How We Remember

A photo taken one October. A group of friends in evening gowns, smiling at a Living Beyond Breast Cancer black tie event to honor my friend for her work with the organization. She looked gorgeous. “Hold your applause until all our honorees are recognized,” the moderator requested. As my friend walked across the stage, thunderous applause erupted and cheering filled the room. We couldn’t help it. That was the impact of her beautiful life.

She, holder of a jet-setting corporate job. I, a close-to-home massage therapist. She, the mayor of everywhere. I, holder of a much smaller circle of friends. And she had been in it for years. Through boyfriends and husbands, moves to other states, job changes, celebrations, losses, life changes, aging…cancer.  When I got remarried three years ago, she was there to help me try on wedding dresses…laughing with me at the ridiculous cupcake fluffiness of dresses meant for pretty young things half my age. She made me feel beautiful despite my lumpy middle, marred by a plethora of abdominal surgeries. She understood how scars run deeper than people know. Afterwards in the parking lot, we sipped champagne in her red convertible with the top down. My friend always had time for me. Until she didn’t.

I lost her to breast cancer just before the cherry blossoms bloomed this year. 

Metastatic was the official term. It means you learn to live with breast cancer. For the rest of your life. Which she did. For two decades. While pretty pink is all around this month of October, there is nothing pretty about this disease. I don’t think many people knew just how much she suffered. Not just physical pain, but the devastation that this disease threw at her psyche. Rounds of chemo took the hair on her head. But it also sometimes took her eyebrows and eyelashes, too. Medications caused numbness in her feet and weight gain. Continuous PET scans created anxiety about what they’d find “this time”. There was even the unspoken burden of being the face of courage in the midst of her own uncertainty. And these were only the things that I was privy to; I’m sure there was much, much more she kept to herself. The scars of mastectomy the visible reminders of what had been taken from her, but the adhesions that formed beneath the skin were hidden intimations of what felt restricted afterwards.  

Like dating.  

Exactly when does one bring up the fact that they have metastatic breast cancer? She thought it too heavy for a first date topic. Third date? Fifth date? At what point would it be too late? It gave her such anxiety that she rarely put herself in dating situations. And yet, to find her One was one of the dearest desires of her heart. She never would have her one partner in life. 

Instead, she was soulmate to many. 

As her friend, I always felt like I was number one to her. I learned at her memorial service that every one of her other friends felt exactly the same way. Her friend group spanned the globe and included people of all ages, all cultures, all professions. We always joked that the world was really, “Six Degrees of Amy Lessack,” since, no matter where we were, she would inevitably know someone. Her life had touched so many people, there wasn’t a corner of the world that hadn’t felt her presence somehow.

One of the groups of people to which she dedicated her life was the community of Living Beyond Breast Cancer (LBBC), an organization that offers financial and educational resource as well as emotional support for people impacted by breast cancer. She sat on their board for years, and was a tireless advocate for the care of people living with this disease. No matter how ill or fatigued she felt, she was the first one to show up for events like “Reach and Raise” yoga on the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum or the annual Butterfly Ball. Always present, always smiling.   

I know many people who have been impacted by breast cancer: two of my aunts — one had it twice, one just had her last chemo treatment, a colleague and friend who is currently undergoing treatment...again, and numerous clients. There are countless more who I don't know, each person with their own arduous journey.  Each one needs care and support. Their families need care and support. In real, tangible and immediate ways.

As the owner of a wellness center, my life and career is all about the well-being and support of others. My center, The Healing Sanctuary, will be donating a portion of our sales in October to LBBC to continue the work of my friend in supporting others in living their best lives in spite of breast cancer. I encourage people to make a positive difference in the lives of those affected by breast cancer by making a donation to Living Beyond Breast Cancer through our LBBC portal at https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/the-healing-sanctuary.

I am so grateful for your kindness and generosity. I know Amy would be, too.