Do it for yourself then do it for your partner or spouse

Each morning when I hop onto my computer, the first place I go is The Breast Cancer Site. In June, they've devoted quite a few of their cover stories to raise awareness of breast cancer in men. While inelegantly written, this one really touched my heart. It's short and carries a very strong message. I hope you'll each take a minute to read it then head back to the main page to have your click counted. This PSA is now over.

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Since it's Saturday, I'm linking up to Saturday Centus over at Jenny's place. Each week Mr. Jenny provides us with a prompt then sends us on our way to write. There are rules: the prompt must be left intact; the story has to be told in 100 words or less, excluding the prompt; and *gasp* no pictures allowed.

I've decided I'll be writing about something true whenever it's possible.

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The call came after midnight. It's time. My father and mother went to pick up Memere. My sister rode with me to the hospital. All of us silently rode the elevator to the third floor.

The ICU nurse kindly told Memere that Pepere had held on as long as he could. He'd waited until she was in the building before passing. . .

Awakened from my reverie by the cart, I sighed. It was Fathers Day, 1984. When I heard that voice in the hallway, I politely sent the maid away. I needed time to find my happy voice. Two months had passed. I knew dad would need happy today.

Peace.

Memere (mem ay) and Pepere (pep ay) are the French Candian names we called my father's parents.