A sympathy card we received when our oldest daughter, Mary, died in June of 1998, gave me special words that would become stamped indelibly on my mind: "Beyond the winter's darkness waits the gentle light of spring. Beyond the time of sadness waits the glad remembering."

There were oh, so many other cards and calls, hugs and whispered words that gave us comfort. There was scripture quoted, and prayers offered. There were memories shared by Mary's friends and coworkers. In the dark of night, there were Psalms from my memory, and poetry memorized even in my childhood, lines that came to give comfort and hope and peace.

But somehow this simple Hallmark card eased the pain in a different way and helped to fill that huge empty space, the one you hear others talk about, but which you can't feel and understand until you've experienced it yourself. But gradually, slowly, inch by inch, minute by minute, beyond the time of sadness, there has come the "glad remembering." It's not like it wasn't there all the time, and it's not that there is no longer sadness.

The memories of Mary's illness and passing will never go away. Her first diagnosed cancer was breast cancer; her surgery was on March 23, 1998, and on June 4, she was gone. These are facts, statistics, inescapable. But in the glad remembering, there is so much more.

As the months and years passed, some of the family members were involved in the various breast cancer research events, the walks and the Love Lights a Tree, the vigils and the Susan G. Komen promotions. I was not personally involved. It somehow seemed easier to write a check. My grief was too new, too raw, too painful, yet too personal to mix it with others. I had to get past that helpless feeling before I could put feet to any hope I might have that cancer research, even now, is saving lives. I sometimes barely listened as I heard stories of loss. My sympathy was almost passive. I knew the pain of their loss, intimately, but I could offer little solace.

But time does allow us to change. The events of this past Sunday prove that positive change is possible. Most of Mary's female family members spent the afternoon together, some quality time with a bit of "pink" trim. Woodstock's premier yarn shop, The Whole Nine Yarns, joined forces with some staff members from Beverly's Day Spa and St. Andrew United Methodist Church Breast Cancer Support Group, for a fundraiser and awareness event. We had heard via my hairdresser that, for a small (or a large) donation, we could all have strands of pink synthetic hair clipped into our hair-do as visible evidence of our support of breast cancer causes.

Let me be very clear about this. I have looked with disdain at teenagers (and not-so-teen-agers) who do green or purple or chartreuse streaks in their goldilocks, and who attach ponytails to their tresses. I've made fun of wild hair-dos and wondered whatever possessed people to do such things. In spite of all that, I gladly met up with these special kinfolks for a "Remember Mary" afternoon.

Two of Mary's daughters, Samantha and Blake, and Mary's granddaughter, Regan; Mary's sisters, Sarah and Beverly, and niece, Julianna; and Regan's other grandmother, Linda, all lined up for the pink pompadour, professionally installed by the girls from the spa who also offered neck/shoulder massage. The knitting folks were on hand as they always are when the Nine Yarns doors are open, knitting away, while the yarn shop staff, and the girls from St. Andrew were busy drawing for door prizes and directing folks to silent auction items.

In the midst of the activities, I won a door prize, and we all had a good laugh as someone presented me with a Knit Kit. What a joke! I have never held a knitting needle in my hand, and hardly have the inclination to begin now. They substituted another, less Suzy Homemaker-type, gift, and all was well.

After we did all the damage we could do in the shop, we assembled outside and proceeded to the next segment of the plans for the day - a photo shoot. Linda had chosen a different kind of location and we loaded up in three cars and convened in a few minutes at a scenic area well-suited for the occasion. The day had turned out to be gorgeous. The mood was festive, even celebratory. We all - except, perhaps, Regan - knew what this was all about. We turned our pink-stranded side to the camera, and posed for posterity to see. Our Mary was absent, but present in spirit.

I realized as I looked at my pink-striped gray hair in the mirror that the timing was slightly off. I had committed to attending the Etowah Baptist Association meeting that night at Holly Springs Baptist Church. But I was determined to continue to make a "pink" statement wherever I went, a statement that I support the cause of cancer research. If somebody misconstrued that, so be it.

As it turned out, I don't think anyone noticed. If they did, they probably thought I was the grandmother of one of the band members! None of them had streaked hair, but their particular brand of music certainly matched that scenario. I was thankful that my hearing aids have an off button. That's a subject for another day.

In the meantime, think pink!

Juanita Hughes is the retired manager of the Woodstock Public Library.