Elizabeth Ann Sciabarra: September 2, 1952 – November 26, 2022
My dearest Bitty,
It’s been three years since your suffering ended.
It’s been three years—and I miss you so much.
Even more so because you were always my rock. And this past year has rocked me to my core. After seventeen procedures over a nine-month period, I underwent emergency surgery on October 7. This was my sixth bout of diverticulitis since 2016. But this time, it came with all the trimmings, including a dangerously perforated intestine. Somehow, I survived it—even as I’ve had to muster enormous strength to navigate through monumental changes to my everyday existence.
You were there more than fifty years ago when I faced the debilitating congenital condition of Superior Mesenteric Artery Syndrome and underwent a trailblazing intestinal bypass that saved my life.
Alas, three days after my October 7 surgery, I became gravely ill. That bypass was severely compromised—and I was fighting for my life again.
Always relentlessly optimistic in facing whatever curveballs life has thrown my way, I went into the operating room on the night of October 10 and told the surgeon I was petrified. With vulnerability and grace, the surgeon admitted that he too was petrified. Oh, this was no reflection on his remarkable expertise. It was merely an honest admission that we were both about to enter uncharted waters together. He greatly appreciated the details that only I could provide about that surgery from more than a half-century ago. And I deeply appreciated his humanity; I held his gifted hands and asked him to do everything he could.
While I also held onto the hope that I’d awaken from surgery, I truly and sincerely had made my peace with the very real possibility that I might die.
When my eyes opened in the wee hours of October 11, I counted my blessings. And with tomorrow being Thanksgiving Day—I continue to count the blessings that nourish me, especially the boundless love and support of Bro, Wan, family and friends.
It’s been three years, my Bitty—and your love is still very much alive in my heart.
But I’m sure you’d laugh out loud to hear me say, in a gallows sort of way, that I won’t be joining you anytime soon in that niche in Green-Wood Cemetery. After 7 weeks in hospitals and rehab facilities, I’m back home where I belong. My life force is strong.
Rest in peace, dear sister.
My love eternal,
Chris
Notablog 