If you're a regular or semi-frequent reader of The Garden Buzz, you've probably read this post before. It's usually mid-October when all the pink starts to grate on me and I decide to re-run this plea for direct donations to the cause of fighting the "anything but pink" scourge that breast cancer continues to be...
...Except for the burnished maples, the early October snows have muddied our usual brilliant fall colors, leaving us with only pink. The stores are filled with all manner of pink items advertising National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And in my garden, this last single rosy bloom of "All the Rage".
I realized that I am not alone in my worry that the message is getting lost in the marketing. Others are growing concerned that the portion of "pink" sales turned over to charity is misleading. I fear that in going all girlfriendy, all pink and sparkly, the reality of breast cancer is somehow diluted.
Lest we forget, breast cancer is a dark, heinous disease that steals our family and friends, robbing us of the nurturing relationships that matter most in life. It is the disease that took my mother at 70 before my children were born. It is the disease that took my sister at 57 before we could make peace. It is the disease that almost caught me at 37 when my children were so, so young. It is the disease that hovers like a perpetual dark cloud in the peripheral vision of my 21 year-old daughter.
If you want to wear silly pink wigs and run a race, that's ok. If you really covet a pink Kitchen-Aid mixer by all means, go ahead. If a coffee mug stamped with a pink ribbon warms your heart, that's fine.
But better yet, make a more powerful statement, a more potent response by donating DIRECTLY to the American Cancer Society. Communicate to the TV networks that you'd like "one less", one less Viagra ad every night and one more breast cancer public service announcement instead. Communicate to your congressperson that when health care is reformed it should include equal access to breast cancer treatment for all women, and our sons and fathers and brothers.
Because for me, breast cancer isn't pink, it's personal.