I think I knew Lisa for a few months before I knew she was a Neonatologist.
You save babies? I asked.
Sure, she said.
I wouldn't let it go. You're a fucking superhero. If I were you, I'd be shouting that from the rooftops.
After that, I always introduced her as "my friend, Dr. Lisa. She saves babies."
...
There are some people who live big lives but who make you feel small. Who make you feel like you don't do enough. You make you doubt yourself and your place in this universe.
Then there are people like Dr. Lisa, who lived a big life but made you feel like you could, too. No matter what was around her, she had the Midas touch. She was constantly filling things with gold.
She beat cancer twice. She traveled to Mongolia and Haiti, taking her knowledge to save babies and their mothers around the world. After the second surgery on her foot to remove the cancer, she decided she was going to run a half-marathon.
She turned every obstacle into an oportunity. If she couldn't go through, she'd go up, over, around.
She cheered me on as started my running journey, and through her and my husband's encouragement, signed up for my firts 10k a few weeks ago.
I heard the voice beind me as I was coming up on mile 5.
Go, Miss Nina, go!
Lisa ran past me with her team-in-training partners, reminding me that I could do it. I finished the race (slowly, but I ran the whole thing) and somehow, amongst the hundreds (thousands?) of people, Will and I ran into her. We hobbled over to grab a Bloody Mary and some grub and caught up on What Was Next.
Lisa's gone and I think that can't be it. I have to have better words to honor someone who lived her life like a beacon. It was never dark when she was around. I hope you'll consider donating to Lisa’s Fundraising Page for Team in Training's Leukemia & Lymphoma Society to keep that light alive.
I wish this was a better eulogy. But I never wanted to write a eulogy at all.
Lisa, I love you. I think you knew that. I hope you did.
