Goodbye, Captain Sassy Pants

My best friend died last night.

Those are the words that sprang to mind as soon as I woke up, accompanied by the overwhelming sense of her absence.  But of course she's not really absent, she's all around me.  We've been best friends for almost 18 years, she's everywhere I look.  She's been there for every single important life event I've had, and the summation of a million smaller moments.

Dawn and I became best friends in college, and that bond formed within minutes of meeting each other.   Our adventurous fun-loving souls just clicked and became a part of each other from day one.  We made an art out of making the ordinary into the fantastic.  It was college, we spent a LOT of time at the bar.  But we didn't just go to the bar.  We made it into an event.  We threw beach parties at the bar, wore ridiculous outfits, made up theme nights that we talked everyone else into participating in because they were just as wacky as we were, randomly awarded each other ribbons for ridiculous accomplishments, and typically brought a Bag o' Fun (which included all manner of toy musical instruments, crazy straws, and anything that could make us laugh).   Open, unabashed, FUN that embraced our silliness and whimsy.

Our "inner circle" all knew that Dawn had health problems.  But she never ever acted like a Sick Girl.  She talked openly about her autoimmune disease and kidney transplant and faced them like she did with everything else in her life - joy.  Each year we celebrated her Kidney Birthday and threw a party in its honor.  She never ever let her illnesses define her or how she lived her life.  One year we had the bright idea to have a roller skating party at the bar.  (I didn't say our ideas were always logically sound).  So we skated to the bar, down the steps, danced all night on roller skates, and made it back up the steps.  Where does Dawn wipe out?  On the perfectly flat sidewalk on the way home.  She broke her wrist and got quite some looks in the ER that night.  But she was back at it again the next day, making the most out of life and bringing joy wherever she went.  

During that time we also formed a deep bond with Sunita and Kristen, and the four of us became best friends.   That friendship took root there in the Phyrst and Darkhorse in State College and we became completely ingrained into each other.  The kind of friendship that is totally honest, open, supportive, and REAL.  The four of us have so many individual unique differences but we have always accepted each other completely and without question.  The love we have for each other is absolute.  After we finished college that love only deepened as we continued to grow together and experience all new life events.  And each year we made a pact to always go on a Girls Trip together.  We made sure that even with the hustle and bustle of life that we took time to just be The Four together. 

Life changed a lot and our friendship only got deeper as we became intertwined in each other's lives even more completely.  We were at each other's side for EVERYTHING.  Big stuff like engagements, weddings, babies, family events.  And the smaller but just as important things like board game nights and girl-talk on the couch.

And we never lost our sense of adventure and fun.  Whether it was meeting Roscoe P. Coltrane and making him autograph our arms:

yearly Poison concerts:

80s parties:

or 70s Gameshow-themed parties:

Fun and laughter was an essential part of life.  And though Dawn continued to have health problems as we supported her through kidney rejection/failure and a 2nd kidney transplant, she still never ever let it define her.  She did things that girls like her "weren't supposed to do" and she did it with complete gusto and reckless abandon.  

Like mud runs:

And ziplining:

When Dawn was diagnosed with cancer last year, I knew it before she did.  She called me to say that she had an appointment to get results of a biopsy, which was expected to be benign based on other findings.  She had lots of errands to run and just mentioned it as part of what she was doing that day.  I can't explain it but I knew in my gut that I needed to be there with her.  I rearranged my work schedule and met her at the doctor's office.  I held her hand as she received the news.  As she sat and absorbed the gravity of it, I asked all the questions that I knew she would need to know later.  We made a plan.  

I was there for her first radiation appointment, helped her recover from her port placement, and was there for her chemo.  In the beginning she had enough energy to walk around with her chemo bag slung over her shoulder and do the things she needed to do:

Even becoming so exhausted that it took all of her energy, she wouldn't let herself miss Finn's superhero birthday party:

And when she became so sick and so tired that she just couldn't get around much, we brought her jello and board games to the house.  After she lost her appetite we had many experiments with her juicer, almost all of which were disastrous.  If you know Dawn at all then you know that 99% of vegetables are her enemy.  I swear the girl lived on Sheetz MTO and circus peanuts.  She stored shoes in her oven because cooking was just not her thing.  Anyway, as exhausted as she was she still had plenty of sass and never hesitated to tell me that the kale-infused shake I made her was just really not ok.  

She finished her chemo treatments and got her energy back.  Then when her radiation was finally complete, we celebrated the end of her treatment here and she also celebrated in a very big way by going on a cruise with her very good friend Fonda.   Our hope was that she was done.  She spent the next many months in the best way - falling in love with a great guy Jason, who she's known since Kindergarten and had recently reconnected with.  When she spoke of him, she glowed.  She had big plans for the future with him, life was full of promise and we were all so excited.

Then this summer her cancer relapsed.  Aggressively.  Fast.  She was hesitant to share this with people because she was worried, she didn't want others to worry, and she wanted to find out more information.  We transitioned her care to UPenn and after some consults her hope was to start chemo again.  Even with this new scary news, there was still so much joy and hope because she also had moved in with Jason.  She was beyond happy to finally have a "home" with him and his children, she continued to make big plans.  

After her first dose of chemotherapy, she became septic and entered the ICU in septic shock.  Which is the beginning of the story that many people know and have been following.  Jason and her dad spent almost every day at her bedside, I'm so grateful they were there for hours and hours on end to give Dawn their love and support.  Mike Dunne (also one of her closest "inner circle", such a wonderful person who was truly a rock throughout) also visited often and gave me updates.  And I drove to Philadelphia as much as I could.  The first time I saw her in the ICU I knew in my heart that she would not make it to more chemo and I resolved to do everything in my power to bring her any joy and peace that I could.  Little things like painting her fingernails and toenails hot pink.  Bigger things like convincing her ICU team to let me sit under the sterile drape and hold her hand while she had her central line placed, because I knew she was so so very scared.  

And we were determined not to let her birthday go un-celebrated.  We showed up with balloons, streamers, gifts, and decorated her oncology floor room.

As the days wore on, her complications increased and it became clear to her oncology team (who were absolutely fantastic) that it was no longer realistic to pursue further chemo and that in fact her stage IV cancer was spreading very fast and even more aggressively.  I drove to Philly to stay at her bedside, and over the next couple of days Jason and I had several series of difficult conversations with Dawn, to talk very openly about what her wishes were.  Mike was such a huge help here as well, again a rock of total solidarity and encouragement.  I am grateful that we were able to do this and that she was able to very specifically make all of her wishes known.  Dawn chose hospice care over traditional inpatient care, and wouldn't you know it - the only residential hospice facility in a 300-mile radius with an open bed was 5 miles from my house in Harrisburg.  While we were waiting for her transfer, I am so grateful for the little moments I could share with her in the hospital - changing her dressings, holding her hand, waking up in the middle of the night to just walk over and hug her and hold her, having her sassy self give me The Business for spilling cranberry juice (and nail polish) all over her sheets.   

I am also grateful for the single hardest moment that I have had in this entire journey, because it was a gift to Dawn.  The morning of her transfer to Hospice, the nurse came in to discuss Dawn's resuscitation orders.  I was standing at Dawn's bedside and the nurse summarized for Dawn that we had all verbally agreed Dawn would not receive CPR, breathing ventilation, or any other manner of lifesaving intervention and now just needed a signature to formalize it.  She held the pen out to Dawn and I could see the grief in Dawn's eyes, she just couldn't.  Dawn was always a fighter.  She refused to give up, no matter what.  And I could see in her eyes that even though those were indeed her wishes, she was having a huge internal struggle about what signing that paper would symbolize.  So as her POA I asked Dawn if I could sign for her, she closed her eyes and nodded, and I took the pen so she didn't have to.  So she didn't have to sign her name to ending the fight, so that I could do it for her.  My hand shook and as I signed that paper I felt the knife in my gut twist, I've never felt so much pain and cried so hard as when I left that room.  But it's what needed to be done.  For Dawn. 

There are so many things I could say about the 57 hours that Dawn spent at the Hospice of Central Pennsylvania.  But it wouldn't be enough.  The most important thing is that it was 57 hours filled with LOVE.  There were tears, so many tears.  Over the course of the past month, I have grieved so many times I thought there just can't be any more tears.  Then it catches you off guard and there you are sobbing in the shower again or crying into a cheeseburger.   But there was also laughter, so much laughter.  So many visits from the many many people who love Dawn.  She was infectious energy and love in such a tiny tiny package, you couldn't help but want to be near her.  

Sunita flew in from California and we had one last Girl's Trip, it was wonderful to have the four of us all together holding hands.  Crying, laughing.  Giving Dawn our love.  It was tradition to take a Girl's Trip photo each year, we continued that tradition this year.  Dawn's nails are in pink:

And there were those of us who kept vigil over her all night and didn't leave her side - myself, Jason, Kristen, Sunita and Isaac, Mike Dunne, Aunt Brenda & Uncle David.   We are forever tied and bonded in that gift.  And it is a gift - it is the greatest honor and a true privilege to guide someone you love so deeply through this.  Dawn was surrounded in love and peace, we were always there to stroke her hair and tell her that it's ok to relax, it's ok to let go, it's ok to stop fighting because she's fought so hard for so long and that we are all so very proud of her.   There is absolute beauty in the truest love of this gift.  I held her hand for her last breath and we were all by her side to give her the best sendoff I could possibly imagine.  It was peaceful.  It was beautiful.  It was perfect.  And there were tears.  But there was also joy.  

We love you Dawn-Nicole Feaster.  And goodbye, Captain Sassy Pants.  But it's not really goodbye, because you will always be in our hearts.