In October, I lost my friend Joni to cancer. Even typing that sentence still feels unreal.
Joni was vibrant. Present. The kind of woman who filled a room without trying. She was laughter and honesty and warmth. She was the friend who checked in. The one who showed up. The one who didn’t make everything about herself.
And like so many women, she was strong. Too strong. Strong enough to push through discomfort. Strong enough to minimize symptoms. Strong enough to keep going when her body was whispering that something wasn’t right.
Cancer does not care how brilliant you are. It does not care how loved you are. It does not care how many people need you. When we lost her, we didn’t just lose a woman. We lost future conversations. Future birthdays. Future memories we assumed we would have. I became a Woman in Blue because this is no longer abstract to me. Colon cancer is not just a statistic. It is not just a ribbon. It is not just a month on a calendar. It is personal. It is the empty seat. It is the text thread that went silent. It is the ache of “if we had only known sooner.”
If sharing Joni’s story encourages one woman to get screened…If one mother schedules the colonoscopy she’s been putting off…
If one friend says, “That pain isn’t normal, go get it checked”… Then her life continues to ripple outward. I wear blue for Joni.
I wear blue for the women who think they’re too young. For the women who are “fine.” For the women who are too busy taking care of everyone else. And I wear blue so fewer families have to learn the hard way what early detection could have changed.
This is not about fear. It’s about love. It’s about awareness. It’s about action. It’s about protecting the women who hold everything together. I am a Woman in Blue because I refuse to let her story end without impact.