“The best thing for being sad, replied Merlin, is to learn something.”
— T. H. White
This isn’t the blog I intended for this month, but this is what’s on my heart. Our friend Debi died this morning. I say “our” because she was a friend to so many, and undoubtedly has made each of us feel like we’re special. That’s just how she moved and breathed in this world.
She had lived with a number of illnesses throughout her life, not the least of which was an almost 30-year struggle with leukemia. I’ve paid tribute to her before (When the Tooth Feary Shows Up: What Would Debi Do?) She had been the wonder of the medical journals as she just kept on keeping on. And guess what — it wasn’t the leukemia that took her at the age of 62, but a recurrence of uterine cancer.
I get death, and have attended my share of funerals… and realize there’s one in my future. But she is the first of my peeps to go and it hurts. She would tell me, “If you get the death thing, what you might want to do is look at the life thing.”
So, dear, dear friend, I’m paying attention. In my sadness, I’m learning something new. I’m listening to your profound message:
I don’t have time to not be in love with life.
We love you, Debi. You, your love and your wisdom will be forever with us.
Love you. Thank you for teaching me in so many ways to be in love with life. I love my life better with you in it, dear friend. I’d reach into this screen and hug you if I could. I’m available for a real life hug any time you need one. Many hugs and lots of love and peace and understanding to you.
Ahhhhh. Tear on the keyboard. Big sigh. Huge gratitude–to Debi, to you, to the kind of friend I know you are. Love.
You know how I knew Debi. Her leaving saddens me deeply mostly because of how very much she meant to you and I hate that you are hurting. Clearly, Debi was loved and cared about by many and certainly, none more devoted than you. Love, Ka
What a profound lesson your beautiful friend Debi taught, Jeanne. Thank you for sharing it.
Love,
Julie
I started to write so sorry for your loss, but realized that there is so much gained in true friendship.
You teach us all how to live better lives and it sounds as if your friend Debi did as well.
Holding you in thought and prayer.
I didn’t spend a lot of time with Deb over the years. But her name has always been associated with compassion and partnership with husband Chuck Meyer in their understanding of the concept of a “good death”. Oxymoron? Not according to Deb and Chuck. They were living demonstrations and teachers about dying with ease. Although it may seem strange, I’m comforted that she is finally reunited with Chuck in some form. Sorry Jeanne — you had a wonderful, long friendship with her passing leaves a hole…no question.
May you be comforted with all the mourners of Zion. (Hugs)
My dear dear Jeanne — to you and all the lovely women who have been part of the circle of which I have been fortunate to just touch the edge….I send my deepest, warmest hugs and wishes for strength and love to all of you who are mourning the loss of your beautiful friend. You have given me an enormous gift with your presence and acceptance. I’m sure Debi carried that strength with her and lived longer because of it. My heart breaks for the loss of that beautiful spirit — I’d like to think that she left the physical world today in a blaze of glory. I was awake with my husband preparing to send him off on a flight for a business trip at 3:00 am. We noticed lightning outside and when we went to the upstairs deck, it was one of the most spectacular lightning storms I have ever seen. All the while, the sky was clear above us and the beautiful almost-full moon was glowing golden as it set in the west. I sat there alone watching until 4:30 am because I was mesmerized by the stunning beauty and enormous energy of it all. I believe Debi was enjoying that sendoff as well. With every loss, I keep remembering what we have already proven — “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.” I feel so strongly that our spirits remain in the energy of the universe and can come back to earth in a new baby’s body — she will be there to greet you or be off on another new adventure on earth bringing all the joy she knew with her to her new set of circumstances. With huge hugs and
love, Cheryl
Thank you Jeanne..your touching tribute to your friend is inspiring and uplifting.
“If you get the death thing, what you might want to do is look at the life thing”, – Debi
This quote you gave from Debi is a gift to me today. I got my 6 month all clear post op oncology visit yesterday and left the office with fear of recurrence still hovering over me. Debi’s words are now literally ringing, or main maybe I should say SINGING, in my ears. I’m encouraged to embrace her message, and even though I didn’t know her, she has again touched another life and her strength lives on.
I’m holding you and her family in my heart as you celebrate such an amazing person’s life and grieve the loss of her presence in yours.
Love you and feel my hug, Rose
I didn’t know Debi, but she lives on in you, and in the hearts of so many people. It sounds as if she made the most of her time on the planet. Hugs and bigger hugs to you, and all who loved her.
Dear Jeanne, I’m so very sorry that you’ve lost a true friend in this world. The beautiful thing is that Debi will always be part of your life story. Lots of love to you and others that may be hurting.
Jan
Dear Jeanne,
I didn’t know Debi personally, yet I recognize her smile and radiance from many Seton Cove functions. As you process your loss and deep grief, you will find Debi living on in you in unexpected ways. May you find peace.
Dear Friends,
Thanks so much for all your words of love and caring support. I’ll be sure to share with Debi’s family. Just trying to allow gratitude and grief fill the space, now and in the days to come, and allow it to be what it is.
Much love to you all.
My heart is heavy to learn of this loss – I remember your blog, “What Would Debi Do?” regarding handling fear. How Debi chose to live her life was truly fearless.
When people live fully without fear, in spite of health challenges, they’re my heroes. They make me want to live my life the same way. Fully. Fearlessly. Generously. As if life could be cut short.
I don’t know what’s on the ‘other side’. I wish I could believe something simple: like we’ll be reunited somehow/somewhere with those we’ve lost. Death would be far easier to bear if I could wrap my brain around that….
When my mom died so young, our whole family was lost. She was my first ‘serious’ death experience.
I finally joined a grief support group. Friends noticed I was getting gaunt. I was so stuck in my grief, I was forgetting to eat.
A huge nugget of wisdom from this group resonated. It was simple but it ‘unstuck’ me – and I remember it now, as others I love die:
“We can’t change the FACT of death; it will happen, in various ways – to everyone and to every living thing. What we CAN change is our ATTITUDE towards death. ” – A volunteer counselor said this and upon hearing it, my heart lifted a little and my attitude shifted.
I appreciate you sharing Debi with us. I believe I speak for many when I say, “Wonder Woman. You have a grateful flock of “peeps” who deeply love and value you.”
xoxoxo
B
Hang on to those huge nuggets. Thanks for sharing. Love you, Barbi.
🙁
My thoughts are with you and Robert and all who are hurting. What a loss, but what a tribute to have left such a hole. Truly she lived well. Hugs.
Thanks, Kristin. Love your comment about feeling gratitude for the hole she left. I can rest with that.
Jeanne, I know it’s been a while since your posting, but I’ve been in such a tizzy this last month, I didn’t think I had anything wise or profound to add. Please accept my condolences (I don’t think they can ever be considered “belated”) and sympathy. I know what it feels like to lose a friend (as opposed to an elderly relative), having lost one unexpectedly about 5 years ago. It was especially difficult because we had offices right next to each other and everyday I expected her to come through my door and plop down in front of my desk to chat, complain, or tell me what crazy dream she had the night before (since she thought I was a great analyzer of dreams). I still miss her. After my mother died, a friend wrote to me this: The hardest lesson we have to learn in life is letting go. I thought I understood it, but over time I decided that maybe I didn’t or maybe it wasn’t that meaningful or profound. The way I figured, letting go is not the same as forgetting and yet remembering too much seems a lot like not letting go. I have decided that it must be about learning to let go of the grief and hold on to memories, and the only way to do that is let time work its healing magic. So sorry, Jeanne.
Jeffee, really appreciated your words. Working through and letting go of the grief but holding on to the memories is a wonderful plan. Many thanks.