*Please be aware a woman blogging about her breasts...with some feeling... :)*
A small piece of cotton lies between the scars and an empty sports bra. She goes through the day, laughing smiling, joking, and making the occasional "boob" joke with only sisters and very close friends. It's been two weeks since "it" left, and since then she's told everyone she's okay with it. It's to help her live longer, it's to save her life. She's not sad. "I was sadder to see my hair go". But in the last couple of days, she's thought about her babies nursing, and her breast becoming a part of her, of who is was. She grew up in a family, a modest family, girls weren't allowed to wear short or tank tops. Low cut blouses were out of the question. She had her rebellious moments with clothing and modesty, but always in the back of her mind, distinctly aware of the rights and wrongs. "You body is a temple" "A woman can cause a man to sin". These thoughts (scriptures) never far. As a wife and mother, now very acutely aware of these truths, she's been careful about her body. And now this huge event in her life that challenges her as a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, woman, and Christian. The floods open up and she cries. She cries like when her mother died. She cries like only a woman losing a breast would cry. The tears flood and her husband holds her. She cries for the breast that fed her babies, for the "friend" through puberty, marriage and now cancer. But this friend must go, she cries guiltily for not crying sooner. Good-bye, I say, goodbye. I love you, but must let you go. I am doing this to save the rest of me. Love you, love me, love you, love me.
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