Today was one of those days that I couldn’t find the right words. Or any words really. Jeff and I entered the funeral home together. It was the first time I would be meeting her. We were pen pals of sorts, trading the occasional email and blog post comments. We shared a bond; a story of two couples working for the same company with blended families touched by cancer.
Her name is Susan and she was our friend, support, and shining star of hope.
We looked at her pictures and read the dozens upon dozens of cards sent to her throughout her fight. The line to see her was long. We saw an old friend exiting the receiving line and I lost it. I couldn’t get a word out.
When I pulled it together, I looked up and saw Susan’s husband standing to the left of her casket, her family lined up next to him. This image will forever be in my mind. I found myself staring into another family’s version of exactly what we are fighting so hard to avoid. I hugged Susan’s husband tight. And again, could not think of how to articulate everything I wanted to say, something really meaningful and comforting from one caregiver/spouse/parent to another. And so he said it for me, “There are no words.”
Susan has been inspirational in our journey. She’s emerged countless times from insurmountable challenges, and that has given us strength to believe we can do the same.
Losing Susan does not mean losing hope. That’s not what she would want us to walk away with. So instead we walk away reminded that there’s a plan. And that part of the plan is to squeeze every last ounce out of this life. And to do everything with love and kindness. That’s what she did.
Rest in peace, our beautiful friend.