October Always Brings Her Back: Breast Cancer, Legacy, and Healing

Yesterday, I saw the first Breast Cancer Awareness Month post, and I felt the familiar ache—grief that lives quietly in me year-round but blooms in full during October. My mother passed away nearly 22 years ago from metastatic breast cancer that spread to her liver and brain. It happened in October.

My mother was a core pillar in our family and extended community. She ran our household, kept us organized, and hosted Christmas parties and celebrations. She had a big personality and an even bigger heart. I used to think she was fearless—confronting anyone or anything she believed needed change. She loved to bargain for a better deal, whether at Zellers or Walmart. A fixed price on a sticker never deterred her. If a clothing item had a stain she knew could be washed out, she’d boldly ask for a discount and negotiate with the store manager.

My mother on her wedding day

Her boldness was matched by her generosity. She gave freely—her time, her money, and anything she had. She adored both her relatives and the chosen family she built after moving to Hamilton. I think my first lessons in community care came from her, long before I had the language to name it.

Growing up, my sibling and I spent extended summers with relatives so our parents could work and take a break. They also took in cousins at different times. My closest cousins feel like sisters because of the holidays and summers we spent together. In the 1970s, as the Haitian community was establishing itself, families and friends worked together to sponsor siblings, friends, and acquaintances to come to Canada. They pooled their resources, taking turns accessing the fund when traditional loans weren’t available. They cared for each other’s children—my godmother and aunt, who loved kids, became the designated daycare lead. She babysat many of us cousins and family friends for decades and is now seen as a second mother to many.

Summer in Montreal with my siblings, cousins, aunt and uncle

Here I am (bottom left) focused on cake - one of my true loves to this day, lol!

What began as a personal loss became a lesson in the power of community. For me, my mother was a pillar—someone I knew loved and supported me and would do anything to help me succeed. She was a perfectionist with a Type A personality who wanted her kids to excel in school and life. She had dreams and ideas for me that I didn’t always share, and she liked things done her way. So I’d “negotiate” with her the way I saw her negotiate with others. But overall, we got along well and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

When she passed away, I felt winded—like I couldn’t breathe. In the immediate aftermath, I couldn’t imagine how life would move forward. I had just started my second year of nursing school, and my personal life had imploded.

But I was held. The women in my family—my sister, aunts, cousins, and close family friends—carried and supported me for a very long time. They helped me navigate overwhelming grief, supported our household during different periods, and some even helped me financially through university.

My godmother and aunt made it her duty to mother me in my mother’s absence. She showed up—calling regularly, listening, offering advice, attending my graduations, leaving her own family to help me move to Vancouver for my Master’s, and standing beside me at my graduation alongside my dad, sister, and cousin.

Graduation from Simon Fraser University

Family left to right: cousin and her daughter, my sister, me, my father and my godmother.

I genuinely don’t know where I’d be without the community that holds me up. The women who surround me—who continue to pour into me, challenge me, and celebrate me—are proof that community is not just a concept. It’s a force. It’s how we heal, how we grow, and how we move forward.

Every day, as I witness what’s happening in the world—the genocides in Palestine and Sudan, the conflicts in Haiti and so many other places—A global collective is coming together, demanding that we not turn our attention away but work toward ending oppression, starvation, and ethnic cleansing. They remind us of the power of collective solidarity to force change. I believe we must continue pushing for the change that is rightfully and justly ours—together.

Given my role as a Health Equity Specialist, I often wonder whether systemic anti-Black racism contributed to my mother’s premature death. As someone who is both harmed by anti-Black racism and tasked with dismantling it, I’ve long yearned for spaces to unpack these experiences alongside other Black women and femmes. To explore the nuance, the toll, and the possibilities for healing and transformation—rooted in community care.

That’s the purpose of the UsNow Conference. It’s a space for Black women and gender-diverse folks to gather, reflect, and celebrate. A space to slow down, connect, network, eat delicious food, laugh, shop, and simply be—in joy, in truth, and in community.

🎟️ Register now and be part of a movement that centers Black women and femmes in wellness, leadership, and transformation: UsNow 2025 – Black Women & Femmes Health Conference