Ya'll, it's been a night of mixed feelings.
I was blessed to join the Polka Dot Mama Melanoma Research Foundation's Taste For A Cure Gala virtually tonight. There I "saw" fellow advocate Tracy Callahan polkadotmama.org/our-story/ open her home kitchen to raise money again for melanoma awareness, free screening opportunities, and a Shade Shuttle. We "hang out" at the same national meetings (Melanoma Research Foundation and Melanoma Research Alliance).
My friend/ date Michelle from Coolibar and I exchanged photos of us in our polka dot pajamas watching the gala, attire fitting for this pandemic year. Going full out, I even put on mascara and lipstick for the event. I moved my favorite picture of Wayne to our dining room table, a bottle of limited edition PRIDE 2020 pink bubbly to remember my brother Patrick as part of my siblings who mark today as the birthday of our father who died at age 45 when I was a teenager from suicide. Our cat Miss Scarlett perched the nearby on the sofa arm. My heart was full of each one of you, and all of us, and all of those we've met who have been living with melanoma these past 5 years together.
On YouTube Live I was able to hear my fellow support group member Lyn talk about her sweet sister Grace who lived fully with melanoma all the way through hospice care until her death in May of last year. I heard Lacey Adams, wife of the former Surgeon General who has been back in immunotherapy from a recurrance of melanoma this past year say putting off scans and skin checks during Covid is a bad idea, and she knows because hers were delayed and then evidenced a recurrance.
Was there crying? Of course there was crying. Well, from me, not the cat.
Was there also gratitude for Tracy, Lyn and Grace, Wayne, Susanne, Nadia, Cassie, Michelle, Living with Melanoma Alexandria, MRF, MRA, clinical trials, researchers and melanoma providers, caretakers like you, and advocates? YES. In abundance.
All these days. All your faces. All our stories.
All our hopes. All our research. All the asking and advocating and educating and fundraising.
All our losses.
All my losses.
My feet, always standing on the dividing line between then and now, before and after. Always with a propulsion forward and a heartache for another time, for more time.
This year continues to feel like a "between time". The Pandemic has perhaps helped slow my full entry into being a widow. I still fully consider myself married, but the damn medical and government forms say I am not. The invitation to our son's wedding as an individual attendee says I am not. But our wedding rings, on my left hand and around my neck, say I am.
It's been a night of feelings alright.
Thanks for listening.
Take care of yourself even as you care for others,
Missy
