I’ve just been told about @imadilife passing this am –
I met Madi via IG, right as she posted her stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis. Each day forward, I waited for Madi’s stories and posts – her strength soothed the grief I’m still processing since the loss of my beloved friend to stage 4 lung cancer almost 2 years ago. I dm’d Madi that. She responded with love and “followed back.”
Often heartwrenching to see her IG stories, I celebrated Madi’s rawness and transparency; giving her followers an insider’s view into treatment and survival and, sadly, Madi’s story and suffering are so relatable to so many in our world.
As the months went by, Madi’s treatment became much more difficult, and Madi began to lose her grip on cancer’s progression. She still mustered up the positivity and strength to post her treatment updates as she negotiated through surgeries, labs, hospital transfers, and cancer complications. I could see beyond the images and videos and know too well the realities of treatment – weakening: trying to comeback, sliding downhill and crawling uphill, day in and day out.
And then, last week, online silence.
Madi stopped posting.
As the coronavirus spread and the world’s shutdown began, I intermittently checked on Madi via her IG feed.
I began to worry about her.
I hoped, maybe she’s healing from surgery?
I knew she’s vulnerable, so I hoped everyone’s sheltering-in-place for people like Madi.
I didn’t know who to ask how Madi’s holding up, but I believed her silence said enough.
Now, as I hear the news of Madi’s passing, I sit in stillness and silence, stunned by what she’s endured and grateful for what Goodness she leaves in her wake and in my life.
I hope that Madi’s finally free from her physical pain, and I’m in awe of her loving husband, mother, and family who protected her from evil and are now humbly lifting her up to God.
I’m overwhelmed with “Esperanza” — of living life to the fullest, right here, right now,
And celebrating the intention when we allow a stranger to become a friend.
Touched by imadilife, I believe an angel sent to me via IG and via jwls2707 from above, for life.
Last Tuesday, my brother, who owns a pool maintenance company, stopped at a house north of town in the desert to work on a customer’s pool. It was post-lunch, and he’d been working since 5 AM. He’d gone home midday for food and a 100º+ temperature break, and when he returned to his schedule, he wore his flipflops not his close-toed shoes. At his first stop,
and with no rattle,
Fangs embedded into the top of my brother’s foot –
My brother was bitten by a rattlesnake!
He looked down and saw the 5-foot rattler @ his feet. My brother immediately drove himself 20-minutes to the closest ER; leaving his work truck parked and idling in the ER’s entrance drive as he admitted himself into the hospital.
After an examination, the doctor determined the snake had bitten my brother on the top of his foot –
His foot swelled beyond recognition and turned a greenish-blue. The pain in his foot and leg was excruciating. The venom, the poison, pushed its way through his veins; radiating pain from the puncture wounds and causing him to scream out in pain.
Admitted to the ICU for three days, he received six vials of antivenom (at $2400/vial.) His bill at discharge, $200K. gasp! He still can’t put weight on his foot, so he uses crutches, and he’s unable to work for at least two weeks.
A costly lesson to remind us that we’re guests in the desert where we’re awestruck by the desert’s beauty – its play with the sunlight and its rare and impressive terrain, but at times, oblivious to its torturous conditions and its acclimated inhabitants.
The desert demands respect for its uniqueness, and unfortunately, sometimes, we discover firsthand an appreciation of its dangers. Warnings may or may not happen. The sun doesn’t tell us that it’s taking our water, the cactus doesn’t ask us to keep our hands off and a snake may or may not rattle before it strikes.
Through witnessing my brother’s recovery, I’ve been bitten by the harsh reality:
We can’t let down our guard when infringing on this rugged territory.
Respect the earth. Respect others. Respect the desert. And unlike most good guests, never take your shoes off when entering.