Stepping Out

Rachel was an “all in” kind of person.

If I didn’t know that before I learned it Saturday when I had the privilege of hearing her friends and family, many of whom had come from as far as Australia and England, speak about her friendship, her wit, her joy for life. Her unbreakable commitment and passion for anyone and anything she cared about.

Rachel Cheetham Moro

If Rachel liked something about you, she was your friend for life.  She didn’t do anything halfway, or half-assed like her dedication to exposing breast cancer’s ugly truth or the horrendous fact that little has changed since the inception of pink awareness…Where does that leave us? How do we make a difference now?  Can we accomplish anything if we’re not all in, like Rachel?

Feeling like a woman on a mission, I was fortunate to speak with Kathi Kolb, The Accidental Amazon and Sarah Horton, Being Sarah about my idealized, all-consuming quest to end breast cancer and both ladies wisely pointed out, it’s nearly impossible to always be all in.

Rachel was an amazing exception.  Activism is tough, draining work. It’s exhausting diligently keeping one’s nose to the grindstone only to hit wall after wall with little results. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth pursuing, but sometimes, for sanity’s sake, one needs to step back, look around, assess the situation, refresh and regroup.

I think it’s time I step out for a while.  To refresh, regroup and process the losses, not just those of last week, but all the losses over the years, the nearly 30 years since my mother was first diagnosed.  When breast cancer entered my vernacular and never left.

To learn what I can do, discover my role.  Thirty years is a long time for breast cancer to linger around the edges and often the forefront of my thoughts.

It’s time to contribute in ways that matter, in this fight to cure, prevent, eradicate this scourge that takes so much.  Maybe that means approaching this blog differently.  Being a better resource for those recently diagnosed.  I’m not a scientist.  The laboratory is not my place.  So I don’t know yet, but I do know breast cancer cannot continue to steamroll everyone in its path.

I want to be all in and I’m off to discover what that means for me.

To figure out where to go from here.

While stepping out to regroup, I leave you with this:

Somewhere in the sands of the Jersey shore or hiding in the food court of the Monmouth Mall is my little son’s tooth.  His first baby tooth to fall, lost forever while I was at Rachel’s memorial service.

Time stops for no one.

Like the gray Atlantic waves Saturday, life moves on.

What are we going to do with it?