when I see pink

I started seeing pink on my last trip to the grocery store, so I thought I’d share this perspective on wearing pink.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Today I’m wearing pink.  I’ve invited my friends to wear pink and I invite you to wear pink.

Just in case you think that’s a silly thing–a fad–and it doesn’t really matter. Hear me out. Pink may mean a lot to someone you pass in the grocery store aisle or post office. A person effected by cancer who sees you walking along the street, in your workplace or sitting in your class.

In October eleven years ago I was undergoing one of the most intensive periods of breast cancer treatment I would face. I was diagnosed in September, just in time to start seeing pink everywhere. At first, I dealt with the fear of what facing cancer would mean in my life. My mom had died during her fight against breast cancer. It was a heart-breaking process, seeing cancer and chemo drain the life from her. Would I face the same thing?

When October ’99 hit, so did the pink ribbons, the magazine articles and the t-shirts. Pink ribbons seemed to be everywhere as I sorted through my fears. I couldn’t even make a simple trip to the grocery store without being reminded ” that I have cancer” as I picked out my yoplait yogurt for the week, each with a shiny pink lid complete with a pink ribbon printed on top. All in the name of “awareness.”

I’m aware, I’m aware already. Please, must I be reminded everywhere I turn?

One afternoon as I sat at the end of the exam table in my surgeon’s office, I might as well have been sitting on the edge of a cliff. I felt so far removed from life as usual. Still, to keep from staring out at the unknown, I pulled a magazine from the clear holder on the wall and thumbed through it.

That’s what you do at every appointment, flip through a magazine that you’d probably never order for your home and wait. Such an ordinary thing helped me to escape the diagnosis to feel ordinary for a while.

However, I was flipping through the October issue of a women’s magazine with nearly every page plastered in pink: pink ribbons on toilet paper and band-aid ads, stories including pictures of men in pink shirts and hairless women in pink bandanas, even pink wigs. It pushed me over the edge–from anger through overload to being thoroughly amused. This was completely absurd!

As I flipped further into the magazine, I found a picture of a normal looking woman who described her journey through cancer. It was exactly like mine, but she was farther down the road. I smiled and thought God, isn’t this just like you to take me through cancer at a time of the year where encouragement is printed, painted, plastered and put-on everywhere I look. A little light broke through on my path as I came to peace with–pink.

I came to see pink as a way that people who felt helpless to say the right thing could say, I care and support you without tripping over their words. I saw pink as a color of hope. I’m pulling for you. Hooray, you’ve made it one more day! It said I may not know you but hang in there, you’re not alone. It also said someone I love lost the fight, but I loved her and I wear pink to heal, to celebrate her life and the spirit with which she faced the fight of her life.

*            *               *              *               *               *                       *

Four days after my surgery I stood in downtown Sacramento where a river of thousands of flowed around me. I stood on a corner with a pink sash pinned at my shoulder and hip, a member of the court in one of life’s peculiar pageants–a chosen one. Strangers waved as they walked by; some came close and shared a quick “hang in there, we’re out here for you.” I was warmed by the sun and overcome by the beauty of  it lighting up the capital building in the background, its green lawn turned carnival for the day with pink balloon arches and walkers stepping out into the street pushing strollers, walking dogs, carrying signs with slogans or pictures of love ones lost.

I just had to stand there and cry over the power and beauty in this moment.  Familiar faces emerged through the blur of tears. A choir of cheering friends bounded my way swarming me with hugs and jostling to grab my hand, to point at the signs pinned to their shirts with my name. “Mari..Mari…Mari.” each piped up in a distinct, much-cherished voice.

Pink became a color of love and support during a hard time. A color of hugs and hope and comfort along a journey of unknowns. So why not wear pink, you just might speak volumes to comfort and encourage those touched by cancer.


12 Comments Add yours

  1. Laura Smith says:


    This is a beautiful post. I’d never thought about the simple act of wearing pink encouraging those who are in the midst of their trial. Also reminded me that a random smile or encouraging word may change someone’s outlook for the day.

    Please keep writing, my friend.


    1. Laura, Thanks for stopping in. It really is the little things. They seem so small to us, but may be exactly what another person’s heart desperately needs. Even if we never know that they touch another person’s life…somehow it does us good to “…shine a good deed, in a weary world.*”
      Keep on shining, Laura, keep shining.

      *quote from “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”

  2. Linda Cassidy Lewis recommended your blog to me. I understand why she thought I would enjoy your blog. Blessings to you…

    1. Carol Ann, I’m glad Linda sent you my way. I took a spin over to your blog and discovered that, as usual, Linda was spot on–we do have a lot in common. Thanks for sharing a bit of your afternoon with me!

  3. You are brave and courageous and *victorious.* And I just LOVE you!

    And may I add? You don’t just look “pretty in pink.” You’re absolutely gorgeous.

    “The King is enthralled by your beauty.” – Psalm 45:11

    1. What a sweet, sweet comment. I have to say that God steadied me every step of the way and He flooded my life with many expressions of His love. Pretty hard for some to believe, but my walk through cancer held much joy…because I did not walk alone.

  4. @bibledude says:

    oh sweetmarimari… you are just amazing! Thank you so much for sharing this story! I’ve never had to face cancer like you have, but my seven year-old son was diagnosed with Type 1 (Juvenile) Diabetes when he was 17-months old. Every year we do the Walk to Cure Diabetes and encounter similar support. So I can relate to what you are sharing.

    You are a awesome! Thanks you for this!

    1. Dan, Thank you for stopping in! That’s great your family is walking together with others at the Walk for the Cure. They are wonderful…great opportunity to meet people and encourage each other while raising money for a good cause. Hope your son is living big while learning to manage his diabetes…it’s really a whole family endeavor, isn’t it.

      I saw the “garage sales for orphans” banner (http://www.garagesale4orphans.org/) on your website and the pictures on Twitter of the kids giving the money they’d raised. Very, very cool!

      1. Dan King says:

        Thanks! The garage sale was totally something that my son wanted to do for Christmas this year. I’ve been blogging about the event quite a bit too…
        (sorry for the shameless plug)

        I agree on the opportunity to meet, support, and encourage people. I just got a note about a pair of twins that we know (one with diabetes and one without) who will be playing soccer on ESPN this weekend… These things (the walks) really help create a great family!

  5. Thanks, for posting the link…no apology needed.

  6. Connie says:

    Dearest Mari, what a smile you’ve put on my face, ;you are such an amazing daughter of our Father God. What a blessing you are. Thankful that you came into my life. Miss seeing your beautiful smiling face. I can see that your testimony is blessing so many. All need encouragement, and strength while on our journeys through life. Our Papa God is using you greatly. Proverbs 3:5-6
    Blessings abundantly, you are loved.

  7. Donna says:

    Dear Mari,
    I see we have something in common. I wear pink, too.

Share your thoughts...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s