Remembering Kathy

Today we held the services for Kathy and below is what I read during the funeral:

I’ve known Kathy for a short period of time in comparison to the lifelong relationships most of you have had with her. Your experiences and memories may span many decades and include places like DC, Kalamazoo, Chicago and Los Angeles. You have memories of a vivacious, lively, healthy woman who worked, hiked, entertained, traveled all over the world and enjoyed the company of her family and friends.

My relationship with Kathy has spanned the last seven years, but it’s the last seven months with her that have had the most impact and influence on my life. And as difficult as it was to witness the deterioration of someone as strong and lively as Kathy, it was a humbling experience- one that I truly feel grateful for and know will continue to shape my life.

Over the course of the past three months, I watched my own relationship and the relationships around Kathy strengthen in the face of the hand she was dealt. Although it was an unfortunate situation, she was given the gift to prepare for the end and to have meaningful conversations with her sons, her husband, her sister and everyone else close to her. We all had the opportunity to say the things we wanted to- a chance to say I forgive you, will you forgive me, thank you and I love you. Everyone rose to the occasion in their own way- recognizing that our time with Kathy was limited and we had to make the most of every moment together. Visits increased in frequency. Cards piled through the door every single day. An abundance of flowers was delivered and placed all around her room.

I wanted to speak today so I could say thank you to Kathy -- for helping me grow as a person, and for all the life lessons she taught me. As difficult of an experience it was for all of us, I know that I am truly a better person from having sat beside Kathy all these months at doctors appointments, chemo and radiation sessions and up at the house. They were filled with sadness, enlightenment and, true to Kathy’s personality, moments of humor I will not forget.

During one of our most recent visits, Kathy asked me what I thought about her and Stephen when my Steve brought me to the house for the first time. This was almost seven years ago, and I don’t remember much from that first encounter. Like any first visit with the parents, you just hope they like you and that you make it through. So I told Kathy as much. Not knowing any better, I decided to turn the tables and ask the same question. “What did you think of me when you first met me?” She responded with, “We’re being honest, right?” I burst out laughing, wondering what she could possibly have to say about me- especially after all we’d been through together in the past few months. I said, “Yeah, we’re being honest.” Kathy picked up her hand and made a motion as if to say, “So so.” I just shook my head and, of course, not being one to let this go, asked why. She said, “You reminded me too much of myself.” Kathy did follow that up with letting m know she was “happy with how everything turned out.” Satisfied with leaving it at this, and not wanting to be scarred further, I didn’t ask anymore questions.

As most of you know, this was how she approached her life. It’s why I have such funny memories of her. I’ve even written down some of her off-the-wall, sometimes inappropriate and yet always funny comments from the time I’ve spent with her over the years.

Kathy’s ability to speak her mind impacted me most in the last few weeks of her life. We had honest conversations about cancer, dying, what she wanted, what she didn’t want and what was happening to her and around her. We opened up to each other in a way that I’ve never done before. I learned how important it was to not shy away from the difficult conversations about her nearing the end of her life. In fact, these conversations were the most impactful for me and I can take comfort in knowing Kathy felt similarly.

And while these last few months have proven Kathy’s grace in the toughest of circumstances, one of my favorite memories of Kathy will always be from a happy time we shared as a family: my own wedding. Years leading up to the wedding, friends had heard stories of the famous Kathy Fast and she did not disappoint! My brother-in-law decided to reenact the video to “Hungry Life a Wolf.” After he thoroughly annoyed my sister by crawling around on the dance floor, Kathy appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She materialized in the middle of the dance floor, re-enacting the song, and instantly became the hit of the party. She danced with him while everyone else gathered around and literally pointed and laughed in delight and shock. Once the song was over and all of our friends cheered and hollered for Kathy, she disappeared just as stealthily as she had arrived. For about a year afterwards, anytime I saw Kathy she would ask, “Who was that nice young man I danced with at the wedding?”

I know there are so many people who will miss Kathy- whose lives she has touched so deeply. And if these last few months with Kathy have taught me anything, it’s to say what you can to people while you still can, with as much honesty as you can. So if you’ll allow me just a few more moments, I wanted to say a few words to the people closest to her.

To Kathy’s sister Dar. You were there with Kathy at the end when it mattered the most and I know how grateful she was for your visits, your trips down memory lane and your assurance and knowledge that no matter what happened she would be alright. She always lit up when we mentioned your name and was so happy for the time you spent together in recent months.

To Patrick & Steve. I think it’s safe to say that a large reason why your mother fought so hard and for so long was because of the both of you. Although the circumstances were less than ideal, she loved your visits and spending time with you these past few months. And we all know, from the bragging she did in her Christmas letters, how proud she was of the both of you and the families you have created. Luckily, there are so many good stories and wonderful memories that your mother will never ever be far from yours and all of our hearts.

To Stephen. I know when you married Kathy you agreed to in sickness and in health but I just have to tell you how amazing you’ve been throughout this experience. I’m sure the past year is an indication of what you’ve been like for the past 51 years. And I can honestly say that Kathy was so so lucky to have you. You were patient. You were kind. You were caring. You were loving. You were her advocate. Her partner. Her provider. You stood beside her and encouraged her to fight- to take more treatment- and you gave her every reason to want to do that. And when all options ran out, you gracefully let her know you were okay with that too. I can only hope that if any of us ever finds ourselves in a situation like this, that we are lucky to be blessed with someone as devoted as you were to Kathy. She was a tiny woman but her personality was larger than life and I understand just how much you will feel her loss. I hope you know that Pat, Michele, Steve and I are here for you during the difficult days, weeks and months ahead and have every intention of supporting and loving you through this time.

During my own mother’s last visit, you asked her how she dealt with the loss of my father. She explained that she gets through each day without him by believing that the people we love are still with us -- just "hovering above." My mom said she doesn't think that the people we love really ever leave us. I like to think that you, Kathy, haven’t left any of us either- that you’re just hovering above to watch over us. Although life won’t be as funny, colorful or entertaining without you, we all have wonderful memories to help us through.

And lastly to Kathy. As I told you in the last few days of your life, you were so brave. Your strength amazed me. The time we had together was a gift that I’ll never forget. I have learned from watching how you handled your battle with cancer and have become a better person from going on this journey with you. You fought just as you lived- with fire, wit, strength, determination, a little bit of mischief and a lot of heart.

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Back To Me

The fact that I'm putting up a post that isn't about Kathy and everything happening with that part of my life is one sign that I really am trying to slowly remove myself from being the main character in this story, starting to focus more on myself and let the people who should be playing a larger part in this process step right on up to the plate. It goes against everything I stand for and is counter to every natural instinct I have to turn down a legitimate request for help from someone in need (thanks Kara) but...it's time and it has to be done. So instead of going to another appointment with Steve's dad to iron out details of the service with the pastor, I stayed at home and worked. And I went to the gym, despite the fact that I wanted to spend my lunch hour in bed.

Which reminds me, I am sore all the time. And I love it. Each time I wobble to take a step, I remember that it's a direct result of all the hard work I'm doing. It's a sign of how strong my body is and how strong and lean it will become as I continue down this path of being kinder to my body. I think this is amazing because I haven't been so kind to my body for many years. I've eaten like crap and done very little activity. And as a result, I'm stuck in a body I don't really care for.

But, I can't say enough about my trainer at the gym. I feel so fortunate to be paired with someone who really and truly has my best interest in mind, who pushes me beyond the limits I have set upon myself and gently guides and encourages me to do better and be better. We have been working together for about a month now and up until last week, have focused almost primarily on exercise. But last week, I started to make changes in my diet. Here's a list of the things I'm doing from a nutritional standpoint:

1. More water.
2. No soda! This is a biggie for me. I really love Diet Pepsi (or Diet Coke fountain soda), but have significantly cut back on this. Last week I only had two cups. All week! If I have a day where I let myself stray a little bit, I may have a soda, but I really am trying to get this out of my diet.
3. Green tea. I start my day off with a nice cup of green tea. And not for the caffeine, but because it's good for me.
4. Eating more regularly throughout the day. In addition to three meals, I am aiming to get in two smaller snacks throughout the day.
5. More protein- at every meal.
6. Flax seeds. These things look super gross, but are apparently really good for you. So I've been adding them to my oatmeal the past few mornings.
7. Reducing carbs at night. I'm not at a point where I can (or will) stop eating carbs entirely at night, but, I am trying to significantly reduce the amount and type of carbs I eat at my last meal. This week I'm experimenting with having no carbs/starches with dinner. I did it for the first time last night and I clearly lived to tell the story, so...I'll give it a shot.
8. Less variety and fewer choices. It works for me if I don't have to think about what I'm going to eat. So, I've been focusing on eating the same food for each meal (with a little variation). My plan is to rotate this out each week, but to keep to the same basic structure. It's just so much easier for me if I don't have to make any choices.

So they are small changes, but they're certainly adding up. And the important thing is that I feel better. Now I just need to work on this sleep thing. It's been a while since I have had a restful sleep. With everything going on, I've had difficulty falling and staying asleep.

Lots of good things going on. Lots of things making me feel good. And lots of things to look forward to, despite the sad undertone. I feel like things are clicking for me and I'm going with it and working it.

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And so it Goes

Apart from everyday life stuff, since Kathy passed away on Friday, the days have been spent visiting with Steve's family, going to the mortuary, preparing for the service and adjusting to life without a person who is impossible not to miss.

Our 2 1/2 hour meeting at Holy Cross on Monday was filled with lots of signatures and information I could have easily lived my entire life without knowing. Like what? Like the fact that Kathy's body had been refrigerated in a "sister" mortuary in East LA while waiting for the okay to move ahead with the cremation. Like the fact that a van from Culver City would drive to East LA to pick up the body, bring it to the "sister" mortuary in Long Beach where the crematory is located, and then drive the remains back up to Culver City. It was unsettling to know this process. Even more unsettling to read the actual cremation process on the paperwork Steve's Dad had to sign. My husband sulked through the entire meeting, spending 97% of his time reading whoknowswhat on his iPhone. His coping mechanism leave little to be desired and on the way home I gently told him that if he was my child, I would have told him to go and wait in the car.

Pat & Steve have stepped up to the plate big time, which is really nice. Although, as someone pointed out, it's not so much that they've stepped up, so much that they're finally doing the right thing. Which is good, because I feel like after the service, my mental capacity to take on much more is going to be non-existent. And I struggle with that. Because I want to be there for Steve's Dad, but it's not my job. I can be there in a lot of ways, but I don't have to play a major starring role in the Life After Kathy special. That's what his sons are for and for this, I don't have a problem speaking up and insisting that my husband does his part. The fact that he's already doing it, is a good sign.

I've been mostly fine with Kathy's death. Part of that can be blamed on the fact that I was mostly in shock over the way I found out Kathy had died, and not the part where she finally died. We did know this was coming, but I really couldn't have predicted that I'd have to request a call when the time came. Despite that mind tease, I got upset when having to tell my Steve that his mother died. What really got to me, however, was when I went up to the house on Saturday. Patrick and his family came up and while everyone was talking and catching up and completely avoiding all talk about the fact that Kathy had just died the day before, I wandered to the back of the house and gently pushed open the door to her bedroom.

For months I was used to walking back there and seeing Kathy on the bed- reading, smoking, drinking, sleeping, whatever. So I knew it was going to be difficult to walk into the room and not see her laying exactly where I had left her just three days earlier. The bed issued by a home care agency was still in the room with the sheets all crumpled on the bed- the smell of stale sickness still floating in the air. Everything just as she had left it. As if nothing had happened. It was as if she walked into the bathroom and was going to come out and get back into her bed. Only she wasn't.

I stood in the doorway and cried for a few minutes and then walked outside and just looked out over the ocean thinking about how empty the house seemed. The thing is, it's nor uncommon to go up to that house and not see Kathy. She often stayed in her bedroom feeling too sick to see anyone. But it's obviously such a different thing when you can't see that person- when you don't have a choice.

That's the thing about death. It's the finality of it that really hurts. The overwhelming loneliness you feel in knowing that you'll never see this person again. A friend of mine, who lost both of her parents, said something after my father died that's always stuck with me. I had mentioned that I was looking forward to life going back to normal. She said, "What I've found is life doesn't really ever go back to normal. It's more like your definition of what's normal changes." I've really found this to be true while trying to come to terms with the death of someone close to you. What it really comes down to is that is just sucks. And it takes time to come to terms with it all.

That's what it's going to be like with the Fasts now. Life really won't ever go back to normal. Kathy was a tiny woman, but she sure did have a larger than life personality. And as I mentioned at the beginning, it's impossible to not miss her. As crazy as she could be, as sick as she was at the end, as sweet as our relationship turned out to be at the end...I just miss her. More than I thought I would.

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The Last Visit

You are not always gifted with the knowledge that the last time you see someone will in fact be the last time. But when you're spending time with someone with a terminal illness who could slip away at any time, it's best to always prepare yourself that when you walk away from a visit, you may not see that person again.

Yesterday I had my last visit with Kathy.

I rearranged some of my conference calls, questioned whether it was a good idea to leave the office a few hours after I started working and drove up to the house with the usual uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to go, but I felt compelled to go and wanted to see Kathy. Knowing how lonely she gets, I was drawn up there.

When I called Daddy-o to tell him I was going to come up for a visit, he hesitated and said that Kathy did not have a good morning and it may not be the best idea. In hindsight, I'm so glad I didn't listen to him. I told him that I had a few things to drop off for him (a picture of Kathy blown-up for the service and some foam board for other pictures he wants to put on display) and that I could just pop my head in to say hi. And if Kathy wasn't up to a visit, I would leave.

After visiting with Daddy-o for a little bit, I went into Kathy's room and was shocked at just how much worse she looked than when I last saw her on Tuesday. I wondered how so much could change in two days. In many ways it was like looking at a skeleton. Barely any skin actually covered her bones. Her energy level was way down. She didn't even attempt to smoke. And I'm sorry to share, there was so much of her chin and mouth missing that I could now actually see the roots of her bottom teeth. I once again felt so sorry for this woman and wondered why in god's name would she want to be alive in this state.

She indicated, through barely audible moans, that she wanted water. She haphazardly pointed to some orange juice on her bedside table. She tried to hold the cup in her hand, but started dozing off before remembering to take a sip. I asked Daddy-o to grab these mouth swab type of things that are like a little sponge. I dropped that in the water and gave it to Daddy-o to put in Kathy's mouth. I held her hand and asked her to open her mouth just a little more so we could help her get some hydration without having to do really any work. She seemed to like that and expressed a tiny bit of relief at the prospect of fluids in her mouth. I sat patiently by her bedside, holding her hand as we continued to get some additional water and juice in her mouth and asked her to open her mouth just a little more so we could get the swab in her mouth.

I couldn't help but notice how much more sick she looked. The infection or illness or whatever had reached her eyes. Gunk was coming out the corners. Her breathing was labored and sounded junky. It was like she was snoring, only she wasn't.

Although Kathy wasn't too alert, I did spent some quality time with her. I suggested that Daddy-o call the hospice nurse to inform her that Kathy seemed to have changed dramatically in a matter of days. While he slipped out of the room to make the call, I asked Kathy for her hand and we sat there quietly, seemingly okay with just being in one another's company. I'd give her hand a little squeeze from time to time and she'd give mine a little back- not with as much strength as Tuesday, but I was encouraged that she could squeeze it at all. We didn't do as much talking as we had previously.

During our last visit, it became obvious to me that Kathy was scared to die. She mentioned not wanting to leave us and she's said other things along the way that made me realize maybe the reason she was hanging on for so long was because she was afraid. Since I have often felt out of my league in this situation, I've relied on some books to provide insight and guidance when I couldn't figure out the path on my own. My aunt gave me a copy of a great book by Jane Brody called "Guide to the Great Beyond." There's a whole chapter titled "What to Say: Conversations at the End of Life." I turned to it on Wednesday to see if there was anything that could help me talk with Kathy about dying, or anything I could say that would make her feel less scared.

Although it didn't specifically address the whole I'm scared to die bit, I found a lot that was helpful. And a lot that put into context what this experience has been like- helped explain why I've been doing what I've been doing. One of my favorite parts of the chapter says:

"Strength does not lie in stoic, unemotional encounter, but rather in full exposure to one's own emotional responses, including intense angst. They urged that those in contact with someone who is dying should help the person wrest life-enhancing meaning and value from a situation in which many can find only despair. They do so primarily by their willingness to engage in authentic conversation with the one who is dying. Authentic conversation has the power not only to enhance how people cope practically with dying, but to illuminate and enrich the very meaning of life for patients and caregivers alike as they enter the sacred moment of mortal time together."

It then went on to say:

"One of the biggest problems faced by terminally ill patients is that people won't talk to them, and the feelings of isolation add a great deal to their burden. Contrary to what many people seem to think, talking about dying does not create new fears and anxieties among those who are terminally ill. Rather, those people who are dying and have no one to talk to typically have the highest levels of anxiety and depression."

Without knowing it, I was doing a lot of this- having authentic conversations with Kathy, trying to alleviate her anxiety about dying and help her find meaning at the end of her life.

Unfortunately, because Kathy was so out of it, I didn't get to have as deep of a conversation with her during yesterday's visit. I wanted to talk with her more in depth about dying and how she was feeling. However, the only meaningful question I was able to get out was asking her, again, if she was ready to let go. Kathy shook her head no and I continued to be baffled by her desire to stick around.

I did crouch down, hold her hand, look her in the eyes and tell Kathy how brave I thought she was. I told her how much I had learned from watching her over the past couple of months. And that I really admired her for how she's handled everything- for her strength. She acknowledged what I said by giving me a squeeze of the hand. I told her that I loved her. She struggled to mouth that she loved me too. And I walked out of the room.

I called today around 2pm to find out how Kathy was doing and Daddy-o said, "Yeah. I have some bad news." He continued to tell me that when he went in to check-in on Kathy this morning, he found her slumped over and discovered that she had died at some point in her sleep. While he didn't call me, either of his sons or anyone else in the family, he did call the hospice nurse. She came up to the house, declared Kathy dead and then called the mortuary who showed up to remove Kathy's body from the house. I'll never understand why he didn't call me or his sons to notify us that Kathy had died. As wacky as it is, I can't even try and make sense of why he chose to handle it this way.

It's hard to say how I'm feeling about the whole thing though. I haven't cried much. I feel an enormous sense of relief knowing that Kathy is not suffering anymore and is finally at peace. But when I went up to the house tonight, I realized how sad it was to walk in without Kathy there; I'd never been at that house without her there. And it was even sadder to watch Daddy-o get choked up when Steve and I said goodbye after our visit this evening. I hate the thought of him up at that house all alone. I hate to think about what his life is going to be like without her.

I take enormous comfort knowing how instrumental I was in helping Kathy find meaning at the end of her life, encouraging her family to connect with her in a way they hadn't done in years and even learning a lot about myself and life in general throughout this whole process. And I feel so happy that as much sadness, anxiety and overall shittiness surrounded this whole experience, my last conversation with Kathy was one that I could be proud of and take comfort in knowing that it brought Kathy some comfort and happiness.

I've been humbled by how much our relationship has changed through this experience and will always treasure how this path to Kathy's death brought us closer together and enriched both of our lives in a very unexpected way.

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Scared of Death

I had another visit with the in-laws today. Daddy-o wanted help typing up parts of letters that Kathy has received since more and more people have found out about her terminal cancer. He's thinking of having them read by someone at the service. Which I think is a nice touch. She has received some very heartfelt letters from her many friends over the years who are quite upset upon hearing the news. Because although we have been dealing with this for about a year and a half, many people in their life are just finding out about it now, and certainly just finding out about the severity and advancement of it all.

I spent a little bit of time with Kathy. Maybe only 30 minutes at most today because I was determined to get home and finish my work day at a decent hour- especially given how long I was up there for my "lunch hour" on Friday. But it was, of course, long enough to be moved by what I saw and conversations Kathy and I shared.

Today's heart-wrenching conversation came when I told Kathy, as she requested, about my weekend. She can't talk a lot herself, so she's very big on having me talk. When she pauses and holds her hand up to the side of her face in pain, I always ask "Do you want me to keep talking, or would you prefer that I leave and give you some time to rest?" And she always wants me to keep talking. She gets very lonely. Anyway, I told her how I went to see The Hangover (which was one of the funniest movies I've seen in a really long time. Don't walk- run- and go see it immediately) and how Steve laughed through the entire thing. I said, "Steve has such a great laugh." Kathy's face started to scrunch up and I saw the tears start to slide out of the corner of her eye. She then said, "I don't want to leave you. Or Steve." I told her I had to believe that whatever was waiting for her next had to be better than what she was going through now. And that she had good food, good friends, good family, good drinks that she could taste, hiking and a pain-free world ready to greet her. She seemed to calm down a little bit and then she said, "You are so good." I'm not gonna lie, it's always nice to hear her recognize and appreciate me. Especially in light of how not nice she's played in the past.

The conversation was difficult today because I didn't really know how best to talk with her about not being scared to die. Especially because I can't really think about dying without the beginning of an anxiety attack coming on myself. I did the best I could in the situation, letting her know that there's something better waiting for her. We didn't deal with this with my own father when he was dying. Was he so medicated on morphine that he just couldn't really go there? Or was he just ready to die that the thought of being scared didn't cross his mind? Because Kathy had already expressed multiple times that she was "ready to go" and "we didn't want her like this", I genuinely thought she was ready and wouldn't be scared. But that's just not the case, and I struggle with how best to talk with her about being okay with dying. Any suggestions?

Today's holy shit moment was watching Kathy light up a cigarette with half her mouth missing. I was just saying goodbye when she held up her hand and signaled for me to wait. She then pulled a cigarette out of one of the two cigarette boxes on her bed and motioned for me to light it up for her. I told her I don't know how to inhale (seriously) and so she took matters into her own hands. After breaking off the filter and getting some of the tobacco to hang out, Kathy made several attempts before being successful at getting the cigarette to stay securely between her lips (or what's left of them). She then lit it up and gave me the okay to leave as she happily awkwardly puffed away.

My time with Daddy-o was the same- spent going over things he talked with me about during the last visit and making a little bit of progress on the service.

It's hard to say just how long this will go on for. Kathy's grip when I left today was just as strong as ever. I mentioned as much to her and she gave me a little bit of a smile when I asked if she had been lifting weights. Really though, it would surprise you to feel her strong grip because just by looking at her, you wouldn't think she could squeeze a feather.

So it's more wait and see.

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Gifts in all the Wrong Places

I spent three hours with my in-laws yesterday. Those visits always take a lot out of me and I leave physically and mentally shattered. I've noticed that my father-in-law is becoming more and more disoriented and disorganized. And although he has had a lot of time to come to terms with the end, he's becoming more emotional about everything. I'm not passing judgment, just remarking on the change of his demeanor since this all started. Quite frankly, I don't know how he does it. I mean I do (because in life when you're dealt a really shitty hand, you just keep going, because for some of us there is no other choice), but I don't. You know? I've been concerned, wondering if this is indicative of something else, but I also recognize now is not the time to be testing theories like that. If after all the dust has settled from Kathy's situation and impending death he is still out of it, forgetful and generally disoriented, then I think that may be something else we need to deal with. Until then, merrily we go.

I went up to the house per Daddy-o's request to go over the funeral plans. I told him I could come up for my lunch hour (hour being the key word there). We started and finished working on finalizing the two different versions of the obituary (one for the LA Times and one for the local papers here and in the Poconos). Steve also shared some of his ideas with me for the service but unfortunately when we finally sat down to go over the agenda he put together, it was nowhere to be found. This happens a lot. Little things like this continue to happen with increasing frequency. We muddled through a few more of his ideas and then I was finally able to leave- three hours later.

In between him trying to find things and us finalizing other things, I'd go in to see Kathy- per her request. Almost as soon as I walked in the door to her room and came into her view, she held up her hand with our "sign" and then asked me to go through her bedside table and look for a bottle she wanted. I assumed she was looking for some pills and poured through the entire messy drawer, often times pulling most of the contents out to prove to her that I had looked everywhere and still no pill bottle she wanted. I must have pulled out six totally empty and a few nearly empty bottles of medication when I unknowingly pulled out the one bottle she was looking for- a freaking nip of Absolute Vodka. What happened next shocked me.

The sight of her continues to frighten me and cause intense anxiety. Yet somehow, I manage to sit through visits that last way beyond my comfort zone. When I passed the tiny bottle to her bony bony hand, she unscrewed the cap, tipped it over ever so gently, got some vodka on her hands, wiped it around like antibacterial soap and then rubbed her freaking mouth, gums and teeth (or at least what's left of them) with whatever her hands didn't soak up. I was wide eyed watching this, and as a small amount of relief washed over her as did the vodka, I realized I have no fucking clue what's going on inside this woman's brain.

She said to me at one point, "I've decided I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to die." I calmly replied with, "Really? Do you want to live this way?" She said, "We'll just make it better."

Kathy told me she was scared to die. That was followed up with, "I don't want it to be too long until I see you again." While the sentiment is nice, I have no intention of following closely behind this woman's timeline to the other side. I'm amazed that she's still alive. It appears as if there's really nothing for her to hold onto. She's managed to have incredibly meaningful conversations with those closest to her. Daddy-o has told her he thinks it's okay for her to go and that he understands. So I just don't get it.

I asked Kathy if she felt like she was holding on for anything. If there was something she felt was unfinished. I explained to her that I've read it's common for people nearing the end of their life to wait until they feel like things are settled and complete. She definitely understood and said that she didn't feel like anything was left unsettled. She's just holding on and even though she claims everything is tied up, I suspect there may be something holding her back from feeling at peace with going inward entirely and dying. Maybe not. I'm okay with being wrong.

I do know that every visit brings more surprises and when she's with it, some very meaningful conversations. Before I left I thanked Kathy for the gift of visiting with her. Because although the sight of her haunts me and causes an insane amount of anxiety, I do feel like it's a gift. And I know she feels the same way. She squeezed my hand tight- another sign of her amazing strength being only 70ish lbs and not eating- gave me something that resembled a smile, we exchanged I love yous and off I went.

Changed yet again by this woman's bravery in the face of death.

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Down for the Count

Ugh. Just when I got a solid workout routine going- BAM- I'm sidelined with a freaking bronchial infection and am now on an inhaler and antibiotics. Since Sunday I've done no exercise and have felt really run down.

I'm trying to be patient and give my body the time it needs to heal, but it's hard when I'm anxious to get back to the gym and to my personal training. I'm two days into the antibiotics and inhaler, and just a walk around the block to take Clancy out is leaving me winded.

I.

Am.

Bummed.

Also, I was supposed to go up to see Kathy and help Steve out with obituary stuff today. But given the current state of my health and Kathy's immune system being shot to hell, I called that off. Which is a bummer and a relief all the same.

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