Linda Weighs In

The annual reappearance of pink every October has not always had a repulsive effect on the Hoffman sisters. It has been an odd and unexpected evolution.

Years ago, when my mom was a breast cancer “Survivor”, the pink ribbons and shirts and socks and magnets on the trunks of minivans reminded us that our mom was not fighting alone. All these people, all over America, were supporting her. Their purchases all contributed to the research that had saved our mom. It was a symbol of unity, a sisterhood. She was a winner and they were all cheering for her.

All of that changed the second mom went from “Survivor” to “Statistic”. When you are on the losing end of the fight, that pink ribbon begins to represent empty promises, money wasted, a failed fight. A lie.


Every year the pink reemerges and we have a daily reminder of our loss. Pink cereal, pink coffee cups, pink ribbons on everything, pink signs at the deli counter, pink balloons floating at the entrance of the grocery store, pink fire trucks, pink everything. Failure, failure, failure.




I have come to realize that the ribbon is not for us. It is not even for the survivors. It is for the people who know someone who has cancer, had cancer, fears they may get cancer. It is the small contribution to the bigger fight so they do not feel helpless. No one consider those of us that have already lost the fight and are in mourning. Those of us that feel a twinge in their stomach when they see the phrase “breast cancer”, because it stole their mother and is a dark shadow in their own future. I get it, they are trying to help. But the constant reminder and the pink tint added to the fall every year is extremely insensitive. Don’t they even think about us? Or is it too late for us? Are we not the target demographic?

That is where the real disgust kicks in, when I realize who is really benefiting from all this pink. It is not the breast cancer patients. Ok, maybe they get some of it, maybe. It is the companies that market this stuff. They are playing into people’s fear of breast cancer or the love of their family member or friend who is fighting it and making a bundle. It is appalling. No one wanted to help my mom. They wanted to make some money.

Call me cynical. You would be too.