My grandmother died in 1995 after a long battle with breast cancer. In all of the years of her illness, I cannot recall her using the word "cancer." She spoke of being "sick", "weak", "unwell", and she asked me, on her deathbed, to remember her.
Maybe it’s the high heels. Maybe it’s the sky-high spirits. Maybe it’s the smile hinting ever so slightly of mischief. But when I meet Rochelle Shoretz at a downtown Starbucks on a recent bright September day, I’m surprised.