I’ve been saying for years that if I ever win the lottery, I’ll donate a large share of my money to Breast Cancer research. What’s the likelihood of that, though? I’ve also planned on participating in the numerous other fundraisers, but something always happens to prevent that, too. Now, however, I have no excuse because I can shop or bid on great merchandise for a cure. As a chronic shoemonger, I was delighted to see the special Stuart Wietzman selection of celebrity-designed pumps. There’s also the special promotions by companies like ShoeBuy.com that donate proceeds for every pink item purchased. So that means I get to shoe shop and donate at the same time- killing two birds with one stone! And believe me, I’ve got quite a grudge against the bird with the initials BC.
Breast Cancer has stolen loved ones from millions of people, including yours truly. The first was Ms. Chopp. She’d taught my second grade class, and then taken over the tiny school to found a learning institution that neither slowed any child’s learning because of their age nor did held children back because of learning challenges. My small class of 9 grew together from at least second grade through 6th, and some of us had even attended preschool together. Therefore, she insisted that we interacted as family and strove to keep us together even if it meant keeping my tuition the same when she raised others’ so that my young, single mother could afford it. We learned Latin, violin, dance, and swimming, and when we fought, Ms. Chopp would find the root of our problem instead of simply punishing us. Often, a child’s parents were having problems or they’d just lost a loved one. Two summers after we graduated from the Cornerstone School, Ms. Chopp succumbed to Breast Cancer. I remember my former classmates and I deciding to wear bright colors to the funeral because we knew she would have wanted it that way.
Then, in 1999 my paternal grandmother went under the knife to have her cancerous breast removed. She endured her ordeal with strength and dignity, wearing her hair short and going without her hijab. When it grew back, she wore it braided. For an African American used to having long, full hair, the experience tested her vanity. She used to say Allah was humbling her. Four years later when the cancer returned, she was weakened by a previous stroke, and this time it was in her lungs, spine and pelvis. So, the day after Thanksgiving, I said goodbye to her too.
When the day comes that i buy the winning lottery ticket, I'll have a hospital wing named after both women. Until then, I'll shop my grief away and know that I'm helping others. And no, I will not join a shopper's support group!