I can't remember if I ever met Susan in person. I been searching through all of my blogging memories to figure out if we've ever shook hands or looked one another in the eye or hugged. I'm know deep down inside that we most likely never met in real life. If we did, I'm sure I would never forget. It's the craziness that is blogging. We meet so many kindred souls online that it's hard to remember who you know in real life and those whom are just friends on Facebook and Twitter.
It's hard to believe that I'll never get the chance to meet Susan now. At least not until we meet in Heaven.
I "met" Susan in an unusual way. I decided at the last minute to attend BlogHer 2007 in Chicago. Yahoo! had sponsored my ticket, my airline miles were getting me there, but I needed a place to stay. The block room rate was gone and I was going to have to pay through the nose for a room. Kim, who also decided at the last minute to stay in a hotel, and I were going to be roommates. Kim called me to let me know that Susan...
Susan who had just been diagnosed with IBC...
Susan who was now in the fight for her life...
Susan who should have been screaming F^CK YOU to the world...
Susan who should not have cared about BlogHer or hotels rates...
Susan wanted to make sure that her room - the room with the cheaper rate - was transferred to someone else.
Who does that? Who cares about helping someone else when you yourself are in crisis?
Susan does. Because that is who Susan is.
I was floored by her grace. By her generosity. By her. Period.
Susan and I talked briefly on the phone. At the time, she blogged under a pseudonym and held her family's privacy above all else. She made me promise that I would never speak her real name - as I was about to find it out during the room transfer to mine. I remember promising that I wouldn't even look at the form with her name. But I lied. I did look. I saw her name was Susan and I smiled. And I began praying for her everyday, lifting her name up.
For the last five years, Susan has been on my heart and mind every single day. While I'm officially the world's worst blog commenter (as I rarely do it), I've followed Susan's story with total commitment. I have virtually been by her side, virtually holding her hand, virtually singing her praise. I've learned more about breast cancers, cancer treatments, recovery, and chemo from Susan. She has taught us all about the science of our lives.
I've been struggling with how to close this post. Do I say good-bye? Do I say thank you? Do I say how I terribly regret never getting to shake your hand, look you in the eye, and maybe even get to hug you? Do I tell you that I'll never forget you? That I love you? That I'm here, virtually at least, for you as your journey on Earth ends to begin your everlasting one with our maker? I don't know what to say. So I'm just going to say this.
I've been praying to those in my life who have passed before and have asked them to meet you at the Gates of Heaven. And I pray that I should be so lucky as to be greeted by you when it is my journey here is over. You've touched more lives than you could possibly ever know. You are not alone. You will never be alone.
