Thriving at 49: Amy Cohen Epstein on Grief, Growth, and the Power of Preventive Health

In this first-ever solo episode of the SEAM Podcast, Amy Cohen Epstein, founder and CEO of the Lynne Cohen Foundation, shares a deeply personal reflection as she approaches her 49th birthday—a milestone shaped by memory, grief, and profound gratitude. Amy opens up about the significance of turning 49, the age her mother, Lynne Cohen, was when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and how this past year has felt like an emotional holding of breath. With honesty and vulnerability, Amy explores the legacy of her mother’s strength, the value of preventive care and early detection, and the journey of self-discovery that comes with age. This powerful reflection reminds us that caring for ourselves—and one another—is one of the most meaningful ways we can honor those we’ve lost and the lives we continue to build.

Amy Cohen Epstein:
So we've never done this before—just me talking—and I was a little unsure about doing it. I felt a little narcissistic. But here I am. I’ve never really talked about me, I suppose, but this felt like the right time.

Today is March 21, and my birthday is in two days—March 23—and I’ll be 49, which is really not a major birthday. It’s not momentous in any traditional sense. The “big one” is next year. But for me, 49 is a big birthday.

My mom was diagnosed with stage III ovarian cancer when she was 48 years old. It was 1993. I was 16. And as many of you know, she died five years later, at 53. So now I’m past that age, and I’ve kind of held my breath this entire 48th year. I feel like I have two days to go.

I haven’t talked about it much this year, but on Sunday, the 23rd, I think I’m finally going to exhale. I know I’ve lived a different life than my mom. I’m genetically made up differently than she was. And I also know that my mom didn’t carry a BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation, and neither do I—mutations that increase risk for breast or ovarian cancer.

I had my fallopian tubes removed at 45, which dramatically decreased my risk for ovarian cancer. I was on the birth control pill for much of my life until then. I’ve had three children. I breastfed. I’ve done pretty much everything my doctors have advised to reduce my risk.

And yet, throughout this entire 48th year, a part of me has been holding my breath—hoping I wouldn’t be diagnosed. The rational part of me knows that may sound irrational. But the emotional part of me feels it’s entirely normal.

So I’m really excited to turn 49. Birthdays are a big deal to me—and always have been. They were a big deal to my mom. She loved celebrating birthdays, even before she got sick. And after she got sick, celebrating became even more meaningful. Living another year was something to be treasured.

For me, this birthday feels like I made it. I got through 48 without being diagnosed with cancer. That might sound dramatic—and it’s not really who I am—but it’s how I’ve felt.

I also love this age. My forties have been an incredible decade. I think a lot of women feel that way. In our twenties and thirties, we’re still figuring ourselves out. I got married very young—I met my husband on my 22nd birthday. It’s a beautiful story: my mom had died just three months earlier, and on that day, I asked her for one more gift. I met him. We got married when I was 25, and now we have three amazing sons.

My twenties and thirties were all about growing—individually, as a couple, as a family. But in my forties, I’ve started to understand who I am more deeply. With older kids, I’ve had more time in the day—not less to worry about, just different things to focus on. And I’ve had more time to focus on my wants, my needs, and my ability to spread my wings.

Building the educational platform at the Lynne Cohen Foundation has been extraordinary. I’ve thought so much about the mentors in my life—the women who helped shape me. One of them was Mrs. Creasey, my English teacher at Brentwood School. She taught me how to think big picture. She instilled in me a love of learning and a “quest for knowledge.”

That quest has stayed with me. Through this foundation—through the PEONY Project and this podcast—I’ve been able to learn and share that learning with others. The PEONY Project was created in memory of our beautiful friend Georgia Cord, who lost her five-year battle with breast cancer at age 50. Her daughters, Lexi and Casey, were close in age to me and my sister Erin when our mom died. Georgia’s favorite flower was the peony, as was our mom’s. And so we built this in their names and spirits.

What’s grown from that—this podcast, The SEAM—has been such a joy. I get to talk to people who know more than I do. And that’s the best part. Just listening. Learning. Knowing I’ll never know everything.

And if one person listens to an episode and walks away with something useful—whether it’s knowing that a Pap smear doesn’t detect ovarian cancer, or finally seeing a gynecologist for the first time—that’s enough.

One woman told me her doctor brushed off her symptoms, told her it was just aging and to eat more protein. She didn’t stop asking questions. She kept advocating for herself. Eventually, she got the right test. She had ovarian cancer. That’s not everyone’s story—but it was hers. And she credits her persistence, and the foundation’s information, with helping her push for answers. That’s everything.

I’ve thought a lot this year about how my mom lived five years with ovarian cancer. At the time, I took those five years for granted. I thought, “She only lived five years.” But now I know what a miracle that was—diagnosed in 1993, when treatments were limited. She went through surgeries, chemotherapies, and experimental drugs.

Those five years were the result of her tenacity, her courage, her deep love for life and for us—her kids, her family, her friends. She beat the odds. And when I’ve felt like this work was too hard, I think of that. I don’t have a choice. This is what I do. I carry on her legacy. And it’s one of the great joys of my life.

In my twenties, I was just starting to see my mom as a whole person—flawed, amazing, shaped by her generation and her mother. I vowed to do better, and I hope my kids will do better than I did. But I understand now: she was doing her best. And I’ve learned so much more about her since she’s been gone, just by living this work.

So I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for listening. Thank you for learning with me. If one person walks away knowing just a little more, it’s all been worth it.

I often say: “Know your normal.” Know your body. Know when something feels off. Ask questions. Don’t take no for an answer when your intuition says something’s wrong.

This time in my life—late forties—it’s the best. I know what I need. I know what my body needs. I don’t always get it right, but I try to be better. I try to treat myself kindly.

So enjoy this season. Spring has sprung. It’s a time of renewal, of strength, of looking inward and asking: What can I clean out? What can I do to live better, stronger, more joyfully?

I’m grateful to be turning 49. I’m grateful to exhale. I made it through this year. And I’m looking forward to what’s ahead.

Thank you. And stay tuned—we’ve got great episodes coming soon.

Editor’s Note: This interview has been edited for length and clarity.