Grace Notes

"I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life and, not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived." ~Henry David Thoreau

A friend of mine died yesterday. It doesn’t surprise me that there’s rain here in Virginia as I sit typing. The angels are crying. I think it’s that mix of complicated tears – the ones that are happy and sad all at the same time. It’s an odd combination, something that’s indescribable, really, to put into words. On the one hand, I think tears of happiness rained down today, because heaven has gained another amazing person into its fold. On the other, sad tears trickle along in its joyous wake, because those in heaven knew that its gain meant our loss. That’s what her passing is: a true loss. Gone too soon....she’s gone much, much too soon. I’m sure, at this point, of my writing, you’re all feeling the sorrow that one typically feels when you hear the sad news that someone has died.
Here’s the amazing part of the story. I never knew Doreen Schmitt personally. We never met. I never spoke with her. I knew her solely through her blog. I have Nancy Lee Grahn [Daytime Emmy Winning Actress] to thank for the introduction. [A million thanks, Nancy, for that most precious gift....] Sidebar on Nancy: she’s got "spunk" just like Lou Grant said of Mary Richards. He hated spunk, but I kinda like that in a person. I’m pretty sure Doreen had spunk too. For all she went through, she’d have to have had a big reserve of it! Doreen was a friend of hers, and Nancy graciously shared her with the rest of us.
Back to the fact that I’d never actually met Doreen. What can I tell you? Words. Language. Thoughts. They are powerful things. They can reach across the miles and touch you. They can tell you a lot about someone. They can connect you to a person who you’d, otherwise, never have known except by the sheer power of the sentiments that they had conveyed.
So, when I tell you that yesterday, a friend of mine died, I mean that sincerely. That’s what she felt like: a friend, even if it was only in cyberspace and one-sided.
Let me tell you a little about what I know of Doreen: she was 53 years old, and she courageously battled cancer for the better part of five years. Her blog was about that journey. Her journey was, quite simply, amazing. Her motto was "Dream Big". From my readings, Doreen Schmitt lived big, especially given her circumstance. She "sucked the marrow out of life", as Thoreau did and wrote about – as we all should do.
She taught me a lot about cancer – its shock; its concern; its treatment; its cruelty; its realism. She made me a little less afraid of it though because she humanized it. I don’t know if she was ever a chess player, but she would have made a good one, because she understood strategy, and she wasn’t afraid to make a daring move. Through her writing, I discovered a woman who was incredibly strong, brave, human, reflective, optimistic, witty, caring....you’d be surprised what you can garner about a person from their writing–their thoughts–their insights.
It’s one reason that words are so powerful and people caution as to how they should be used. Doreen used them well. She knew how to string them together and make something beautiful out of them, like Christmas lights strung around a home. Her words were bright – they had a lovely glow about them, even when the message was dim.
She sounded like a woman who I would have loved to have gotten to know over some conversation with coffee and homemade cookies. Or, I think I would have truly enjoyed watching a chick flick with her. I know I would have delighted in an end-of-the summer bar-b-que with her, her family and friends. They just seem like those kind of people with whom you’re naturally comfortable to sit around with and take a load off ...that’s what I gather, anyway.
She was a mother to Amy, Angie and Jake... Some goodbyes are harder than others. I can’t imagine how difficult the thought of that one must have been for her - to look into the faces of her children and know that she wasn’t going to be able to see them into middle age and beyond. I understand how difficult it is to lose them though. I understand that all too well, and that aspect of her pain was something I truly identified with and connected to. [Those of you who know me, know about my miscarriages.]
Life. Sometimes it sucks! Yesterday was a "sucky" day, after Nancy posted that Rick, her husband, had finally come to claim his lady love. I’m certain it was a great moment for them – that heavenly reunion, but the rest of us, those who knew her and about her....well, it was a droopy day – the kind that starts out good, but loses its momentum.
Here’s another amazing facet of her story: she and her husband, Rick, were battling cancer at the same time. He lost his battle on April 1, 2010. I remember, when I read that Rick had passed, I was so saddened by it – for Doreen, for their children. From the posts, one knew that it was coming, but when the time came, I remember thinking it seemed a little surreal. People try to outdo one another with the "Gotcha! April Fool’s Day" shenanigans. There was no "gotcha" moment on that day with that news. It was real. It was true. There was no punch-line coming at the end of it, you know...where people laugh at the "good one" that had been pulled over on them. The only thing good, I imagine, that could be said about Rick’s passing was that he was no longer in pain. There was a cruel irony to it – that date, like your father dying on your husband’s birthday.
I remember thinking about Doreen in that moment. The image of her and Rick, from a picture that is on her blog, instantly came to my mind. How do you grieve when you’re in your own fight for life? How do you spare vital time and energy to go through the stages that one must go through to deal with that kind of loss, when your time and energy is a precious commodity which needs to be focused and directed on the battle you’re waging for YOUR life? I cannot imagine that walk in her life-journey! It gave new definition to the idea of "wonder woman".
Your heart can bleed and ache and hurt for someone you’ve never met. My heart did all those things for Doreen when I read that she had lost her Rick. [It did it again last night] I imagine the two of them held on tightly to the other as they stood on the front line together – each battling cancer. There must of been a strange comfort in knowing that your mate truly did understand your pain, your fears, your blah moments, your fatigue, your sadness, and your worries. They lived their lives together, and they prepared to die together, even though, I’m certain, they each held onto some small hope that they’d both beat it. I don’t know.....I’m only surmising from my reading of her thoughts about them–him, and their daughter, Amy’s, insights as well. They were fighters, and fighters don’t give up easily. They NEVER go down without giving as good at they got. I think the Schmitts gave cancer a good kick or two in its butt!
I checked in with Doreen’s blog often. I always hated the ending of her posts because they left me wanting more. It’s like reading a really good book – it’s satisfying. You don’t want it to end. When it does, you anxiously await the writer’s next gift to you. That’s how I felt reading Doreen’s blog. Even when the entries were more sobering than others, I didn’t want them to end.
She was always honest about her progress and her prognosis. I marveled at her candor - even when the news was troubling, or grim, she continued to share her life and pain and struggles with us. I knew, when the post came, that she was stopping treatment and looking to Hospice that her brave fight was coming to its end. Her posts became less frequent, and her daughter stepped in to keep Doreen’s cyber friends updated. The last couple of weeks have been a long-distance vigil. I’ve thought about her every day, since her last post, I wonder how she’s doing? I even tweeted last week that my thoughts were with her. I’d been re-reading her blog, and missing her–her posts. I knew we weren’t going to hear from her again, and it made her words-posts all the more treasured.
I remember last night, after Nancy tweeted that Doreen had finally relinquished her armor and gone into forever, I had a good cry. Does it sound odd that someone who you’ve never met before, can move you to tears? Read her blog. You’ll realize that mine was a very normal reaction.
So, after I learned the sad news about Doreen, I went back and looked at her picture – just to see her face when my mind wished her the best in this next phase of her journey. I wanted to see her when I prayed for her eternal peace. As I looked at her, I saw the unmistakable light in her eyes; the indomitable spirit that lived within them and the vibrant life they reflected back to me. That kind of thing doesn’t die. Energy doesn’t, you know. It can transform itself into something new and different, but it doesn’t die. Therein lies the comfort.
Doreen Schmitt was a phenomenal woman, just like Maya Angelou penned. I’ve attached the link to her blog so that you can discover it for yourself, if you are so inclined. I encourage you too. Hers is a good read and an extraordinary lesson in grace. That’s what her blog entries were: grace notes. I wish I knew how to write music. I’d try to express how her entries made me feel. Two songs came to mind last night after I bid her farewell: I Will Remember You. Oh, yeah! Doreen Schmitt is not a woman one will forget. I think we all hope to leave a rich legacy and a positive, lasting impression behind, once our life’s star comes to reclaim us to decorate a spot in the night sky which needs a bold touch of brilliance. She certainly achieved that. Aside from her children, who all seem to be incredible human beings, like their parents were, she left behind a gracious library of awe-inspiring insights.
If I could send a message of condolence to her children, I would tell them tonight to look up at the sky, and if they find a star that’s twinkling non-stop in their eye-view, that’s their mother waving hello and sending them all of her love from that "Next Place" that we will all travel to someday. And, I would tell them to read the book that Warren Hanson wrote entitled The Next Place. [see attached but buy the book.  It's beautiful.] It is the greatest hug of comfort that one can receive when faced with a loved one’s transition. I clung to its message after my father died.
The other song I listened to was The Hands of Time from the movie Brian’s Song. I remember one of the tag lines from that movie so well: "He lived....how he did live...." I think that sentiment applies to Doreen Schmitt as well...
She lived big and dreamed big. She encouraged us all to do the same. I appreciate her message. Tonight, when the stars come out, I’m going to see if I can find her, so that I can tell her that I will try and do as she asked, and thank her for showing me, by her example, how...

In Memorium

Doreen Lynn Schmitt [May 30, 1958-October 11, 2011]
Rick Schmitt [July 28, 1956-April 1, 2010]

http://imaginenocancer.blogspot.com/2010_01_01archive [Where You Can Find Doreen’s "Dream Big" blog]

http://youtu.be/uHooH4464dQ [I Will Remember You/Sarah McLachlan]http://youtu.be/C0CYfHebP58 [The Hands of Time]

The Next Place
by Warren Hanson

The next place that I go
Will be as peaceful and familiar
As a sleepy summer Sunday
And a sweet, untroubled mind.
And yet . . .
It won't be anything like any place I've ever been. . .
Or seen. . . or even dreamed of
In the place I leave behind.
I won't know where I'm going,
And I won't know where I've been
As I tumble through the always
And look back toward the when.
I'll glide beyond the rainbows.
I'll drift above the sky.
I'll fly into the wonder, without ever wondering why.
I won't remember getting there.
Somehow I'll just arrive.
But I'll know that I belong there
And will feel much more alive
Than I have ever felt before.
I will be absolutely free of the things that I held onto
That were holding onto me.
The next place that I go
Will be so quiet and so still
That the whispered song of sweet belonging will rise up to fill
The listening sky with joyful silence,
And with unheard harmonies
Of music made by no one playing,
Like a hush upon breeze.
There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light,
Where an ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night.
The very air will fill with brilliance, as the brightly shining sun
And the moon and half a million stars are married into one.
The next place that I go Won't really be a place at all.
There won't be any seasons --
Winter, summer, spring or fall --
Nor a Monday, Nor a Friday,
Nor December, Nor July.
And the seconds will be standing still. . .
While hours hurry by.
I will not be a boy or girl,
A woman or man.
I'll simply be just, simply, me.
No worse or better than.
My skin will not be dark or light.
I won't be fat or tall.
The body I once lived in
Won't be part of me at all.
I will finally be perfect.
I will be without a flaw.
I will never make one more mistake,
Or break the smallest law.
And the me that was impatient,
Or was angry, or unkind,
Will simply be a memory.
The me I left behind.
I will travel empty-handed.
There is not a single thing
I have collected in my life
That I would ever want to bring Except. . .
The love of those who loved me,
And the warmth of those who cared.
The happiness and memories
And magic that we shared.
Though I will know the joy of solitude. . .
I'll never be alone. I'll be embraced
By all the family and friends I've ever known.
Although I might not see their faces,
All our hearts will beat as one,
And the circle of our spirits
Will shine brighter than the sun.
I will cherish all the friendship I was fortunate to find,
All love and all the laughter in the place I leave behind.
All these good things will go with me.
They will make my spirit glow.
And that light will shine forever In the next place that I go...