Life Demands That It Goes On

Remembering her is easy. Remembering the pain, she wore on her face is hard, it distorted it and made her appear deformed and broken. She was neither of these.

She was one of the strongest, funniest, orneriest, and most compassionate women I had ever met. A smile, kind word, or a feisty retort is what she was best known for. Look at her with pity, and you were the one we would feel sorry for.

I knew her by her strength. Her determination and her straightforward communication, although it would take some time to appreciate these traits. I needed to cut through the crap first.

They say that strength is beauty, beauty is strength. What they don’t tell you is what kind of ugly it takes to ravage a body and soul until all that is left is fight and have to, that creates that kind of beauty.

Tell her that something was impossible and watch her attack it and shine. Challenge was what she thrived on; Cancer was just another rival, a new foe, her arch nemesis. She was the hero.

Cancer, however, doesn’t play fair, and changes the rules. But she was sure going to give it a valiant fight.

I was young when I first met Pat. First impressions are a bitch, and I thought she had that title in the bag. Smug, opinionated, and sometimes trite. She was the first to let you know you were not the first and you were certainly were not going to be the last one she vested in a war of opinions. She liked the confrontation, the word play. Being able to sway your thoughts or opinion was such a high for her. I, on the other hand, a pleaser personality, hated that. I would prefer a smile, a nod and quietly and calmly go about your business. She all but targeted me.

I remember vividly the first interaction I had with Pat professionally. She was training me at a job she was instrumental in getting me hired for. I was an excited 22-year-old who was socially unskilled. Although I had been working since, I was 14 I had never worked in an office, never needed to be professional, no higher education or office training. Green. As she walked me through the steps and procedures of the task at hand, there was a lot of data entry. Number keying that needed to be precise, entering and making pricing changes for a large corporation purchasing department. The numbers HAD to be correct.

“I don’t see how you are ever going to get this.” Were the exact words she said to me, my first day on the job. I remember looking at her and thinking, what a horrible thing to say to someone you hardly know. Someone you are training. Being the personality I was, I nearly shut down. “No need to act like that, if you want this job and you want to succeed at anything, you had better thicken your skin” was her best effort of encouragement.

She was right.

It took me a few weeks to get used to her kind of interaction, and I was not a big fan of hers. Everyday she found new ways to push my buttons.

A little of my back story. My mother was bi-polar/manic depressed. Back in the 70’s there wasn’t the awareness, care and attention that comes with that kind of diagnosis, like today. My dad worked for the railroad, and was gone from home days at a time, leaving her to struggle with herself and 6 kids, alone. I was the youngest of the 6, and the one that went out of the way to keep the peace. Developing a sense of self loathing and pleasing that to this day I still struggle with. Trying to keep everyone happy when you don’t think much of yourself is tough and Pat was really bringing all those emotions to the surface. But I did what I do best, smile.

Pat picked up on that early on. She would push me and then say, “come on, Kelli…. where is that smile?” This went on for months. I began to really get the hang of the “job” but dealing with Pat was beginning to get to me. One day, while we were working at our desks, (hers was just next to mine, to the right, sitting further back slightly) She could see over my shoulder, but I would need to turn to make eye contact. She began her weekly routine of pushing and sarcastic prodding to see if she could get a reaction from me. She did.

After about an hour of her teasing, I slid my chair to her desk, where we were face to face. I said, smiling, “Pat, I understand that people who continually berate and belittle others, especially in public, must be dealing with something pretty terrible in their own personal lives. I am so sorry for whatever has you so unhappy that the only source of feel good for you is making me feel bad. I hope things get better for you and if you need someone to talk to, I will listen. In the meantime, can you please back off? I am willing to give you the respect you deserve, but not if you continually disrespect me, ok?!” I waited for a moment just looking directly into her eyes. When she broke eye contact, I smiled and rolled my chair back to my desk and went back to work.

She was quiet the rest of the day and left without saying a word.

The next day I came into work and found a note on my desk, Pat had called in sick. The note read: “I am ashamed of my behavior with you, please forgive me. I was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer a few months ago and my prognosis is poor. I have been very angry and thought that it was unfair that you seemed so happy all the time. I began to take it out on you. Thank you for my wakeup call yesterday, I have an appointment on Thursday and need a ride, would you consider taking me? Please feel free to give me a call after work if you can. If I don’t hear from you, I will understand that this was my doing. No hard feelings. Sincerely apologetic, Pat."

I cried.

I immediately spoke with my boss and took that afternoon and Thursday off. I didn’t call her; I drove to her house. We sat on the porch and talked and cried. An amazing release occurred for both of us.

The months that followed changed us both. Radiation was a beast. After her first round, she decided that she wanted to take a more holistic path. Her Dr. gave her enough information to fill a library. She read out loud to me that Marigolds had some healing properties. We both loved flowers, so we went to the nursery and filled the car with flats of them. We planted them in her yard. Every corner had a pot, if we couldn’t plant it, we hung it in pots. She made tea with it, she seasoned and garnished foods with it. Along with other health and dietary changes, she began to improve and feel better.

She was in remission for about 6 months before she became sick again. The cancer had returned, but this time her body and bones were filled with it.

They gave her 6 months. She lasted 8.

A fighter. Tough and argumentative until the very end.

At her funeral, everyone brought pots of marigolds. We laughed and shared stories of how we met and how Pat had changed our lives. Her husband interrupted and said, “truth be told, you all changed her, she was a better person because of your lives intermingling with hers, the last year was the happiest I had seen her in a long time. Thank you!”

Life. It has a funny way of going on, doesn’t it?

We placed the marigolds over her grave. You couldn't see the dirt for all of the vibrant yellow, gold and orange flowers. She would have been proud.

It was an incredibly beautiful and colorful reminder of how hard and ugly life can be. But that with love and hope, we can still find the beauty in it.

In loving memory of my friend Pat