I'm Really Going To Miss You a Lot, Cathy Seipp

A woman whom I adore is at this moment about to leave us to take that journey to The Great Unknown. And my heart has rarely been heavier. Cathy Seipp has valiantly fought off lung cancer for nearly five years -- this, despite her contention that she never even took so much as a drag from a single cigarette. Or cigar. Or anything carcinogenic of which she was aware. And now she's about to die at 49. Way too young. She's leaving behind a 17-year-old daughter named Maia whom is beautiful, devoted and wise and mature far beyond her years. It's hard to fathom that her mother is really about to leave us. Cathy is far too snarky and stubborn to have allowed for this whole mortality thing to intervene. It's actually rather unfathomable.

I've known Cathy for 25 years, since we worked together at the Los Angeles Daily News and she was hired on as fashion editor. I instantly dismissed her as an insufferable snob. And in fact, I still do. But to this day, she's been the most endearing, probing, intriguing, exhuberant elitest I've ever known. I've been drawn to Cathy without always knowing precisely why. Then she went and became a Republican a decade or so ago, which really left me wondering what I was doing hanging with this woman. But by then, it was too late. I was too taken with her to dump her.

Part of the reason for my embracing of a human so singularly cranky, exasperating, arrogant and haughty was her immense talent as a journalist. For one, she was utterly fearless, never once backing down in the face of even a potential threat to her livelihood. In her writing, she refused to kiss up or get cozy no matter the benefit to her her career and completely trusted what she was feeling in her gut. The more ruffled the feathers, the more pride she took. Whereas I sometimes tread carefully so as to not piss the wrong people off, Cathy was positively gleeful in tossing around all of the bodies that needed tossing. She was careful never to tiptoe around the minefield. Her brutal honestly never would allow it.

I was drawn to Cathy because she's been a more provocative and entertaining writer than I. She felt we were more on a par, but I knew better. Still, Cathy accepted me into her inner sanctum because she thought I was good. If I weren't up to the standard she set in her mind, I think she'd have had little to do with me. But rather than get turned off by this quasi-shallow mindset, it fueled my confidence. Our friendship, thus, was based on a pure mutual admiration. That was the full attraction, and the basis for our closer tie the past several years. The truth is that were Cathy not as superb a writer as she was, I'd probably not have given her the time of day, either. Shallow? Conditional? No doubt. But true.

The friends with whom Cathy has surrounded herself all tended to be cut of a similar literary cloth. If you were invited to any one of her parties, you'd find a huge percentage of exceedingly bright writer types. This is not a woman who ever has suffered fools gladly, but at the same time she celebrates wit and wisdom with every ounce of her soul. Those of us who were allowed access to Cathy's circle -- superior and haughty though it may have been -- felt like The Chosen People. If she liked you and accepted you, it meant you were probably pretty good because her taste was impeccable -- and, after all, she was as crafty and colorful and brilliant a journalist as there ever has been.

But Cathy is hardly the tobacco-chewing wench. She is actually feminine and even dainty in her way. And loyal. If you were a Friend of Cathy, she'd defend you with every bullet in her shotgun. In the same article where she trashed others, I can recall several occasions when she would single me out for praise as an exception. She would say it wasn't because I was a friend but because it was the truth, and that if I screwed up she'd assassinate my character with the same fervor. But I never believed her. If she had any sacred cows -- and there were few -- it was those whom she personally admired.

The past nearly five years have been Cathy's toughest, of course. Since her diagnosis in June 2002 -- when she was given a mere six months to live -- she has undergone batteries of tests, experimental remedies, chemo, radiation, endless surgeries and lung drainings and horrid side effects and complications. Her quality of life was still pretty high until roughly last November, when the disease began to take control.

There was never a "Why me?" from Cathy, who remained ever the stoic realist. But don't worry. This isn't the maudlin section. First off, if I made it that way. Cathy would wake up and slap me. As Cathy has been proud to note, cancer doesn't make you a better person. It didn't make her a better one, either. But more importantly, it didn't make her a different one. She has been the same defiant dame to the end, eschewing hospice, railing at the world and fighting like a banshee (as she still is at this very moment).

A few months back, I was driving Cathy to a chemotherapy appointment when she began to complain about a neighbor having brought over a heaping pot of some sort of stew that she didn't like and my telling her to shut up because this person had, after all, tried to do a good thing. "I don't care, it was just too much!" she griped.

"You know what, Cathy?" I replied. "Why don't you think about just going with the flow and relaxing and letting all of that anxiety go? Who knows how much time you've got left? Don't you think maybe it's time to...I dunno...mellow out and allow it all to roll off of you?"

Cathy flashed me a quizzical glance and asked earnestly, "What do you mean?"

It was at that point I realized she was happiest and most relaxed when lashing out at the world and there was no point in trying to change her now. Yet what has been most inspiring about an otherwise ghastly ordeal -- when even trying to move ultimately grew horrendously painful -- has been the love and support shown Cathy by her intensely devoted network of friends (of which I'm privileged to have been one). I have in fact never seen a group of people band together for a cause as Team Cathy has for this lady in her darkest hour. When it became clear a few months ago that the inevitable downhill spiral had been launched, it was mutually decided that she would never be alone again. And so we've maintained a Cathy Calendar through Google on which we took shifts throughout the weeks to keep her company, help her with chores, bring her milkshakes, etc.

Fortunately, Cathy's rock-solid 78-year-old father Harvey has lived with his daughter throughout the ordeal, proving to be a tireless inspiration and caretaker. And Maia is fortunate to have not only the legion of Cathy friends and supporters prepared to pick up the slack but also her wise and devoted father, Jerry Lazar (Cathy's ex-husband and a true mensch in every sense).

I have marveled at the unbelievable support Cathy has had from the group. I've never seen anything like it. Neither has Cathy. And in fact, she often seemed flabbergasted by the fact it was being done for her at all and left her thinking maybe she had done something right in her life to deserve this kind of unprecedented outpouring after all. But mostly, she was stumped.

"I honestly don't get it," she confided to me some three weeks ago. "It isn't like I'm some sweet person or anything."

"I know," I replied. "You're actually kind of a bitch. I don't understand it, either." Then I added: "But you know, even bitches can inspire loyalty. And you're the greatest and most fascinating bitch I've ever known."

With that, Cathy smiled.

"Thanks," she said.

Keep giving 'em hell wherever you wind up, babe. I know you weren't much for the whole afterlife thing. So I wish you only a smooth transition to that great silver lake in the sky. And don't you worry. Maia won't be able to get rid of us.

Comments

[The Big Sis]

My God, Ray... what a lovely obit. I'm so sorry for the loss of your friend. She clearly was inspirational and it sounds as if she'll be leaving quite a legacy behind. I know it sounds trite, but she'll be with you in some corner of your consciousness for the rest of your life. Her teenaged daughter will probably get more attention than she could ever want and of course,she'll be OK. Joel's mom died when he was 15 and you know how he turned out...

[nancy]

Thank you, Ray. That's beautiful.

[Steve Barton]

I agree with the two comments preceding mine and appreciate what you have written about Cathy and what you have done to help her in her need. Thanks for all of that.

So, I feel somewhat over-critical (but really it is for the good of you and me and all your readers that I bring this up) in emphatically advising you to never pen or stroke or speak or think the clause "bullet in her shotgun" again. Blech. It is embarassing to American manhood.

All the best to you and and thanks and sympathy to all friends of Cathy,

Your reader,
Steve Barton
Dunwoody, Georgia

[Dianne]

What a lovely tribute to your friend, Ray.

Cathy: good luck on your next journey. You obviously did something right.

[OldOldLady Of The Hills]

What a beautiful and honest tribute to your dear friend, Ray...I don't know her but I wish her well on this journey, and send my best to you in this difficult and sad time....You are a very sweet good friend, Ray.

[Rebecca]

A beautiful tribute. I'm sure Cathy felt just as lucky to have you in her corner.

I'm just sorry that one of your posters sought to ruin it by posting an irrelevant criticism. He was unsuccessful, of course--every word of your post was knowing and heartfelt, and as I've seen several of Cathy's friends state online in the past 24 hours--RIGHT ON THE MONEY. Steve Barton, instead of chiming in with something so stunningly inappropriate at a time like this, why don't you learn when to keep your feelings to yourself? (And maybe think about brushing up on how to SPELL the word "embarrass" before deciding to accuse someone with it.) "Blech."

Keep up the good work as always, Ray. I am often inspired by your take on things, and you should know that some of us will continue to defend YOU "with every bullet in our shotguns" as well. Thanks again for sharing such a heartfelt commentary about Cathy.

[Ray]

Beautiful and heartbreaking. I only just discovered her writings, and now she's gone. Thank you for bringing her back to life with this gorgeous tribute.

[Lance Mazmanian]

Condolences, Ray, to all involved. The age of 49 is about fifty years too young to be leaving the planet.

Very sorry to hear.

And, regarding the note on "bullet in her shotgun"...

Actually, one may *indeed* fire a "bullet" from a shotgun: Certain types of shotgun shells are packed with solid slugs.

http://www.chuckhawks.com/shotgun_slugs.htm

Though familiar with these for three decades, I've never personally fired one. But I understand they can cause some problems for things they hit...

When they actually *hit* something.

L.

[Admirer]

Beautifully written. She must've been a remarkable woman and a talent to be missed.

[Susanne]

Beautiful, Ray.