We grieve the loss of a loved one in many, many ways. I have grieved at the bedsides of my father, my mother, and my brother. The outcome was never in doubt from the moment that they lost consciousness. But each was different.

My mother and father died of cancer. The vigils at their bedsides were long, heart wrenching ordeals. I stood with my brothers and waited for their bodies to give out. I said goodbye just before their bodies began to take them away from the sights and sounds of living.

My brother’s death was different. My brother and I stood by as Dan’s brain finally died. He was gone the minute the blood vessels in his head gave way. Those weak vessel walls took him from us. I talked to him as that happened. I heard him leave and I said goodbye.

Tonight I grieve for someone still living. She is trapped in a body that no longer functions. Five years ago she was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, Lou Gehrig’s disease. Slowly she lost her ability to speak, the ability to chew. Her muscles twitched and cramped. She has spent the last few months sitting on her deck, in the sun. She could still operate her electric wheelchair. She could focus her eyes. And, with a great deal of patience, she could communicate with her family.

Two nights ago the disease attacked her brain. She can no longer move. She can no longer communicate. She stares into space with no focus.

She is gone.

Her internal organs continue to work, fighting a valiant fight. But she is gone from those who love her. It happened quickly and no one got to say goodbye or tell her that she is and always will be, loved.

And I grieve. I am angry. I am sad. I am numb. And then I am angry again. I am living with a rock in the pit of my stomach.

I have been here before. I know the stages of grief. I know this. I am angry that I know what this is. I am angry that this had to happen to the strongest, most stubborn woman I have ever known. I am angry that this disease is taking my friend from me forever.

So, I ask each and every person that reads this to go to, read about ALS and then donate. It cannot help my friend but it may help someone else. It may help the world eradicate this devastation of neurons. This devastation of life. Maybe, just maybe it will help those who grieve.

Goodbye, Kathy. I love you.

Categories: Uncategorized


  1. I also lost a friend just two weeks ago who suffered with this dreadful disease for 8 years. I wish you peace.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. And peace to you. Thank you for being willing to relive your time of pain. May we both find understanding.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It is good that you have not ceased feeling it

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I am so very sorry for your loss. What can words do at such a time? I feel helpless. Yet, I strongly identify with this post. May your friend be blessed with a peaceful passing and may you and all her friends and family find a modicum of comfort and feel the blessings of love revisit you again and again and again.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. As we can not be aware of all grieving, included in my dailies is to uplift the hurt of those in grief. Keeping others in my thoughts keeps me blessed. You are included in that group with direct acknowledgment.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. She passed yesterday morning. I am so grateful to have known her. She is free now. I am grateful for that as well. Thank you, Carol for all your kind and thoughtful words.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Yes, Derrick, it is. I sang for her at our concert last night. She passed yesterday morning. I am grateful that I was part of her life and she of mine. I am grateful that she is now free.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. I am so very sorry for all she suffered, and sorry for your loss. Sending big hugs and my deepest sympathy.

    Liked by 2 people

  9. ALS is such a cruel and heartbreaking disease. My heartfelt condolences go out to you, and to all who loved Kathy. ❤️

    Liked by 2 people

  10. Thank you, Heidi. She passed on Thursday morning. I sang for her on Thursday night.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. You are kindly welcome – sending more hugs


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