I arrived at Andi’s and our first conversation after everyone left was this…
Andi: “Do you know what’s happening with me?”
Me: “Yes”
Andi: “Say it”
Me: “You’re dying”
We shed tears aplenty and our last days together began.
What do you say to your friend when you know her end is near? I pondered this leading up to my arrival. We spoke on the phone, and I knew her diagnoses upon first discovery of the cancer. We talked frequently through the entire diagnoses and treatment process. My amazing and headstrong friend preferred to process out loud and we were good at that together. I could offer a different perspective, and challenge her thought process, always from a place of love and supporting her highest good. Now, don’t get me wrong, I did not always agree with her choice, however, I respected her choice as it was her body and her journey.
I listened as treatment went from working exceptionally well, to not working at all. I listened as she decided that she wanted to live and intentionally narrowed her focus laser-like on to said goal. In the end, the cancer defeated her body in mere months. Ovarian cancer is a wicked insidious beast of destruction and devastation! Throughout the process my friend chose her journey based on her given options, and those moments we spent together near the end were gut wrenching and heartbreakingly beautiful…
I, like her other close friends and family, took my turn showing up and taking care of her. I mean this in the literal sense as I cooked for her, medicated her, kept her slushy full, helped her to the bathroom, drained the fluid off her abdomen daily, the list goes on. And, as important as the physical care was, more importantly I helped her process. I will carry many of our conversations throughout the years in my heart, quietly wrapped in a golden box, deep within my heart space, where those special moments live; Inside a box that only I have the key to. Lessons, laughter, shared sparks of wisdom through facilitation, horses, dogs, cats, a goat and including all the glorious moments of joy and laughter to conflict and disagreement…the entirety of our friendship held in images and feelings reminisced. We learned so much together and from one another, and I will miss our mutually supported growth so very much.
I’d like to share a few things from those last few weeks together. Andi allowed us to share with her community the end was near. The response from that community of people whose lives she had touched was truly profound. There were several people that she asked me to call and tell in person, conversations that I experienced as the bearer of sad news that in turn filled me with a deeper appreciation and understanding of her profound impact. So very many people sent written messages I had the privilege of reading to her, person after person who wanted to say thank you for a spark of awareness that led to an experience, empowering them to create change and better their lives. I read message after message, each filling me with a new respect for not only my friend, but also for the belief that we can each help those who come to us in our own unique way. I too, through a facilitated experience, can help shift a perspective and empower someone through experience with my gifts and it matters. I watched my friend stand in her power and purpose as she continued to impact and teach all of us to the very end. And for that I am forever grateful.
I’d also like to share from our mutual love of the horses. We connected over horses in Arizona so many years ago, and that love of horses held us in one another’s lives. We owned horses together, we cared for one another’s horses, we shared learning about and from the horses, and we disagreed on many levels around the horses. All in all, it was a well-rounded relationship! Some of my horses became hers and some of hers became mine. I cannot tell you how many conversations revolved around horses over the years, but every single discussion included a horse something.
The last day I was there with her was the day she decided to go out and see her horses one last time. The weather that afternoon was beautiful. Getting her to the barn involved three of us for support, a wheelchair, a vehicle, and another human to get horses up and in to stalls. Andi sat in her wheelchair in the aisle of the barn, and I brought each of her beloved horses to her one by one. Each horse in an order decided for us by the horses. Every single horse was gentle beyond belief. Some nuzzled her, breathed in the top of her head, several played with her blanket gently, and each quietly shared a profound moment of connection and love with her. I facilitated this experience with the horses, like I have so many times before, and will continue to do so in my lifetime, after all it’s a part of my calling and purpose. The last horse to say goodbye was the first horse we created together, the first mare born to our combined herd, and it was so very fitting to end with her. The goodbyes to her herd represented the truest version of our friendship and how we showed up for one another. It was not sad for me; it was honest and honoring of all that we as a collective were and are. A herd, both horse and human, honoring the ending of a beloved member and saying goodbye.
Andi crossed the rainbow bridge within a few weeks of that moment. On the other side of the bridge, I believe she was welcomed and embraced by all the four legged’s she’d loved and who crossed before her. Some might say our world is greyer without her in it, but I say our world is so much brighter by the light she brought to so many lives.
I catch myself wanting to call her and share something that occurred with my horses or a client, to debrief an experience, or just catch up…. And then I remember there’s no one to answer. Instead, I reflect on the moments of leading each horse up to her for that last goodbye, and then I open that golden heart-shaped box and retrieve a brighter memory, a memory I savor and gently place back in its place. I will forever miss you my friend and say “thank you” for every moment we shared … good, bad, or in between, and especially for allowing me the honor to be a part of your last goodbye. May the horse ancestors welcome you with a thunderous roar of their hooves, a gentle breathy nicker, and a nuzzle from each whiskered muzzle.
As Andi would often say, “How we do anything is how we do everything” and you my friend did it your way. I miss you….
Cathy