I was only three-years-old when you passed away, but I still have so many wonderful memories of you. I remember swinging on your porch swing with you. I remember playing with your dog Bruno. I remember getting stuck in one of your window panes that separated the living room and dining room. You came running down the stairs with your hair still up in a towel to "save" me.
I also remember when Mom-mom tried to explain to me why you didn't have your beautiful hair anymore. "It's because Aunt Rainy is very very sick," Mom-mom told me. I didn't understand why you were so sick, but when I would visit you at the hospital you seemed so weak and couldn't play with me. Then came March 20, 1987. I was wearing pink cordoroy pants and a white tee shirt with stars on it. My mom and I were walking down the stairs when Pop-pop got a phone call. Everyone started crying and told me that you went to Heaven.
You battled breast cancer for four years. You were such a fighter, but in the end cancer took you away from our family.
When I first found out about my BRCA1 mutation I wished so bad that I could talk to you about it. I wanted to know what you would have done if you knew about our genetic mutation. But I couldn't ask you, and I will never know what you would have done because you're not here. Because you aren't here, I have my answer.
Here I sit, two days post PBM and even though the pain from the mastectomy and expanders is very hard to tolerate, I know I made the right decision. Sadly, you didn't have that opportunity to save your life. I hope you are proud of me, Aunt Rainy. I know you were by my side in the operating room watching over me. You're my angel.
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