I’ve known the month of September to be a wily foe. Perhaps her cunning is a mere protesting of the confusion that comes with bearing two seasons at once. Still, I haven’t liked her much. It was during her days that I lost my mom to breast cancer 26 years ago. Two years ago, my brother ended his life in September. Why, then, would I schedule a preventative double mastectomy for this dreaded month? To give September a chance to redeem herself.
She didn’t disappoint.
In mounting cascades of prayers, love and assurance, September rushed me along with a rapid, knowing force. So bolstered, I cast no backward glances, and awoke ready on the day of surgery.
Read the rest of this story on my Huffington Post blog.