(no subject)
This is going to be hard to write. I'm going to guess that it wont be particularly easy for anyone to read, either, so if you want to give this one a miss for the sake of your sanity, please do.
I cried for Cathy for the first time tonight. I'm sure I will again many times in the months to come, but tonight was the first. I teared up at the Safety Committee meeting, while Cathy was telling us whats going on with her, what her expectations are. She's cut out her MOD shifts, and hopes to be able to find and train a new Safety Director before she gets too sick. She told us about her mom, too, who died of ALS when Cathy was a teenager. I was okay until I saw Dannielle tearing up, and then I started too. No one in that room was immune. Cathy told us about how she has come to accept what's happening, how she's not worried or scared. She's sad about leaving Linda and everything else, but she feels like she's found some enlightenment, and that makes it easier for her. Right when she said that, lightening struck somewhere and her words were punctuated by an incredibly loud peal of thunder. It was as if the weather, the universe (god?) just wanted to add some input, to emphasize, to agree.
I cannot express my admiration of this woman, of the grace and humor she is showing as she deals with this. I told Emily that its not making things any easier, but its making them cope-able. It made sense to her; I don't know if it will to any of you.
Cathy is amazing, and sweet, and funny. She's so compassionate, caring and generous with her time and energies.
I want people to stop dying, I want Cathy to not get sick like this. I know that its not possible. There's no cure. Fuck, there's not even any treatment beyond palliative hospice. In short, I'm upset. I'm starting the grieving process. Its going to be hard.
I've got more to say in me somewhere, but fuck. I'm tired and cold. I'm going to bed. Everyone hug their loved ones for me tonight.
I cried for Cathy for the first time tonight. I'm sure I will again many times in the months to come, but tonight was the first. I teared up at the Safety Committee meeting, while Cathy was telling us whats going on with her, what her expectations are. She's cut out her MOD shifts, and hopes to be able to find and train a new Safety Director before she gets too sick. She told us about her mom, too, who died of ALS when Cathy was a teenager. I was okay until I saw Dannielle tearing up, and then I started too. No one in that room was immune. Cathy told us about how she has come to accept what's happening, how she's not worried or scared. She's sad about leaving Linda and everything else, but she feels like she's found some enlightenment, and that makes it easier for her. Right when she said that, lightening struck somewhere and her words were punctuated by an incredibly loud peal of thunder. It was as if the weather, the universe (god?) just wanted to add some input, to emphasize, to agree.
I cannot express my admiration of this woman, of the grace and humor she is showing as she deals with this. I told Emily that its not making things any easier, but its making them cope-able. It made sense to her; I don't know if it will to any of you.
Cathy is amazing, and sweet, and funny. She's so compassionate, caring and generous with her time and energies.
I want people to stop dying, I want Cathy to not get sick like this. I know that its not possible. There's no cure. Fuck, there's not even any treatment beyond palliative hospice. In short, I'm upset. I'm starting the grieving process. Its going to be hard.
I've got more to say in me somewhere, but fuck. I'm tired and cold. I'm going to bed. Everyone hug their loved ones for me tonight.