.
TerriLyn
.
“Good food is like music you can taste, color you can smell. There is excellence all around you. You need only to be aware to stop and savor it.”
-Gusteau, Ratatouille
“Good food is like music you can taste, color you can smell. There is excellence all around you. You need only to be aware to stop and savor it.”
-Gusteau, Ratatouille
.
My friend, TerriLyn died a year ago today.
.
“The way I am feeling is not sustainable” I tell Michael. I’m exhausted and sad and feel an overwhelming emotion of defeat. My brain and my heart are disconnected. Cerebrally, I knew her body was breaking down – “failing” (a word I don’t use often nor like) but regardless of my opinion, this is what it was doing; her body was shutting down.
.
Emotionally, TerriLyn and I still had plans for the future. We were co-survivors and our plans included others, in bringing light to others; sharing the abundance of life even when faced with adversity. I suddenly found myself shutting down too. I had only enough in me to give to my own and to TerriLyn’s family. I spent the daylight hours with mine and evening hours with hers.
.
The last time we spoke outside of the hospital, was in a restaurant. This is a fitting setting for our meeting. She was greeted warmly by our waitress as they discussed TerriLyn’s favorite items on the menu. They shared a communication encrypted with ‘foodisms’ I was unfamiliar with.
.
“Would you like that sauce…” The waitress asked without completing her question.
.
“I would. Is it sweet like the…” TerriLyn responded with a similar incompletion.
.
“As always, we’ll serve it warm - just as you like it – with a side order of…”
.
“Perfect!” TerriLyn did not need her to finish the food order.
.
I was at a loss and eager to see just what was going to be delivered! I’ve always admired these connections TerriLyn had with people. If the rest of the world operated in a ‘Six Degrees of Separation’, then TerriLyn operated in a world separated by only four degrees.
.
But now she is gone and the feeling I am experiencing is not sustainable.
.
My ‘M.O.’ is typically to put my feelings into something tangible; a result in action, rather than stewing. So, I move my body. I practice yoga to literally move the energy of emotion around inside. I hike so that I can expel breath from my body. I laugh during funny movies so that I can feel ‘lightness’ again. Yet, I find myself returning back to my feelings that are not sustainable.
.
“Ugh!” I express with frustration.
.
I schedule myself for some body work with my friend, Carolyn. Carolyn had the opportunity to work on TerriLyn’s body while exchanging stories that bonded them to certain common life experiences. Once again, the heart strings of TerriLyn had hooked another soul. Carolyn, lovingly, made herself available for me.
.
I turn to the lessons that I have learned.
.
When I began writing this book, TerriLyn and I had plans to write it together. We would meet weekly at a coffee shop to swap stories and devise a Lesson Plan, so to speak. We would make notes about what helped us to face the challenges that coincide with surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, and publicly venturing out into the world completely bald. We shared experiences that differed and those that were similar, but we always ended in the same place: The bottom line to this Cancer Adventure of ours, and perhaps for others too, relied on one very important quality – Humor.
.
As food establishments consistently provided us with the perfect venue for creativity and the exchange of personal experiences, we shared what we knew to be true to our own sustainability: laughter. Somehow, instinctively, we each knew that we would drown in our own sorrow if we could not locate this place in our heart.
.
TerriLyn’s sister, Julie, spoke at her funeral. Once again, a wave of laughter bathed the room of 500-plus of friends and family members as Julie revealed childhood events consistent with the person that I had come to know as my friend. She told a story about TL’s life in Boston where she worked as a barista at a coffee cart (TL is one of the names her family uses for her). She had traveled to Boston for a bicycle seeking adventure. She was indoctrinated to her new home and place of adventure when her bike was stolen shortly after her arrival. Her parents, wanting to support their daughter, bought her a car. A car in Boston can be a great thing, until you need to park it. TerriLyn had received so many parking tickets in one year that she donned all of them for a Halloween costume and arrived at her party as one big parking ticket! And then the car was stolen.
.
Her Boston adventure was well on its way when she met two regular coffee customers who took TerriLyn under their wing, showing her some of the marvels of the east coast thereby muting some of the Boston drama. They opened up their Maine cabin to TL enabling her to work as a ski instructor for one winter; their friendship grew stronger and, once again, TerriLyn had hooked her heart strings into the hearts of this couple. As Julie relayed this Boston Adventure, this couple had not known the impact that they, themselves, had made upon TerriLyn’s life.
.
Gary, TerriLyn’s older brother spoke about the family humor gene living large in his own childhood memory. Recalling big brother stroller rides with TL as the baby passenger, atypical to any OSHA standards and afternoon football practices with their eldest brother, both boys completely geared-up and TL only in her PJs. Sitting in the audience amongst my friends, my emotions waxing and waning, riding my roller coaster of feelings so abundantly, I actually became concerned that I would get to a place where I would be feeling too much.
.
Gary closed his childhood tormenting stories of his younger sister with an endearing event that occurred to him only recently. Gary lives and works in his hometown of Seattle, Washington. He relayed to all of the moist eyes in the room his encounter with a man who lives with a disability so severe that it impedes his walking journey to work each morning; and yet, this man chooses to make that journey each day. Gary thought he was younger than himself, but it was difficult to fully tell as his physical stature was so badly bent and his eyes held years of living in a body that half-worked. Being rainy Seattle, Gary often stops when he sees this man to offer him a car ride to work. Occasionally he takes Gary up on his offer.
.
On one of these rainy days when Gary and this man shared a fairly silent ride, TL’s brother initiated the conversation with morning small talk, commenting on the weather, asking questions about this man’s job, etc. When Gary had forgotten this man’s name, he offered his own name of Gary Folkman first before inquiring again. He said his name was Sam and then paused when he heard Gary’s last name. Sam asked, “Are you related to TerriLyn Folkman?” Gary, somewhat surprised, and then, perhaps later, not, responded, “Yes. She is my sister.” Sam readjusted in his seat and then looked at Gary who was driving his car, “She was the only one who treated me with any kindness and respect when we were in High School together.”
.
* * * * * * *
.
I turn to my teachings of yoga. In my attempt to make sense of this particular ending of my meetings with TerriLyn I cannot honestly say that my relationship with her has ended.
My friend, TerriLyn died a year ago today.
.
“The way I am feeling is not sustainable” I tell Michael. I’m exhausted and sad and feel an overwhelming emotion of defeat. My brain and my heart are disconnected. Cerebrally, I knew her body was breaking down – “failing” (a word I don’t use often nor like) but regardless of my opinion, this is what it was doing; her body was shutting down.
.
Emotionally, TerriLyn and I still had plans for the future. We were co-survivors and our plans included others, in bringing light to others; sharing the abundance of life even when faced with adversity. I suddenly found myself shutting down too. I had only enough in me to give to my own and to TerriLyn’s family. I spent the daylight hours with mine and evening hours with hers.
.
The last time we spoke outside of the hospital, was in a restaurant. This is a fitting setting for our meeting. She was greeted warmly by our waitress as they discussed TerriLyn’s favorite items on the menu. They shared a communication encrypted with ‘foodisms’ I was unfamiliar with.
.
“Would you like that sauce…” The waitress asked without completing her question.
.
“I would. Is it sweet like the…” TerriLyn responded with a similar incompletion.
.
“As always, we’ll serve it warm - just as you like it – with a side order of…”
.
“Perfect!” TerriLyn did not need her to finish the food order.
.
I was at a loss and eager to see just what was going to be delivered! I’ve always admired these connections TerriLyn had with people. If the rest of the world operated in a ‘Six Degrees of Separation’, then TerriLyn operated in a world separated by only four degrees.
.
But now she is gone and the feeling I am experiencing is not sustainable.
.
My ‘M.O.’ is typically to put my feelings into something tangible; a result in action, rather than stewing. So, I move my body. I practice yoga to literally move the energy of emotion around inside. I hike so that I can expel breath from my body. I laugh during funny movies so that I can feel ‘lightness’ again. Yet, I find myself returning back to my feelings that are not sustainable.
.
“Ugh!” I express with frustration.
.
I schedule myself for some body work with my friend, Carolyn. Carolyn had the opportunity to work on TerriLyn’s body while exchanging stories that bonded them to certain common life experiences. Once again, the heart strings of TerriLyn had hooked another soul. Carolyn, lovingly, made herself available for me.
.
I turn to the lessons that I have learned.
.
When I began writing this book, TerriLyn and I had plans to write it together. We would meet weekly at a coffee shop to swap stories and devise a Lesson Plan, so to speak. We would make notes about what helped us to face the challenges that coincide with surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, and publicly venturing out into the world completely bald. We shared experiences that differed and those that were similar, but we always ended in the same place: The bottom line to this Cancer Adventure of ours, and perhaps for others too, relied on one very important quality – Humor.
.
As food establishments consistently provided us with the perfect venue for creativity and the exchange of personal experiences, we shared what we knew to be true to our own sustainability: laughter. Somehow, instinctively, we each knew that we would drown in our own sorrow if we could not locate this place in our heart.
.
TerriLyn’s sister, Julie, spoke at her funeral. Once again, a wave of laughter bathed the room of 500-plus of friends and family members as Julie revealed childhood events consistent with the person that I had come to know as my friend. She told a story about TL’s life in Boston where she worked as a barista at a coffee cart (TL is one of the names her family uses for her). She had traveled to Boston for a bicycle seeking adventure. She was indoctrinated to her new home and place of adventure when her bike was stolen shortly after her arrival. Her parents, wanting to support their daughter, bought her a car. A car in Boston can be a great thing, until you need to park it. TerriLyn had received so many parking tickets in one year that she donned all of them for a Halloween costume and arrived at her party as one big parking ticket! And then the car was stolen.
.
Her Boston adventure was well on its way when she met two regular coffee customers who took TerriLyn under their wing, showing her some of the marvels of the east coast thereby muting some of the Boston drama. They opened up their Maine cabin to TL enabling her to work as a ski instructor for one winter; their friendship grew stronger and, once again, TerriLyn had hooked her heart strings into the hearts of this couple. As Julie relayed this Boston Adventure, this couple had not known the impact that they, themselves, had made upon TerriLyn’s life.
.
Gary, TerriLyn’s older brother spoke about the family humor gene living large in his own childhood memory. Recalling big brother stroller rides with TL as the baby passenger, atypical to any OSHA standards and afternoon football practices with their eldest brother, both boys completely geared-up and TL only in her PJs. Sitting in the audience amongst my friends, my emotions waxing and waning, riding my roller coaster of feelings so abundantly, I actually became concerned that I would get to a place where I would be feeling too much.
.
Gary closed his childhood tormenting stories of his younger sister with an endearing event that occurred to him only recently. Gary lives and works in his hometown of Seattle, Washington. He relayed to all of the moist eyes in the room his encounter with a man who lives with a disability so severe that it impedes his walking journey to work each morning; and yet, this man chooses to make that journey each day. Gary thought he was younger than himself, but it was difficult to fully tell as his physical stature was so badly bent and his eyes held years of living in a body that half-worked. Being rainy Seattle, Gary often stops when he sees this man to offer him a car ride to work. Occasionally he takes Gary up on his offer.
.
On one of these rainy days when Gary and this man shared a fairly silent ride, TL’s brother initiated the conversation with morning small talk, commenting on the weather, asking questions about this man’s job, etc. When Gary had forgotten this man’s name, he offered his own name of Gary Folkman first before inquiring again. He said his name was Sam and then paused when he heard Gary’s last name. Sam asked, “Are you related to TerriLyn Folkman?” Gary, somewhat surprised, and then, perhaps later, not, responded, “Yes. She is my sister.” Sam readjusted in his seat and then looked at Gary who was driving his car, “She was the only one who treated me with any kindness and respect when we were in High School together.”
.
* * * * * * *
.
I turn to my teachings of yoga. In my attempt to make sense of this particular ending of my meetings with TerriLyn I cannot honestly say that my relationship with her has ended.
.
.
The Yoga Nataraj is a statue that depicts Shiva, a Hindu deity, as a dancer with four arms. The dance refers to the constant cycle of birth and death, sustaining and evolving, which happens with all things. We set ourselves up for disappointment if we attach ourselves to any part of this cycle and lose sight that everything is in a constant flux of change. It's like trying to enjoy the scenic view while riding the Scrambler, that diabolic amusement park ride designed to spin you mercilessly in circles, eventually scrambling your brain, or making you puke, or both. The Nataraj suggests that everything is turning, changing as we speak. Just as things are dying, something else is being born. Opening up the heart to reveal something new –
The Yoga Nataraj is a statue that depicts Shiva, a Hindu deity, as a dancer with four arms. The dance refers to the constant cycle of birth and death, sustaining and evolving, which happens with all things. We set ourselves up for disappointment if we attach ourselves to any part of this cycle and lose sight that everything is in a constant flux of change. It's like trying to enjoy the scenic view while riding the Scrambler, that diabolic amusement park ride designed to spin you mercilessly in circles, eventually scrambling your brain, or making you puke, or both. The Nataraj suggests that everything is turning, changing as we speak. Just as things are dying, something else is being born. Opening up the heart to reveal something new –
.
“Revealing Grace”
.
While sitting in TerriLyn’s hospital room keeping this dear friend company, my job was to provide her comfort, so I rubbed her feet with essential oils and played soft music. It was in these final days of her life, while hooked up to tubes and wires and appearing jaundice that I witnessed an army of people, TerriLyn’s community, entering her room with the intent of comforting her. But in reality, it was TerriLyn who ended up comforting them; revealing HER grace.
.
It was she who provided the strength that this community of people needed.
.
I’m sitting at the computer and writing the words, but TerriLyn is here with me.
I’m sitting at the computer and writing the words, but TerriLyn is here with me.
.
She is within me.
Wow Amy, This is really wonderful.
ReplyDeleteNice tribute, Amy. Thanks for writing it.
ReplyDelete