Kelly Burch

In order to connect with other men and women living with a terminal diagnosis, LoRe founded Hope and Friendship Metastatic Breast Cancer Foundation, which provides a support group in northern Massachusetts, where she lives. Through the support group LoRe has seen the devastating effects of breast cancer, which too often go unnoticed amid early detection and awareness campaigns.

I’m one of those bigger girls that confuses the medical community by being entirely healthy. My doctor body shamed me and lied to me about tests she ran.

By introducing my father’s illness as a fact during a time when his mental health had no negative effects on my life, my parents enabled me to live without stigma, which in turn empowered me to advocate for my father’s treatment when his health took a turn for the worse my freshmen year of college.

My mom and I are extremely close. Some would say we’re a little too close, but since she fills two roles in my life — mother and best friend — I think it’s fair that she get a double slice of my love and attention. I was completely devastated when she announced that she was moving to Dubai. But now, my mother has lived abroad for more than two years, and I can see that her move was a good thing.

Just like kids who kick the seat in front of them and middle-aged women who get drunk and chatty on long flights, crying babies are a fact of life.

Parenting a toddler is invigorating, exhausting, dirty, and intense. But since I want my daughter to have cousins (or at least pseudo-cousins) one day, I can’t always share the truth about my tiny tyrant on social media, for fear that my friends and siblings would never reproduce. And because, sometimes, you just want to project the image that you're calm, cool, and collected.

My toddler was twirling in her tutu bathing suit while I shimmied into my plus-sized polka dot bikini.

As we made our way to the back of the plane, the baby apologizing the whole way, passengers were giving us a certain look, one to which I had become accustomed to receiving when with my daughter. The one that says, How cute. I, however, was shaken. Had I really taught my daughter, all of 1½ years old, that she needs to apologize for herself? That because she was noticed — rather than slipping quietly through a space — she needed to say “I'm sorry”?

While I would like to think that I paused for a minute or two to think about what it means to be American, I was mostly focused on looking forward to the fireworks show.
But all of that changed for me last year. Three weeks before the Fourth of July, my husband became a citizen of the United States.

“You have nine new messages.”