I own all the content and pictures on this site, except where noted. If you steal anything from me, and
especially if you do anything mean or inappropriate with them, I will find you. Then I'll sue you for
theft, slander, libel and any other law that applies. Then I'll ridicule you in humiliating ways
here and everywhere else I contribute to. If you fuck with me, I'll get get all Gladiator on your ass
and unleash hell. Think I'm kidding? So did my a couple of my exes, my old neighbors, as well as
some assholes who ripped me off on Ebay, and last I heard, they were all still trying to undo the
damage I caused.
You know how sometimes you know someone going through something awful and you feel you can somehow relate, or maybe you just really like the person, and you find yourself thinking - randomly, and frequently - I wish I could take this pain and sadness away?
That's how I've been feeling about Susan Niebur. Susan is a brilliant astrophysicist, a loving wife, a wonderful mom to two boys. Susan is an amazing woman who's been battling cancer (started as breast cancer but there have been other kinds) for about five years now. Susan is currently in hospice care and facing her final days.
I wrote about Susan's ordeal early on. I was completely moved by her strength and grace and wanted to show my support, but I was also privately going through my own breast cancer scare and could relate on a very basic level. After that post, we very briefly communicated, and that has been the extent of my relationship with her. But I kept reading. I have been following along on her harrowing journey. I have felt like I'm right there with her. I have imagined myself in her shoes.
It's this last part that makes me ache the most. I would dare say all us moms who read her blog have imagined ourselves in her shoes many times over. What would we do? How could we bear it? And yet, she has had to bear it, and she's borne it with dignity and humor and honesty. Her boys are now four and six, and I know they are as brave and strong as she is. But they are four and six and will grow up without her: how can any of us bear this?
Susan has been open and honest in her struggles, inviting us to be a part of her journey, no matter how ugly or uncomfortable that journey's gotten at times. Whether silent or not, many of us have been with her. It hasn't mattered that we might not know her personally: she has shared so much of herself and many have been there to encourage and support her all these years. And that, she's let us know, has provided comfort to her.
I don't have any words that would mean or do anything in this situation. But I've been thinking a lot about Susan these last few days and am aching for her and her family. I wish her peace. I wish them comfort. I hope they feel the warmth of our collective embrace.