The Power of a Tiny Postage Stamp in Breast Cancer Awareness

This year, as I sat at my kitchen table preparing my Christmas cards (a seasonal ritual I’ve cherished for decades) I realized I had run out of postage stamps. Normally, that never happens. I’m old school, and I still enjoy writing letters, sending cards, and surprising friends with a handwritten note. Keeping a stash of stamps on hand is just part of who I am. But somehow, over the past few months, I had used every last one.

So off to the post office I went, blissfully unaware that something as small as a postage stamp would stir a storm of memories, gratitude, and determination in my heart.

When I stepped up to the counter, the postal clerk assumed, quite naturally, that I was looking for holiday stamps. With Christmas approaching, he pointed me toward a small display of festive options: Madonna and Child, Santa Claus, pretty wreaths, snowflakes, and all the beloved symbols of the season. Normally, I might have chosen one of those. But not this year. None of them spoke to me. I wanted something special—something meaningful.

Seeing my hesitation, the clerk shrugged and said, “Well, the only other ones I have left are the Flag Forever stamps… and these breast cancer awareness ones.”

Breast cancer? That caught my attention immediately.
“Let me see those,” I said.

He placed the sheet of stamps on the counter, and right away I felt a jolt—the kind that hits your heart before your mind fully understands why. The stamp featured the silhouette of a woman standing with her right arm raised behind her head, the posture recommended for a breast self-examination. Across the top, in bold letters, were the words Breast Cancer. Circling her breast were two simple but powerful phrases: Fund the Fight and Find a Cure.

I leaned closer, drawn in by the artwork and by the memories it quietly awakened. Before I could even ask, the clerk added, “The art director for these stamps, her name is Ethel Kessler, she’s a breast cancer survivor too.”

That sealed it for me.

“I’ll take fifty,” I said, without hesitation.

When I got home, I spread out my stack of Christmas cards and my sheet of postage stamps. Each time I peeled one off and pressed it onto an envelope, I felt something stir inside me. These stamps weren’t just postage; they were reminders. Tiny, sticky-backed echoes of my own fight with breast cancer, and the fights so many others are in the middle of today.

I don’t know how much of the cost of the stamp actually goes toward breast cancer research. Part of me hopes—perhaps unrealistically—that it’s one hundred percent. That every penny from every purchase helps bring us one step closer to a cure. The practical side of me knows there are administrative costs, salaries, overhead, and advertising. But the survivor in me can’t help but wish that every dollar would land in a lab, directly fueling the work of scientists searching for answers that generations of women, and men, desperately need.

Still, even with those questions, there was something profoundly meaningful about placing each stamp on each card. As I sealed the envelopes, I wondered whether my friends and family would notice the image. Would they pause to take in the message printed around the silhouette? Would they feel the weight hidden behind those white block letters on that beautiful blue background?

Fund the Fight.
Find a Cure.

The words are simple. The need behind them is not.

Almost everyone I know has been touched by cancer in some way. A mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a coworker. It seems impossible to find someone whose life hasn’t been brushed, if not devastated, by the disease. Survivors like me often wonder if we’ll ever see the day when breast cancer is no longer a threat hanging over the heads of future generations.

Research has come far. Treatments have improved. Survival rates have risen. But we are not there yet. To cure something, we must first understand it, and despite decades of progress, breast cancer remains a mystery in many ways. Why does one woman develop it while another doesn’t? Why do some cancers spread while others stay dormant? Why do some respond beautifully to treatment while others defy every effort?

These questions keep scientists, doctors, and patients awake at night. And research, real research, the kind that changes futures, takes funding.

That’s why this little stamp means so much.

Not just because it supports research, but because it speaks. It reminds. It nudges. It reaches people in quiet, unexpected ways. A Christmas card may be opened for only a moment, but a message like this? It lingers. And maybe, just maybe, it will be the gentle push someone needs to do a self-exam or schedule a mammogram. Maybe it will inspire someone to give or to advocate. Or maybe it will simply remind someone that survivors are everywhere, carrying stories of courage and scars that speak of battles fought and won.

One of my hopes in choosing these stamps is that my friends and family will actually notice them. That their eyes will catch the silhouette of the woman raising her arm. That they’ll read the message circling her breast. That they’ll pause long enough to let the image settle into their memory.

Because early detection saves lives.

And sometimes it’s the smallest things, the things we nearly overlook, that make the biggest difference. A woman sees that stamp, thinks about self-exams, and later that evening checks herself. Maybe she finds something early. Maybe that early detection gives her a fighting chance.

If something as tiny as a postage stamp can plant that seed, then it carries more power than we give it credit for.

During my own fight with cancer, I learned that awareness isn’t a one-time thing. It isn’t a month on a calendar or a fundraiser that comes and goes. It is a continuous weaving of reminders, visual, emotional, and spiritual, that keeps us mindful of the importance of proactive care, research, and compassion.

This year, that reminder came in the form of a stamp.

Each one I placed on a card felt like a prayer, quiet and unspoken, but deeply felt. A prayer for the newly diagnosed. A prayer for those currently fighting. A prayer for the ones who didn’t survive. And a prayer of gratitude for the life I still get to live.

I could have picked pretty Christmas stamps. I could have gone with snowflakes or angels. But I wanted something more. Something with purpose. Something that matched the gratitude I feel for each day I get to wake up, alive and whole.

If even one person who receives my card notices the stamp and gives themselves a moment of awareness, just one moment, then the tiny square of paper will have done more good than I could ever measure.

It’s easy to overlook small things. A kind word. A soft reminder. A simple gesture. A tiny stamp.

But sometimes, those small things ripple outward in ways we never expect.

This year, a postage stamp reminded me that I am still here. That countless others are still fighting. That awareness is still needed. That research still matters. And that hope, no matter how small, still travels far.

As you mail your own cards this season, look closely at the stamp in the corner. It may seem insignificant, but you never know who might be encouraged, reminded, or even saved by that little square of paper.

Small things matter. And sometimes, they matter more than anything else.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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