there is a single tiny pink tulip stenciled in one corner of my daughter’s room. when i repainted her room as a surprise for her during her college years, i could not bear to paint over all the tiny tulips i had stenciled along the ceiling for my little girl’s room what seemed like five minutes before, so i left one. there is something about pink.
just looking at this peony – in full blossom – you can catch a whiff of the sweet scent of this flower. my niece sent me a picture the other day of her peonies with a note, “i wish they lasted longer than five minutes.”
our peonies sat tightly in bud for a few weeks until – suddenly – they exploded into glorious bloom. five minutes later – or maybe a split second or so – petals were scattering onto the patio but we could still catch whiffs on the breeze. but those five minutes…wow.
the botanic garden had all varieties of peonies, in all stages of bloom. you could stand in one place and twirl to see peonies in lush green growth, peonies in bud, peonies in bloom, peonies with blossoms wide, petals falling. there was something about these pink peonies.
my dear sister was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. a devastating blow, she has ridden the coaster of emotions and arrived at warrior. her surgery was a couple of weeks ago and she is waiting now – the interminable wait – for the pathology results. when she found the lump and the dimpling on her breast, she felt pretty sure it was cancer. but it was in the moments of biopsy results that her life changed. the five minutes during which she became a pink ribbon holder.
soon she will know more. she’ll know about the margins and the treatment going forward. she’ll know about how her recuperating pain will change over time. she’ll know about limitations and about percentages. she’ll know about genetics and maybe why she was diagnosed with the same – rarer – cancer our sweet momma had.
right now, she knows about these moments. the moments of abrupt change. the moments of gearing up for a fight. the moments of absolute vulnerability. the moments – from the very first one – of being a survivor. the moments of leaning on others to garner strength and hope. the moments of desperately trying to stay grounded. the moments of grabbing onto now and holding onto the gossamer ties.
there are no right ways. this is cancer and the journey is brutal, unfair, f-ed up. she is one patient in a world of patients. i desperately wish that was different.
my sister. she ordered chocolate ganache cake for lunch. she’s thinking about a pink ribbon tattoo. she is being a beautiful peony.