Member-only story
She wanted me to share her words.
She trusted me to tell her story.
I was honored when my friend Erica sent me entries from her personal diary, asking that I share them with the world so that people would know what she was thinking — what she was feeling — in her final days.
Last month, Erica passed away peacefully in her sleep, on the morning after I published her words. All those things that she had wanted to express before she said goodbye. It feels bittersweet. I’m grateful that I was able to publish her words. She was so proud to see the final draft. But I’m angry. Angry that I can’t show her all the beautiful messages that people are writing to her now. Angry that I can’t call her or hear her voice or tell her that I love her one last time.
(Learn more about cystic fibrosis at CFF.org)
When I first heard the news that Erica had entered end-of-life hospice care a few months ago, a wave of emotions went through my mind: that same anger, a stunning numbness; I felt overwhelmed. Oddly, I also felt a need to begin grieving, even before her last goodbye. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait for that painful phone call from one of her loved ones. I remember thinking that what I wanted more than anything for Erica was for her to go peacefully and painlessly in her sleep when it was time, and perhaps have the loved ones she’s lost greet her at her transition to the afterlife, if you believe in that sort of thing. I know I do.
People with her illness, cystic fibrosis (CF), don’t always make it to adulthood, and the ones that do often don’t make it past their mid-40s. Even though I was acutely aware of her declining health for so long, it can be hard to catch your breath when a friend who is like the sister you never had…
