Acceptance of the lethality of Rachel's cancer filtered through my dreams early this morning. Suddenly I realized her death would be sooner, rather than later. With that, oddly enought, I fell into an even deeper sleep. Then I woke to these words coming from NPR on the radio:
"Just treating it is not enough."
Just treating is is not enough. Amen.
I fed the dog, brewed coffee and checked Facebook.
"Our friend is gone," Gayle Sulik, author of Pink Ribbon Blues, had written to us.
Treatment was not enough for our incredible friend. Her metastatic breast cancer swept through and around every chemo agent put in its path. Rachel Cheetham Moro, beloved wife of Anthony, born in Australia and a fierce intelligence, wit and friend, is dead at 42.
The magnitude of her message will be topics for many posts to come.
But for today, her death painfully illustrates the difference in virtual communities and the real world. How do we mourn this vital presence when we have nothing tangible to touch?
We were like family. We said as much to each other.
But in the end, we aren't family. We aren't and could not be there, absorbing each setback during the past week, driving to the hospital, bringing coffee, kleenex, human touch. I couldn't rearrange the hospital sheets for the umpteenth time, stroke her arm, or read to her. We could not touch her cheek nor give her beloved husband a hug. That is the reality.
The virtual world leaves us her words...raging and often outrageously funny blog posts, emails, DM's, messages on Skype and of course, jokes. Always. Always something to laugh about. If were weren't swearing, that is. There was something about cancer, and that powerlessness it evokes, that set free our inner sailor. More cancer asshattery, she'd write. We'd cuss cancer up one side and down another. If those words could burn she'd still be with us today, believe me.
Instead, I'll try to deal with the fact that she's gone. I hope you have some time today to gather your thoughts and remembrances. We'll attempt to bridge the virtual and real worlds in a #BCSM tweetchat dedicated to her. Yes, we will grieve together, celebrate, and yes, laugh.
Someone asked me how our #BCSM community would deal with the loss of a member. I said I didn't know, but that we weren't going to sweep it away and we weren't going to hide. Our lives matter more than that - Rachel's life, your life.
We'll do the best we can, one step at a time.
With all my love to Rachel.
Special thoughts for Deanna Attai, MD, Katie Ford Hall, Kathi Kolb, Lani Horn, Sarah Horton, Alicia Staley, Nancy Stordahl, and not at all last, Gayle Sulik, PhD.
And thanks to Gary Schwitzer, our previously scheduled #BCSM guest, who graciously stepped aside tonight. I'll announce when he'll be able to rejoin us later this week.
"Just treating it is not enough."
Just treating is is not enough. Amen.
I fed the dog, brewed coffee and checked Facebook.
"Our friend is gone," Gayle Sulik, author of Pink Ribbon Blues, had written to us.
Treatment was not enough for our incredible friend. Her metastatic breast cancer swept through and around every chemo agent put in its path. Rachel Cheetham Moro, beloved wife of Anthony, born in Australia and a fierce intelligence, wit and friend, is dead at 42.
The magnitude of her message will be topics for many posts to come.
But for today, her death painfully illustrates the difference in virtual communities and the real world. How do we mourn this vital presence when we have nothing tangible to touch?
We were like family. We said as much to each other.
But in the end, we aren't family. We aren't and could not be there, absorbing each setback during the past week, driving to the hospital, bringing coffee, kleenex, human touch. I couldn't rearrange the hospital sheets for the umpteenth time, stroke her arm, or read to her. We could not touch her cheek nor give her beloved husband a hug. That is the reality.
The virtual world leaves us her words...raging and often outrageously funny blog posts, emails, DM's, messages on Skype and of course, jokes. Always. Always something to laugh about. If were weren't swearing, that is. There was something about cancer, and that powerlessness it evokes, that set free our inner sailor. More cancer asshattery, she'd write. We'd cuss cancer up one side and down another. If those words could burn she'd still be with us today, believe me.
 |
| Plotting cancer strategies at NBCC, May 2011. |
Instead, I'll try to deal with the fact that she's gone. I hope you have some time today to gather your thoughts and remembrances. We'll attempt to bridge the virtual and real worlds in a #BCSM tweetchat dedicated to her. Yes, we will grieve together, celebrate, and yes, laugh.
Someone asked me how our #BCSM community would deal with the loss of a member. I said I didn't know, but that we weren't going to sweep it away and we weren't going to hide. Our lives matter more than that - Rachel's life, your life.
We'll do the best we can, one step at a time.
With all my love to Rachel.
Special thoughts for Deanna Attai, MD, Katie Ford Hall, Kathi Kolb, Lani Horn, Sarah Horton, Alicia Staley, Nancy Stordahl, and not at all last, Gayle Sulik, PhD.
And thanks to Gary Schwitzer, our previously scheduled #BCSM guest, who graciously stepped aside tonight. I'll announce when he'll be able to rejoin us later this week.
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