Remembering Sheri
Most of you think of me as a broadcaster, but I actually consider everything I produce on the air and online as "writing". I do a fair amount of it everyday. Sometimes you get the "first draft" when I'm conducting a LIVE interview on the radio. Sometimes it's more packaged, when I've had time to "process the meat" so to speak.
I've written plenty of copy that has been colourful and fun; more that has been dire and dramatic; and a good deal that's got me in some trouble. But today, the copy was the toughest I've had to write in a while.
It was on Obituary.
My younger cousin, Sheri Odorizzi, died last night – on the occasion of her mom and dad’s 51st wedding anniversary.
Born in Strathroy, Ontario, she lived a good deal of her life in Sarnia. For the past two and a half years, she lived with cancer and it consumed the last of her life on Thursday night. She battled with courage - fighting the pain inflicted on her diseased body; enduring the indignity of its treatment. And, like so many before, Sheri expressed the most extraordinary hope in the face of the deepest despair.
She spent her final days dying in bed in her mother's home. Her mom, my aunt, Mary could only rub her back to offer comfort as she watched the effects of the cancer take its victory lap. Sheri's circulatory system was shutting down - blood flow retreating from the extremities of her legs; her feet were changing colour; her blood pressure dropping; her heart rate racing.
Sheri would call out for her mother. When Mary said "I'm here, honey", Sheri didn’t recognize her. Is it because of the disease that had worked its way into her brain or the drugs that were intended to spare her the pain? At this point, it didn’t matter much. Mary just held her close.
Those of us who love and know her continue to hold her close.
She is lover and life partner to Nick; she is the youngest of five; sister to Randy, Marianne, Wendy and Kimmy; she will eternally be Mary and Jack's baby girl.
She is aunt. She is niece. She is cousin. She is complicated. She is courage. She is compassion.
Even in the face of death, she was anything but complacent and, damnit, she was really funny. Above all else, she's was always a realist.
She knew, sometime ago, how this story was going to end. Not that she ever gave up or gave in, but, as I've learned from others close to me, terminal cancer has a way of sharpening one's sense of self awareness. Her "affairs", as we clinically like to call them, are in order. The will is signed and witnessed; the power of attorney was long ago formalized; her intentions had been clearly expressed. She was ready.
I was asked to help "write the notice" so it would be ready when needed. But instead of focusing on the things we will miss, it's important to note that we are most grateful for the great gifts that Sheri has given to all of us. Her courage, her determination and her selflessness abated our fears, despair and anxiety. We have been buoyed by her generous spirit, challenged by her great wit, and relieved by her wonderful sense of humour.
Blessed are we who've known Sheri, for we have been comforted by her love and laughter.
I've written plenty of copy that has been colourful and fun; more that has been dire and dramatic; and a good deal that's got me in some trouble. But today, the copy was the toughest I've had to write in a while.
It was on Obituary.
My younger cousin, Sheri Odorizzi, died last night – on the occasion of her mom and dad’s 51st wedding anniversary.
Born in Strathroy, Ontario, she lived a good deal of her life in Sarnia. For the past two and a half years, she lived with cancer and it consumed the last of her life on Thursday night. She battled with courage - fighting the pain inflicted on her diseased body; enduring the indignity of its treatment. And, like so many before, Sheri expressed the most extraordinary hope in the face of the deepest despair.
She spent her final days dying in bed in her mother's home. Her mom, my aunt, Mary could only rub her back to offer comfort as she watched the effects of the cancer take its victory lap. Sheri's circulatory system was shutting down - blood flow retreating from the extremities of her legs; her feet were changing colour; her blood pressure dropping; her heart rate racing.
Sheri would call out for her mother. When Mary said "I'm here, honey", Sheri didn’t recognize her. Is it because of the disease that had worked its way into her brain or the drugs that were intended to spare her the pain? At this point, it didn’t matter much. Mary just held her close.
Those of us who love and know her continue to hold her close.
She is lover and life partner to Nick; she is the youngest of five; sister to Randy, Marianne, Wendy and Kimmy; she will eternally be Mary and Jack's baby girl.
She is aunt. She is niece. She is cousin. She is complicated. She is courage. She is compassion.
Even in the face of death, she was anything but complacent and, damnit, she was really funny. Above all else, she's was always a realist.
She knew, sometime ago, how this story was going to end. Not that she ever gave up or gave in, but, as I've learned from others close to me, terminal cancer has a way of sharpening one's sense of self awareness. Her "affairs", as we clinically like to call them, are in order. The will is signed and witnessed; the power of attorney was long ago formalized; her intentions had been clearly expressed. She was ready.
I was asked to help "write the notice" so it would be ready when needed. But instead of focusing on the things we will miss, it's important to note that we are most grateful for the great gifts that Sheri has given to all of us. Her courage, her determination and her selflessness abated our fears, despair and anxiety. We have been buoyed by her generous spirit, challenged by her great wit, and relieved by her wonderful sense of humour.
Blessed are we who've known Sheri, for we have been comforted by her love and laughter.
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