I am forever changed. I just boarded my flight - San Francisco to LAX and then on to Denver - to home. Where safety and comfort await me. Please, God, help me get there safely. I want to help others, love my husband, my family, and friends that are like family, as much as I can.

Emergency instructions on the plane don't seem very important at the moment. I'm watching other planes take off as we taxi, just gazing out the window,in a bit of a daze, numb, not really caring about much. My emotions, helped along with a double-tall bourbon and coke, are raging, tender, tough, sensistive, aware, heightened, wide-eyed.

I've just left my niece's bedside - in Hospice. Ovarian cancer has taken its toll after nearly 4 years. Her loving husband of 10+ years, their beautifully spirited 6 year old son, along with an international network of family and friends are at this moment grieving, and praying. Sadness cannot describe what I am feeling. It barely scratches the surface.

Julie, 38, is the most amazing person I've ever known. Throughout her cancer she has remained optimistic, hopeful. Cheering all of us up when she got bad news. Her quest for knowledge about everything surrounding her merits an honorary PhD in medicine. She's kept her "network" of family and friends informed about her procedures, tests, results, complications and successes. Those emails were a boost for me. I knew she was still with us. My selfishness.

Yesterday at the Hospice House I told her how much I would miss her. I began to tell her that she was the most amazing person I've ever known. It was too much at the moment. She thought she'd cry - so I continued her foot massage and non-sensical chit-chat. Sometimes ya need that - or it's all that is necessary.

My visit with Julie today before I left was bittersweet. She wanted me to finish her pedicure, that my best friend, Lese, and I had started the other day. She was either sleeping or nurses and doctors were attending to her. We didn't have much time to chat, giggle, and be girls, like we did the other day with Lese, but we did have a moment.

A moment where we looked deep into each others eyes, then hugged. I whispered into her ear that we'd take care of her "boys," her husband Chad, son, Kevin. She smiled - seemingly with relief, but teary-eyed.

Before I left I needed to kiss and hug her one more time. I really didn't want to leave. It felt so much better being with her. She spoke briefly about the missed pedicure and girl talk, and apologized that she was mostly sleeping from the intense pain meds. I leaned closer, kissed her on her forehead, hugged her close to me, just wanting to take away her pain and sadness. Both of our eyes welled with tears, looking at each other, we exchanged 'I love yous'. I told her, with certainty, that I knew I was going to see her again someday. She acknowledged me with a little uncertainty, and with a nod, also agreed. I hugged her close again, assuring her I KNEW we'd see each other again. It's a place of FAITH. But we still had tears.

In Julies' "always thinking of others' fashion" - she said to tell Mick hello for us, now get going, you've got a BART train awaiting your arrival. As we said good bye and I was walking out the door - we changed it to "see ya later - it's never good-bye," and with blown kisses to each other, I was off. I tried not to cry, to be strong for Chad, that's what I was there for - but I couldn't help crying.

Throughout my flight the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean has been spectacular. It's one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. A fitting tribute to Julie.

I am forever changed. Not because of Julie's impending death - we're all going to die. I'm forever changed because I've known her. And I am blessed because of it.