One day in June 2002, the doctors informed my friend and neighbor, Kathleen, that they could do nothing more to treat the cancerous tumor inside of her stomach. They predicted she had two weeks left to live. Kathleen and I had become friends as we met at the bus stop each afternoon waiting for our boys to get off the bus. She was the neighbor I could always rely on and we were constantly serving each other—watching each other’s kids, borrowing items, or lending a helping hand. Her and I were different in many ways, and though we only knew each other for a short time, Kathleen became my hero for she lived her life like no one knew she was dying. She taught me and others around her how to live life to the fullest instead of wallowing in despair or self-pity.
A year earlier, Kathleen learned she had Stage 4 Stomach cancer which required chemo and radiation to combat the cancer and give her a fighting chance. A month later, in August, the doctors
removed her stomach and hooked her intestines to act as her stomach.
She continued fighting and was elated to lean that in January her cancer
was in remission. Her joy was short-lived for a month later, Kathleen’s
cancer had returned with a vengeance. Doctors felt
she was too weak for surgery, so they continued chemo, but told her
that would only slow the progression. By June, the tumor had grown so
large, it was blocking her intestines, and there was nothing more they
could do for her.
As three other neighbors
and I gathered around her bedside that June evening, I expected it to
be a quick visit, as I didn’t know what I could say to her as she would
leave behind her two young boys, similar in age to my boys, age 7 and 5.
But as my Long Island New Yorker friend was never at a loss of words,
she talked for an hour and a half as she shared stories from her past,
what she planned to do in the present, and concerns for the future of
her family. At one point, she mentioned how her youngest wanted to be
Peter Pan for Halloween and she hoped to make him a costume and worried
she wouldn’t be there for Halloween.
A
few days later I went over to visit. I expected a somber household, but
her home was anything but somber. Her friends and family from New York
had flown in to say their last good-byes. Her house was like a
party---there were people in every room. She was resting in bed and her
friends were gathered around her bed. She welcomed me in and I told her I
had brought a gift. She said that wasn’t necessary, but I said “just
open it up and see.” When she pulled a green felt Peter Pan costume out
of the bag, she started to cry. I had spent the last few days, crying as
I selected fabric and as I sewed the costume. She was so excited to be
able to see her son in his costume and she wouldn’t have to worry if she
lived until October.
The
two weeks stretched on and my fighting friend amazed her family,
friends, and doctors. Instead of finding her in bed, when I would go
visit, she would be out shopping with her sister. She busily compiled
picture collages for her sons to remember her and made curtains for her
bedroom. She wanted her children to know what she would see when she
looked down from heaven, so she took her boys and husband up into an
airplane. We stood outside waving hi as they flew overhead. She kept
busy every day. My favorite thing to do was go visit and listen to her
stories knowing my time with her was short as she was dying and I was
moving out of state.
The greatest gift she gave me was on moving day, two weeks before she died. She
was over bright and early at 7:30 AM. She usually slept in until 10.
She brought waffles, pancakes, sausage, bacon, toast, scrambled eggs,
juice, and milk for my entire family. She knew I was by myself and had
no food in the house. I don’t know where she found the energy, but I
was so touched. That was our friendship—giving back and forth to each
other.
Kathleen
truly lived her life in the moment and found a way to serve and give
and love and live. She stood strong even when the cancerous tumor
refused to back away. She was my sweet, dear friend, who will always
hold a special place in my heart.
