An account about our practically perfect Amy Mullins written by her daughter, Kylie Sobray.

It was November of 2017. The second quarter of eighth-grade and fifth-grade had just started for me and my brother. We were both in our final year of our respective school levels. November is the birthday month for both our parents. Dad’s falls at the end of the month, sometimes on the same day as Thanksgiving. Mom’s is November 9th. She was diagnosed November 8th.

I remember it was dark outside, daylight savings had just happened so we might not have even sung happy birthday to her yet. But my brother and I were sat on the couch, smushed in between Mom and Dad. They said they had to tell us something serious…

Mom has breast cancer. Stage 2.

I don’t remember if I cried. I must have because Mom did. I didn’t understand, I still don’t, how my mom, the strongest person I’ve ever known, who has overcome countless adversaries, could be diagnosed with breast cancer. The thing we had pink out games for, the thing we dedicated a whole spirit day for…it was a theme, a color, and excuse to paint pink dots on our faces…but in a split second it became very, very real.

I’m going to be honest and say I remember very little of that year except for the times clouded with that cursed pink. Mom didn’t allow me or my brother to accompany her for the chemo treatments. She didn’t want us to see her during or after the medicine flooded her system. She overcame the worst of the side-effects at the Rivah, with MomMom, her mom, taking care of her. MomMom used to be a nurse so it was the best place for Mom to go, but her absence was always gaping.

She had four rounds of Taxol, an aggressive chemo treatment given at very high doses within a short amount of time. It was a tough time for a long time…but it wasn’t without the constant love of family and friends.

Her final chemo treatment was April 7, 2017. She was flanked by Dad and Aunt Kelly, and had the phantom army of supporters for every last drip of the Taxol.

She was officially cancer free eleven days later, on April 18, 2017.

And has been for seven years and three months.

Mom didn’t let breast cancer and its lasting mental, physical, and emotional effects defeat her. I don’t think anything could defeat my mom. Less than a year after being free she made the life changing leap to alter her career path from a ballet instructor to a hair stylist. She took her struggle and morphed it into something to push her along, lift her up, live life to the fullest.

I’m lucky in that I get to show my support for Mom every year and actively make a difference. My sorority’s national philanthropy is Breast Cancer Education & Awareness. I joined Zeta Tau Alpha because of my mom. I put my whole heart into our philanthropy because of my mom. I’ve dyed my hair pink every October since 2020 because of my mom. I overcome life challenges because of my mom. I know the true meaning of strength because of my mom. I am who I am because of my mom.

Pink was no longer a color that I despised, it wasn’t the color that hurt Mom and brought pain to my family, it was the color that allowed Mom to rise from the ashes like the phoenix she’s always been.

I love you Mama, to the moon and back and infinity after that.