makes me stop and think about the gift of life every time I am there. Without fail.
We are so fragile but so often we take life for granted. It only takes one breath and lives change. Because of this I want to ask you a favour…
On Sunday, can you please check your breasts? On Monday, can you please make a doctors appointment to ask about prostate cancer?
I would rather be laughing and sharing rainbows with you all on Facebook, Twitter or my blog than hearing you are unwell. Please, for Ned. And if she does help save your life, I hope you’ll let me know too.
Miss ya still, Nedly.