Femininity, Grief, and Cancer: Not Just Sugar and Spice

Having come of age in the 1970s, I came to the feminist movement more from a baptism of fire than from any political persuasion. By 1977, when I was 25 years old, I was both a widow and divorcee and the single mother of two small children. Figuring out career, childcare, and new financial freedom in a brave new world where there were few role models, I stumbled mindlessly. But one of the lessons I learned quickly was that true femininity wasn't about frilly dresses or polished nails. Femininity is more than sugar and spice.

Love breaks a few of your rules

I'd been a "tomboy" growing up in the 1950s and wasn't into all the trappings of what society thought made a woman feminine. When I met my wife Lynette in 1998, she was the most traditionally feminine woman I'd ever met. She wasn't my type at all, but opposites attract, and when love hits you, it usually breaks a few of your rules.

"Five foot two, eyes of blue," Lynette resembled Marilyn Monroe with her tousled blonde hair and beautiful smile. Lynette came in and took me utterly by surprise. I quickly found I loved the fragrance of body wash, cosmetics, and perfume that emanated from the bathroom every morning when she left for work.

Taking breast cancer in stride

Lynette took it in her stride when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, choosing to shave her head before chemotherapy robbed her of her hair.

Lynette's femininity was one of her integral strengths. As a dedicated, active feminist, she broke a lot of people's rules, and as a professional advocate for victims of domestic violence and sexual assault, it worked well for her.

No one but Lynette could have the positive response she had on statewide police forces to whom she taught police response education. Nobody but she could reach hardcore anti-LGBTQIA+ attendees at diversity training seminars and conferences. I saw her in action, and her iron fist in a velvet glove approach amazed me.

Grief, metastatic breast cancer, and femininity

When she learned she needed to undergo a bilateral mastectomy, she decided against reconstruction. She was just as effective in her career, hairless and breast-less. Her confidence and self-esteem never seemed to be flagged.

Only once did she fall into tears with me, confessing that she felt less feminine. She stopped giving herself manicures, pedicures, facials, and her usual self-care treatments for a short time. Her grief was palpable, so I began doing these things for her. Due to the pandemic quarantine, I couldn't take her to the salon. Then, one evening, a couple of months later, as she gave herself a pedicure, she said, "I must be past it now. I'm grooming myself again."

Her two daughters gave Lynette her last manicure the night before she passed. She chose bright red polish, saying, "If I'm going out, I'm going out strong." Femininity is more than sugar and spice, but it's okay to paint it up a little.