Farewell To a Joyful Warrior

I lost a friend this week. A friend who died too young, but leaves a legacy of joie de vivre, and was a shining example of a life well lived…

I first met Heather about eight years ago, at a baseball team fundraiser: her annual candle party, held at her home. We had just joined the team, of which her husband was the coach: a team that had been established for a while, so we were the “new kid” and family. I only knew one other mom, and she encouraged me to attend the party. I had seen Heather before, at a couple of games: tall, slim, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, just the type that always intimidates the round, brown butterballs like me. For her party, she was dressed casually, and was a lively hostess. She wore a wide headband which covered most of her head, and I thought it was quite sporty. There were lots of people there, and not knowing anyone yet, I spent a lot of time just observing. As more and more people arrived, I noticed a few were wearing headscarves and headbands, like Heather’s, and those guests received especially warm greetings from her. The candle samples had been set up on the dining room table, and as I circled the table to peruse the wares, I noticed on one of the dining chairs, pushed up against the wall, a stack of signs. The top one read “I Walk For My Wife”. Suddenly, it all became very clear. Heather was sick.

Later, I quizzed my friend, and she told me about Heather’s brain tumor. A few weeks into the season, at a game, Heather and I found ourselves standing alone near the bleachers. I struck up a conversation, and asked her about her condition. If you have met me, you know I am not shy about asking personal questions, but she was amazingly forthright. I had never met anyone so young, who had a terminal condition. And I had never met anyone, period, who had such a sunny outlook on life…not sick or healthy, young or old. She had the most optimism of anyone I had ever met.

Our sons played together for many years, and we bonded over being baseball moms, traveling to out-of-state tournaments, announcing games and playing DJ at our home tournaments. Heather loved music, and spent enormous amounts of time compiling playlists for the games. She was an athlete, and knew the lingo, so listening to her announce games was always entertaining. She could interact with the crowd and pump up their enthusiasm in a way no one else could.

Heather had an easy, genuine laugh, a movie-star smile and suntan, and enviable energy. She had a way of looking a person in the eye, and giving them her entire attention. She was fierce and protective of her children, but never offered excuses for them, or herself. She held her family to a higher standard, but was humble and sincere. She was competitive, and would have no problem laying someone out in a game of three on three, and following it up with an impressive round of smack-talk, but she was also kind, and had a heart of gold. She was a shorts and flip-flops girl, but cleaned up like a beauty queen. She was the toughest, most tenacious badass I have ever known, and could swear like a trucker (which I love). But occasionally, she would show flashes of vulnerability and insecurity, and in those rare moments of tears, I loved her even more.

Her optimism, and irreverence toward her tumor, made it easy to forget she was sick. She would shrug off the symptoms, as if they were just minor irritants: the never-ending meds, the headaches, the metallic taste that never went away, having to give up alcohol. Just by being herself, she was always the life of the party, in the very best of ways. She could make a party of a trip to the laundromat in 100 degree heat to wash a stinky load of baseball uniforms during a travel tournament. I never knew her to squander a day, or a moment. She knew her days were numbered, and was determined to make the best of them. The rest of us were just lucky to be along for the ride. I never knew Heather before she was diagnosed, so I cannot attest to how she might have been before, but I am sure that her special brand of positivity had to be a lifelong gift, one given to her at birth, to help her make the most of her too-short life.

It could be said that we are all dying, from the moment we are born. Most of us don’t know how we are going to end, but Heather did, and she faced that certainty with a warrior spirit and a defiance that could not be shaken. She battled the odds for more years than had been expected, and she was victorious, right up to the end. It could not have been easy, for her or her family, but there were so many more good days than bad, that for those of us who watched from the outside, it seemed that she was a miracle, and that hope had been personified in her. The signs to the contrary were quiet, and spread over time. Cancer, however, is an insidious bitch, and once all lines of defense had been exhausted, the snowball effect was shockingly swift. The last few times I saw Heather, the changes between each occasion took my breath away. As the end neared, people were queued up to visit, but mercifully, her suffering ended very quickly. Heather loved to have people around, but birth and death are intimately personal, and at those most vulnerable of times, we do not control who is in attendance. Other than the gentle hand of God on the small of our back, we step through those portals alone. Her gatekeepers served her well at the end, in keeping her final journey as private as she deserved it to be.

On her last morning, it was a foggy, soggy day. When I received word in the afternoon that she had passed, the sky opened up, the sun that she loved so much came out, and the sky was an impossibly beautiful shade of blue. All around the horizon, majestic thundercloud formations reached up to the sky, like columns marking the entrance to heaven. The sunset was a gradual deepening of rich, warm color, lighting up the sky from orange to blue to purple, enveloping the world, clear up to the heavens. A comforting reminder that this world is a beautiful place, that each breath is a gift, and that every day can be spent living in awe and wonder, even in the face of dying.

I was one of the many in the queue that did not make it in time to see Heather just before she died. Maybe that was better. My last visit with her was special, though difficult. She had lost the ability to speak more than just a few words, so communication was hard. We looked at photos of her daughter’s wedding, we made plans for a drive that was never to be, and we joked that one of the last words she could say was the F-word, and we laughed and laughed that it was enough, because it could be used so many ways. She would try to express a thought, but then give up, because she couldn’t pull through the right words. But rather than get frustrated, she would just shrug, swear, and we would laugh. I was able to tell her that she was so special to me, and that she had taught me so much, and that I would never forget her. There was lots of hugs and kisses, and more laughter than tears. I left knowing that it might be the last time I saw her, and I wept as I drove away.

I will miss my dear friend, and I will never forget the lesson of how to live every day as if it is your last. Heather was a phenomenal woman, and mother, wife, coach and friend. She was an inspiration to all who had the honor to know her. The joyful warrior with the sunny smile, who touched the hearts of so many. In the words of another friend, “our sweet Heather”.

Our sunshine sister, may she rest in peace, or more likely, organize a Hoopfest in Heaven with the angels, complete with a bitchin’ playlist and a sound system that rocks the gates.