There was a period in Ireland when it was very popular for priests to (no, no... just keep reading... keep reading....) use lines from pop songs in their sermons. It was a last ditch attempt at attracting the "yout"... and if you visit Ireland today you'll see that it didn't work. Anyway, that little nugget just struck me as I decided to write about life and satisfaction and the possibility of a dreadfully tacky and self-absorbed title for my entry.
Anyway... last week was strange... because among other things, as I turned 40 a friend in Ireland who was only 25 died. Not to make her death all about me... but it really hit me hard. One of the strangest things about this is that I had never actually met her. She was born when I was about 15 and that was the beginning of cross-infection awareness among CF. There was no official policy yet and it was common practice to put people with CF in the same wards in hospitals and also share close quarters in waiting rooms. So, although hospitals weren't on board yet, people with CF started to have a sense that get-togethers were no longer a good idea. Therefore, although this girl and I knew a lot about each other and were constantly aware of milestones in each other's lives and the ups and downs of our illnesses... we never actually met. I'm not even sure why I'm writing this post except it seemed important to include her in my week and mention this huge thing that happened (and is happening) to this girl and her family. Then like all normal humans, I think about the things that I've been able to do and the experiences I've had and how much of that has happened since I turned 25 and how little my CF has impacted me and how little I have to do every day in order to keep healthy. I can't help but feel a sense of survivors guilt, which is a really stupid and useless emotion.