Breast Cancer Fundraiser – RAPHAELA ANGELOU

I met Serena when my daughter was a year old, and we always did Mothers Day together. When the Mothers Day Classic hit our town four years ago, we walked the track side by side. She was the first to bow her head and reflect when the minute of silence began. She was there last year, and now she is not. I saw her boys yesterday. Oh darling, they are growing up. They are being cared for and loved. I wish you were here. I always felt like I didn’t belong when it came to Mothers Day. Ten years of infertility and no family will do that. You helped me find my place. We would go to a local historical farm after the walk, eating gozleme, patting the horses and watching the kids on the rides. I would hug you and whisper ‘Happy Mothers Day.’ You were a superb mother, tending not only to your own children, but taking a real interest in your school and the kids therein. You were there more than you were at home. I hugged your little boys yesterday, talked to them and looked at pictures of what they have been up to. I still can’t believe you aren’t here. This morning, my little girl ran into the bedroom with gifts, cards and art. Expressions of love. My heart was with you. If I could have given you a piece of my heart so you could be here today, I would have. In a heartbeat.

My daughter's art work — My daughter’s art work

I had my coffee and my little girl and I went to the Mother’s Day Classic. I was expecting to see you, and was bereft when you didn’t show. I kept seeing you everywhere. My beautiful friend Di, is undergoing chemo at the moment, and her little boy is unwell. She so wanted to do the walk this morning. We walked for the pair of you. Two girls from the UK, who made your home in Sydney. Serena, you loved this place more than most Aussies do, and I certainly know Di does. The sunshine means more to you, as does the scenery. You can become jaded when viewing the Opera House and Harbor every week of your life. You become spoilt. We bagged a medal for you both.

Afterward, we tried to get into the farm for our traditional lunch, but the crowd was crazy! Instead, we went to a takeaway, and got potato scallops and pineapple fritters covered with cinnamon. Now, I am going to light a candle for you and Di. I will also light a candle for all those separated by death from their children; for those with sick children and those whom are undergoing cancer treatment. For those who are single mums, and those removed from their own. You are all remembered today.

Here’s to mothers, aunts and females. You matter, you always will.

Most people are surprised to hear that I am a hermit at heart. A solitary creature, who is used to keeping her own counsel. I made the distinction between needing “a fix” of people, to electing to enjoy their company. There is a difference. Usually when I enter a room, I feel awkward, and either stumble over my feet and walking stick, or blurt out something random, and unconnected to the conversation. On this occasion, I instantly felt at home. My friend Lisa is a nurse, and one of the gentlest and ethereal women I have had the privilege of knowing. Her beloved mother-in-law passed from breast cancer, and every year she organizes a high tea in her honour.

Colourful people arrive and donate goods, and money is raised to crush this disease. This year, the very talented Hannah Erika Crichton kindly donated her talents and time to sing for us. We were in a hall with women who had been through dark night’s of the soul, mind and body. I loathed the colour pink before having my daughter. I preferred black. I preferred anonymity. I now view pink as a colour of strength, of dreams and power. A colour you underestimate, until it knocks you to the ground with its force of will.

The women in the hall were strong, gutsy, plucky. I stood for a moment, and looked around. The ladies smiled amongst the easy banter at the tables. Bliss was produced with my friend Nicci’s cupcakes and Lisa’s divine soy candles. Pink, I loathed you for what you seemed to expect of me. I apologise in full. It was not you, but my culture that insisted I be demure, pandering and agreeable (at all times). Rather, you have always viewed women as strong, filled with vigour, a powerful voice, a buoyant heart and creative hands. I have had you all wrong. These women, cloaked in pink, have proven that to me.