I’m a nail painter.
It’s not always an easy thing to keep up on, but I do it.
Actually, it’s a pain in the ass…but I like the way it looks when they’re done.
Usually I pick my color to match the season…
Fall is usually a time for my Grays, sometimes Black…and a lot of Dark Purples.
I love purple, and I can get away with purple nails for “Halloween Time”
For THE GAME I break out the blue.
Towards the end of November and into December I turn to the reds because it gets me in the mood.
For the holidays…geesh…get your mind out of the gutter, hooker.
Summertime is Hot Pink…my FAVORITE color to wear on my nails.
It goes nicely with my wanna-be-tan, it looks great glistening in the summer sunshine and it’s fun and lively-it just makes me happy.
By this time of year my Hot Pink polish is usually buried under a mountain of other colors, but this year it’s still there on my bathroom counter.
Every other night (yes, EVERY OTHER EFFING NIGHT) when I re-do my polish, Hot Pink is being used.
As the summer tan fades from my skin, and the gloomy days attract me to the fall polish colors I’m accustomed to, they still remain in the polish drawer.
To others, my pink nails look pretty. I get compliments on them all the time. They don’t know I’m wearing my summertime color well into fall. To them, my nail color is insignificant.
But everyday, every moment, my nails are a quiet reminder of the battle my friend is fighting.
Cancer is not a stranger to my life.
I didn’t battled cancer in my own body, but I’ve watched it take the life of people very dear to me in a very short period of time.
It is ugly and unforgiving.
It’s unfair and unbiased.
It’s an asshole who doesn’t care about how much you mean to your family and friends. It doesn’t care if you’re a mother, daughter, sister, wife and friend.
It doesn’t care if you’re health conscious, or take care of yourself.
My friend is all those things and more.
She eats right, exercises daily, loves her husband and three young children.
She’s 32 years old and fighting a battle for her life.
It’s hard for me to put into words how I feel.
On the surface, I’m keeping my shit together….
But I can’t stop thinking about the small details that impact her.
How it changes the way she looks at her kids.
And how its changing the way she looks at all of us.
It’s changed the way her parents look at her. No matter how old you are, your mother’s heart will always ache for your hardships. Her mother’s heart-I just can’t imagine.
The community is so full of support, it really is amazing. But at the end of the day it is her battle and hers alone.
We support, we love, we care.
But nothing we do or say can change what is happening.
No hugs will take away the burden from her shoulders.
No one can fight this battle for her.
For her, days seem to stand still, though life around her keeps going.
And when the night is quiet, it is very quiet.
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