My Dear Friend and Editor

Have I told you about my friend Cathy? At first, she was just my friend’s mom, then she was my editor, but over the years, she became my dear friend. She passed early Monday morning after a long fight with cancer.

Back when my first book was barely put-together, my friend Melissa convinced me to meet with her mom, Cathy, who worked as an editor. It thrilled me to get any feedback, especially from an editor, but I was also incredibly nervous because I did not know what to expect, and I had poured my heart and soul into that book.

The first time I met Cathy, she showed so much excitement about my story. Before I knew it, she gently gutted my book with the precision of a surgeon. Gutted might be too harsh. She helped me trim the extra fat, and Lord knows my story was obese.

We got into a comfortable rhythm over the years. We enjoyed getting together and our working relationship turned into a friendship. Editing can be a painful process and some days were tough, but most days, we laughed together. Our inside jokes grew so ridiculous.

We were editing together the day the doctor called to tell her she had cancer. I wasn’t trying to listen, but the doctor was loud through the phone’s speaker. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My body felt numb, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I left that day feeling like I should’ve stayed and hugged her. I didn’t know what to do. I always joked that she might be twice my age, but her spirit was younger than me. Cathy was vibrant. She was beautiful and loving and generous.

The cancer was advanced by the time they found it, and I am so thankful for the four-plus years we had together after her initial diagnosis. She had peaks and valleys with surgery and treatments over the years, but we still got together. Some days we cried, but most of the time, it was only because we were laughing too hard.

In January, I decided this would be the year to publish my books. I had this overwhelming urge that it had to be this summer. I couldn’t wait another year. So, on a tight deadline, I worked my ass off and polished up the first book. Cathy was there with me. Then came time to polish up the second book, and Cathy wasn’t there. She was in the hospital trying to get better.

She knew these books inside and out. She knew what was going to happen, and she understood what I meant to think. She was my badass, brilliant friend, and in June, she decided it was time to discontinue cancer treatments. She signed up with hospice, and even though I was not ready for her to go; I knew she was tired, and she didn’t deserve to linger in pain.

Hospice got her pain under control, which blessed Cathy with some beautiful moments this past summer. One day while she rested, I worked on my latest book, and when she woke, she asked if I could read her the part I was working on. It was a new section, and she helped make it better. I ate it up. I loved how much she loved our times together, and I hope I made it clear how much I cherish those times with her.

She may be gone, but I will never forget her. She encouraged me to grow and taught me so many important points that will stick with me forever. When I self-edit, I hear her voice in my head, guiding me. She’s made an enormous impact on my writing and an even more significant impact on my life.