Twelve women on my mother’s side of the family have had breast cancer—twelve of us. When a distant cousin asked if it would be okay to include my name on a T-shirt for a fundraiser, I did not hesitate to tell her yes.
As she began speaking to an operator, my mind wandered to a blood-splattered ER where I envisioned my little boy grimacing in pain and crying for his mommy, me.
A rush of memories poured over me – like the nine-year-old Emmali who served me a Cheez-It cracker and red Gatorade in a shot glass at home because I’d missed communion at church to tend to her younger sister who was sick…