I Had a Friend

We met when we were nine going on ten.  Our mother's met first, over beans and weiners bubbling on a camp kitchen wood stove in Yoho park.  We were born two weeks apart, something our mothers marveled over.  She was an American, very exotic in my eyes.  We vowed to be friends forever, and wrote faithfully to each other once a week all through high school.  We were pen pals.  But it was more than that.  We holidayed together.  Our parents became friends.  It was a friendship meant to be. It was good.
She was a Bird of Paradise, an artist, sculptor, weaver, decorator, writer, story teller..and one of her best subjects was herself.  She loved to laugh. She loved bright colours, ethnic clothes.  She was intense, intelligent and sometimes she even loved life.
We grew up, married,  became mothers.  We were there, long distance, for each other through trying times. "Tick and tin" we used to say.  Sometimes we took breaks from one another though. One of those breaks lasted 10 years as I recall. 
 The day I staggered home from the doctor's office, I grabbed the phone to tell her I had breast cancer.  A month later, as I was recovering from surgery, I picked up the phone and she was on the other end "  Well," she said, "I guess it's my turn now". 
I eventually beat breast cancer back.  It wasn't easy. After her first surgery and treatment, she came to me to convalesce.  We thought our trial by fire was over.   It wasn't.  I fought one more.  She fought two more big battles with Breast Cancer.   She fought like a tiger.  She wanted to live. The third round finished her.  She was 62. 
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  By all means be aware.  By all means contribute if you can. For sure do the self examinations, and have a mammogram.  Don't be afraid of it, just do it.
 Buy the pink hammers, the pink machines, wear the pink ribbons, drop cash into the pink collection boxes.
 But, really, we should be finding a cure.  And we should be able to treat this nasty disease with better tools other than cutting, burning and poisoning. 
This is for Margie.  I miss you.