It’s 6 a.m. and I’m sitting in a comfy seat 30,000 feet above the earth. This is the second day in a row that I’m already in the air before most people’s feet touch the floor. While the sound of my alarm at 3 a.m. feels a bit like a cruel joke, being in the air at this hour is actually incredibly peaceful. The flight staff isn’t particularly chatty. The cabin lights are low. Fellow passengers are sleeping and all you can hear over the hum of the engine is the faint snoring sound from some poor soul who is too tired to care.

I’m cupping a fresh mug of hot, underwhelming Delta coffee and staring out the window as the world wakes up. The clouds gradually transition from deep black to indigo blue with streaks of sherbet colored sunlight beginning to peek through.

The captain’s voice cuts into my meditative state as he welcomes all passengers aboard and shares the current weather conditions at our destination.

“And don’t forget,” he says, “October is breast cancer awareness month, and Delta is a proud supporter of the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.” And just like that, my morning euphoria is brushed aside, replaced with an all too familiar feeling of dread and concern.

Breast Cancer Awareness month. Of course I remember.

I remember my grandmother and her two breast cancer diagnoses, the second resulting in a double mastectomy.

I remember my mother and her battle with breast cancer just last year, and the toll the daily radiation took on her both mentally and physically. And the unspoken fear we all live in every three months when she goes to the oncologist, radiologist and OB/GYN for rechecks.

I remember my husband’s grandmother and her breast cancer diagnosis and double mastectomy over five years ago.

I remember what doctors have told me about my possible odds for experiencing the same. And my daughter’s.

Honestly, I don’t want to remember. I want to forget.

I do the preventative things I can through diet and exercise, and have decided that besides that, there is nothing else I can do but pray and have faith in God. But this month and society’s obsession with “awareness” for things people are already well aware of makes it incredibly difficult to push the possibilities out of my mind.

The flight attendants on my flights are sporting pink pocket squares, scarves and ties. The Delta app I use to check in for my flight has changed the font to pink. I watch Monday night football with my husband and the players’ cleats and sweat bands and socks are pink. There’s even an entire neighborhood in my town whose large, township-issued garbage cans are bright pink.

We do these things because we assume that remembering is positive. Remembering will raise more money for the cause, right? And when you lose someone, people tell you to remember the good times. Heck, the whole funeral is built around remembering the good times. When you come through an illness or difficulty, people tell you to be proud of the battle you’ve won. But the reality is, every happy memory and every battle won is laced with a nagging, jagged feeling of pain. If we’re going to truly love our friends who are hurting, we have to acknowledge this.

In my opinion (which I know won’t make me too popular) we don’t need to raise more awareness for breast cancer. I think we’re aware, and we can stop hosing the planet down in pink every October for the fun of it. What we need to raise is more empathy for those who don’t want to remember. For those who are hurting. For those who just want to forget, even for a minute, an hour, a day.

So if you’re remembering this month, I want you to know that I see you and I’m thinking about you. I know you don’t need any help remembering.

Remembering battles that were lost.

Remembering battles that were won, but have left permanent scars.

Remembering your loved ones who are no longer here.

Remembering the life you thought would be but never came to fruition.

I know.

My plan this month is to find ways to love on those around me who I believe might be trying to forget, and do some random, anonymous acts of kindness to let them know they’re loved.

I hope you’ll do the same.

-Lauren