June passed away in April, she was 82. She was one of Canada's most celebrated authors and social advocates. She helped the homeless, dealt with issues of racism and injustice. She did much volunteer work.

In 2004, June was diagnosed with inoperable cancer and refused to undergo treatments.

I came across a last interview with her that I thought was very moving. She talks about her life, her marriage, and the fact that her cancer is terminal.

What an amazing woman.

I tend to think of cancer as a gift. I think it helps me prioritize life's details. I believe it has taught me to stress less. I know it's made me more sensitive to others sharing this planet with me. Yes, cancer has made me a better person. And I consider that a gift.

This is not how writer Lauren Terrazzano describes her dance with cancer.

"The truth is, having cancer just pisses me off," says Terrazzano.

"I wish I could be one of those people who has had the epiphany, who believes the disease has given me valuable insight into life. OK, I occasionally feel that way, but it might just be the pain medication."

Neither of us is right. We just have different takes on living with a deadly disease. And our opposite viewpoints make for a rather enlightening study on how cancer affects us all so differently.

I regularly write about the blessings I've found in the midst of cancer. So for today's Thought for the Day, I present to you some thoughts from Terrazzano about how cancer is not always a gift.

Think about this:

On cancer making her a better person

I don't really remember what kind of person I was before cancer. While I may not be better, I am definitely blunter.

I often say whatever I want to whomever I want, whenever the moment strikes me. These flashes can be toxic to those around me. I once yelled at a homeless man who asked me for a dollar. I yell at my husband sometimes, arguing about stupid things like how to shove a brisket into the freezer, above the peas and spinach.

And I sometimes wish bad things on bad people. Mostly the high-octane evil people, like Osama bin Laden (Why can't he have to go through chemotherapy? Why can't he have a good dose of radiation?). Are these really the musings of a better person?

On living each day as if it's your last

Nope. Can't do it.

While sometimes I am the carpe diem sort of girl, I want to live each day like just another day. I want to watch When Harry Met Sally for the 17th time or surf the Internet for new pictures of Britney Spears' bald head. Then I want to cap it off by several hours of reading. Forget Tolstoy, though. I'd rather read People magazine. Why do I have to cram life into 20 seconds, while other people have the luxury of doing it over the span of 20 years?

On why she is not so brave

Firefighters and police officers who plunge head first into dangerous situations are brave. A child protective worker who gets paid next to nothing and tries to be a mother to as many as 50 dysfunctional families is brave. Those people chose their positions in life. Cancer chose me. It's not bravery that gets me up every morning to try to beat back the monster. It's a survival instinct that kicks in, pure Darwinism.

The fact is, most of the time I am scared to death. I wear Band-Aids far too long because I can't take the agony of pulling them off. I hate needles (though I don't know anyone who likes them). Why is it that people who hate getting blood drawn are the ones who usually end up with serious illnesses that require getting stuck often? It's a mystery of the universe, much like why tornadoes seem to seek out trailer parks to do their damage.

Each year, Hallmark offers a specially-designed, one-of-a-kind greeting card in honor of breast cancer awareness month to remind women of the importance of early detection. Consumers can join the cause -- Cards for the Cure -- by picking up these cards at Hallmark Gold Crown retail shops and by sending them to women in their lives. Cards are available while supplies last through October 31. And they are free.

Hallmark has supported the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation for eight years now -- and in addition to the Cards for the Cure initiative, Hallmark offers several items for sale and will donate 10 percent of profits to the Komen Foundation. The breast cancer awareness gift collection includes an exclusive CD by Grammy award winner and breast cancer survivor Olivia Newton-John, a keepsake angel ornament, note cards, a pink suede journal, and pink champagne glasses.

Breast cancer awareness is a personal initiative for those at Hallmark. It has touched family and friends and employees and customers. And so they are commitment to the cause. And they have already made a difference with the $2.3 million they have donated over the years to the Komen Foundation.

I have had a hard time keeping my counseling appointments lately. Life keeps getting in the way, and counseling keeps getting pushed to the side. The last time I called my counselor to cancel -- due to an emergency room trip with my three-year-old -- I mentioned that my inability to keep up with sessions was perhaps a precursor to an eventual termination of our counseling relationship. My counselor -- Lindsay -- said this was maybe an accurate assessment, that we should discuss the possibility of an ending point. We haven't yet discussed it, though, because I have not made the time to contact her. I have continued to leave counseling on the back burner.

But today Lindsay sent me an e-mail to check in. She wrote that I am probably going to be okay on my own now -- in the aftermath of cancer -- and that we should have one final session to reflect on my progress over the past 16 months. I have not replied to Lindsay -- not because I am busy with other things but simply because her words made me cry. They still make me cry, hours later. I'm not exactly sure why. And I'm not exactly sure how I will follow up on scheduling my very last session.

I assume my tears -- my sadness -- are part of the healing process, part of the separation anxiety I feel each time a part of my treatment ends and a part of my life moves on. I assume I am sad at the prospect of leaving a vital part of my recovery behind, about leaving the comfort of my counseling chair, about leaving Lindsay. The possibilities are endless. And I suppose we will cover all possibilities when Lindsay and I sit down for our last, final, concluding session -- when we recall how much I have grown since the day we first met, when I could barely mutter a word about cancer without weeping uncontrollably, when I could barely manage to find pleasure in my days, when I could barely imagine that life could -- and would -- offer me peace and happiness.

Today, life is good. And it's clear that counseling is no longer necessary for my survival. But that doesn't make it any easier to make my final appointment. To contemplate saying my last goodbye. To tackle life completely on my own. Which is what I will do -- in time -- so I can continue moving on, away from breast cancer.

Apple CEO Steve Jobs delivered a commencement speech at Stanford University on June 12, 2005. It was about following curiosity and intuition, about looking back and connecting the dots in life, about beginnings and endings, about death. Jobs, a survivor of pancreatic cancer, knows a thing or two about facing death. And the words he chose to relate his life-threatening experience to a crowd full of hopeful graduates are powerful and inspiring. I could paraphrase his message -- but surely something would be lost in my translation. So here is a bit of what he said -- word for word.

The tunnel was long. And dark. And winding. And foggy. And ominous. It seemed to last forever -- at the time -- and at moments, time seemed to stand still. I was not sure if I'd ever pass through it and be okay -- if I'd ever see the light at the end. But I did. I tunneled through it all -- somehow -- and I came out feeling more alive than ever before. Now, some time after my escape from the fog, I am already taking for granted the fact that I am breathing, that I am healthy, that I am living. And when my fitness trainer noticed yesterday that I do not get dizzy and lightheaded anymore during my workouts -- when I once had to sit down, breathe, collect my whereabouts -- I realized that some of my progress since exiting my breast cancer tunnel is already lost on me. And I don't want to lose sight of where I was and how far I've come. I want to remember it and measure it and never forget how alive I am at this very moment. So I have started to really think about how things have changed since I felt stuck in time, in a dark place. I am thinking about my times in a hospital bed when I was barely able to stand up, barely able to walk a few steps without feeling like I would collapse. Now I can hop out of bed at a moment's notice, half asleep in response to a demanding child screaming from his bed. I am thinking about my once challenging pre-cancer exercise routine and how a time came when my legs felt so heavy I could not even contemplate walking down my street. Yesterday, I completed an hour of weight training. Today I ran for 20 minutes. Tomorrow, I go back for more weight training. And I remember feeling incoherent, unable to conjure of meaningful thoughts or sentences. And now, despite some potential chemo brain forgetfulness, I am back on track.

I have only just touched the surface. There is so much more to reflect on. So I plan to think more about my travels so I can better appreciate how I arrived at the exact place where I am right now -- where it's light and clear, where time passes at normal speed, where I feel lucky to be alive.

Oh my goodness! Hats off to Sandy Thorn Clark who has published a feature, The power of pink, that is uber-pink. If your mother likes pink, and you want to celebrate Mother's Day in all-things-pink, you will find plentiful pointers on how to go pink. Many events and activities have been creatively planned pink to celebrate Mother's Day and raise awareness for breast cancer at the same time. Even hunky baseball players will be swinging baby pink baseball bats for the day. Other than the obvious pink decorations, pink clothing, pink hats, pink wristbands, pink flowers and pink nail polish -- here are a few of Clark's pink suggestions to celebrate your mother:

• Easy to blend vitamin-rich pink smoothies with strawberries, pineapple, peaches, pears and vanilla yogurt. Or you could try a mix of strawberries, bananas, and apple-strawberry juice -- or raspberry, orange juice, strawberries and bananas. A pink milkshake can be made blending 2 cups milk, 1/2 cup raspberry jam and 3 to 4 scoops vanilla ice cream, garnished with fresh berries.
• Create pink cream puffs by mixing a small amount of raspberry puree or preserves into the whipped cream filling for cream puffs.
• A pink punch can be made for a group by mixing two 12-ounce cans pink lemonade concentrate and 6 cups water in a punch bowl. Add four 12-ounce cans lemon-lime soda. Just before serving, add scoops of strawberry sorbet or raspberry sherbet.
• Listen to the music of Pink and watch movies with pink titles such as Pretty in Pink or The Pink Panther. You get the idea.
  

But wait! There's more. These are not all the suggestions for going pink on Mother's Day. For more ideas or to be inspired by pink ideas of your own, go here.
 

Greg Williams got the idea for a line of lip gloss with a .46-carat, manmade diamond inside the tube after watching high rollers at casinos buying fancy cocktails with diamond garnishes. When Williams and his wife, Gail Hill Williams of ACI Consulting Group, thought about ways to expand their company's outreach projects, they decided to focus on raising money for ovarian cancer and felt the lip gloss with a diamond inside might be the best choice for the new project.

Smooches Kissing Gloss, made from natural ingredients with a berry-mint flavor, sells for $105 dollars and up to 30 percent of the profits go to the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance, an organization devoted to placing ovarian cancer education, policy and research issues on the agendas of lawmakers and health care leaders. Williams feels that ovarian cancer does not receive the same attention that breast cancer does, and he is hoping his new lip gloss will change that for ovarian cancer. Right now you can find Smooches Kissing Gloss at the Adam Broderick Salon and Spa in Ridgefield, CT., but Williams is planning on getting the lip gloss to high-end department stores, such as Bloomingdale's and Nordstrom's. Ovarian cancer is called the silent killer because usually there are no obvious symptoms until the disease reaches an advanced stage. 

Photo credit: Aaron Flaum