Julie Duffy

JULIE DUFFY KNOWS HOW TO ROCK. (NO, REALLY, SHE’S A TOUR MANAGER FOR ROCK BANDS).  HER JOB IS TO MANAGE OPERATIONS. WHEN SHE FELL INTO A COMA, HER FRIENDS AND THE BANDS STEPPED IN TO MANAGE HER.

Julie: I do a lot of “pre-Julie’s” and “post-Julie’s.” Pre-Julie this—pre what happened to me. I was already deep in the ocean. I was already up on Mars. Post-Julie is a little more trepidatious. Post-Julie is a little bit more non-skydiver. More “Let’s go up in the plane, but I’m not going to jump this time.” More “I’ll go in the ocean, but I’m not going to surf.” I just have to be a little more careful. I think all of this—all of what happened to me—taught me to be less  “Fuck it let’s go, let’s do this.”

Editor’s Note: We spoke to Julie again before print and she says she’s feeling better and will actually “jump out of that fucking plane again.”

Living Crue: You were a tour manager?

I am a tour manager.

Sorry, you’re right! And you’ve toured with?

John Mellancamp, Christina Aguilera, Van Halen, Roger Waters, Aerosmith, El Divo, Maroon 5, Kelly Clarkson, Brad Paisley, Counting Crows, Stone Temple Pilots, Linkin Park, Peppa Pig. Who am I missing? I am also a tour accountant and assistant tour manager. But it all started when I was 18 at WBCN [radio]. At BCN, my mentors, Oedipus, Carter and Steven, treated me as if I were an equal. I was never just an intern and because of that internship I got an interview with Collins Management, who handle Aerosmith. I got that Assistant position in 1993 working with Tim, Keith, and incredible support staff. Aerosmith was the biggest game in town. Biggest game in the world at that point. It was good for me to see how a big machine like Aerosmith rolled. It was good to be working for men of power.

I was also in the Boston music scene then. In the hardcore scene, which was a big family community. I just knew from a young age that I was going to be in the music business, there was no Plan B. While I was working for Collins/Aerosmith I got to know Marcia Hrichison who ran the entertainment division of Westwood One. She was my first real influential woman in power that I looked up too. She offered me a position interviewing artists for syndicated radio shows, and it was time for a change so I said, “Hell ya,” even though I had never interviewed anyone in my life! I moved out to Hollywood and while I was working at WW1, I realized I really wasn’t very good at interviewing, I didn’t like asking the questions that really needed to be asked that made the artist uncomfortable, and there were many people there that were so much better. But Marcia took me under her wing and I actually got promoted to director of talent where I was responsible for booking the interviews, something I was much better at. I stayed there for 8 years and just lived the LA life. I was a punk rock girl, never the beautiful blonde. I had blue hair and wasn’t a size 0. Then it was time for a change, I moved to Manhattan and started working at Columbia Records with Paul Rappaport as the director of broadcasting. When Napster hit, all the labels were like, “Yeah, don’t even worry about it; it’s not a problem.” And it was a problem. And I got laid off.

But before that happened, I had done a session with John Mellencamp, and part of my job was to record acoustic versions of songs for the morning commute shows ... We were recording an acoustic version of “Jack and Diane” with John and the whole crew was there. Somehow the tour manager, Harry Sandler, another mentor of mine, called me. “We think you’ll be great on the road. Wanna go?” I’m broke. I can’t afford my apartment. So I went on the road. I thought I’d be back in 2 weeks. It’s been 20 years and I never looked back.

What does it feel like to be out there on the road? What’s the draw?

I love the road. You work your ass off all day, and then the next morning is the next round. You load in and 15 hours later there’s another show. There’s this high to the process and it’s just amazing energy. You’re on the bus, and you’re drinking your Solo cup of wine, eating Oreos. Maybe you’d have a PB&J or pizza that’s been sitting around for 3 hours—so glamorous! But you think, “We fucking did that!”

I don’t touch the stage. I know where I belong. It’s important to know your place. Touring is the high, it’s the energy. I’m still like a little kid. I get my tour schedule and I’m so excited. The Crows are doing Tel Aviv and Europe this fall. Next year is Australia, South Africa, more Europe, and the U.S. And I’m so excited, even though I’ve already done it 10 times. Every single time the vibe is different.

At one point after being out on Aersomith, I realized that I wanted to learn the money side of touring … I trained as a Live Nation tour accountant and there were all these tours heading out in 2006 and I was allowed to pick which one I wanted. I glanced at all of them and I saw Counting Crows with Goo Goo Dolls. When I lived in Hollywood, one of my roommates was Mike, the drummer in Goo Goos so I said, “Heck ya, I’ll take that!” Once that tour was over, Crows tour manager Tom Mullally asked me to join their team as their tour accountant /assistant tour manager … ummm YES!  And I’ve been with this incredible band/crew ever since. The minute I was in the hospital, the band, Tom and the crew rallied. I am beyond grateful for all of them.

This is not a job to do when you hate it. It’s a lifestyle. You are living on a bus. With 9 guys. It’s gotten better and better with more women out there touring. When I first started, it seemed like most women did catering, wardrobe, and production assistance and there’s nothing wrong with that, super important jobs but I always wondered, why aren’t there [women in] audio? Why aren’t there [women in] video? Now there are more women tour managers,  tour accountants, audio, lighting, video … and I think it’s awesome.

Do you feel like you opened the door for that?

I absolutely didn’t….there were incredible women out there way before me. When I started there were [women like] Liz Mahon. Liz Mahon was on John Mellencamp and is now with Billy Joel. When I first came to Mellencamp, I didn’t know shit. I was put out as an assistant tour manager. I felt that people automatically resented me. I didn’t know what the inside of a bus looked like; I didn’t know where to put my luggage. I didn’t pay my “road” dues. But eventually people realized I’m not a bitch. They helped me out and I think Liz opened the door for me to see that this is a great way to make a living and I also had an incredible tour manager, Bob Quandt, who was very patient with me. Women, we’re a different breed out there, you know? I love it when women come out [on the road]. I try to hire women, because if they really want to be on the road, they’re special. They’re kick ass.

COVID hits. We all go back inside. And then one day you have a sore throat.

It was March 13th. I was flying out to Peppa [Pig] and my boyfriend, Scott, was flying out to Miranda [Lambert]. Our schedules weren’t going to mix again for another 7, 8 months. Then COVID hit. We immediately went into lockdown and I stayed in Tennessee. I went back to my home in Massachusetts in July and started volunteering at our local food bank, Wheat Community Cafe in Clinton. I needed to do something. We made 200 lunches a day and dinner for 60 every night. Normally, you would just volunteer for one day, but I love to cook, and my friend Shelley McClellan manages the food department. I was doing that from August to December. December 18th, it was a Tuesday, I had a wicked headache. I had to stop volunteering that day—I didn’t realize that feeling ill meant shutting down and 200 people didn’t get lunch because we didn’t know if I had COVID. I felt horrible. I immediately went and got a COVID test that day. But then I got a sore throat. But I’m prone to sore throats. I’m prone to pneumonia. I’m prone to lung stuff, throat stuff. I had thyroid cancer. So I didn’t think anything of it. So I got a COVID test and a strep test. The strep came back negative.

The next morning I lost my voice, but again, that’s not unusual for me. I hadn’t gotten my COVID test back yet, so I just kind of laid low. That Thursday, a friend brought me to Clinton hospital. The doctors gave me steroid shots and sent me back home. Next morning, I have an appointment with my primary [doctor], the incredible Dr. Valerie Moreland. She took one look at me—gray and hunched over—and she said, “This (pointing at my entire body) is not good, you’re going to the emergency room.” And I debated with her about what emergency room because at this point, I’m still not overly concerned. Suzanne Frisch, my lifelong best friend and ironically my health care proxy, drove me to the Clinton Hospital and it’s all a blur. I don’t remember much. Clinton sent me to Worcester hospital immediately in an ambulance. Suzanne wasn’t allowed to see me even though she is my Health Care Proxy; no one knows what’s going on. I have no memory of that ambulance ride or being placed in my room at SICU/Umass Memorial Hospital.

I do remember a doctor came in and said, “You have a hole in your esophagus. Are you in an abusive relationship? No one just gets a hole in their esophagus. So, are you in an abusive relationship? Do you do a lot of drugs?” And I said “No, and I don’t do drugs.” I found out later that he called Suzanne and asked her if I was lying.  I’m sure there was more, but I don’t remember. I went back and traced my steps on my texts from the morning of December 19th. The last text I sent was at 9:18 a.m. to Scott and Suzanne, and I said “I’m scared. I’m going in for surgery.” Then I remember [being wheeled onto] the elevator. I looked up and I asked the doctors and nurses, “Am I going to die?”

And, um, 10 minutes later, I died.

Months later, I was speaking with the anesthesiologist whose job it was to prep me for surgery, and he told me that he looked up to God and asked, “Am I bringing this person back to life?” He told me, “I felt it in my heart to save you. We fought and we brought you back and we stabilized you. And then we put you in surgery.” And during surgery is when they discovered this descending necrotizing mediastinitis. I don’t know a lot about it, to be quite honest. I know it’s extremely rare. I’m sure there’s more to it, I just don’t know. All I know is what the nurses told me: That they did everything they could during surgery to save me. They put me in a coma and said goodbye to me. And they told me it was up to me after that.

Then, the medication they gave to save my life caused sepsis shock. That infected my fingers and my toes. When I came out of the coma, [my fingers and toes] were black. Everything was hard as a rock.

They gave me drugs to erase my memory. I didn’t know it was a thing. That’s superman shit. It was so traumatic and so horrible they gave me drugs so I wouldn’t remember anything. I was in a coma for almost a month.

Suzanne found a loophole—because she’s a fucking badass lawyer—to let me have a visitor. Nobody else is allowed to have visitors in the SICU. So they chose Scott. He would work all day and then come in every day for hours. He played all my favorite music. He had everybody call me and he would hold the phone up to my ear. He read books to me. It’s winter and the boy is in shorts and flip-flops.

I came out of the coma weighing over 200 pounds, because of organ failure. I remember having dreams—and now I think they weren’t dreams—that I couldn’t lift my arms and legs. And I had dreams of people holding me down. I woke up, I had Suzanne to my left, Scott to my right, and I remember seeing such joy and relief in their expressions. Suzanne asked me if I knew what the date was, and I said “March 2020.” I don’t know why I said March 2020. It was 2021. And I was just like, “What the fuck?” but I couldn’t talk. Trach in my throat, tubes everywhere. It was all fluid from my kidneys failing. And I remember thinking. “What the fuck, God?

I was told there was this one doctor who sat down with Scott and Suzanne and said, “She’s going to be in a nursing home. She’s never going to eat. She might not ever speak.” They told him that I was a fighter. He also came in and told me I’d be on dialysis for the rest of my life. And I just remember looking at him and being like, “Fuck you. You don’t know me. You’ve no idea who I am.” And I think being a roadie—and I know a lot of roadies hate that term, “roadie.” I like the term … I just dug deep. And I was like. “All right, let’s go, let’s go.”

Scott would come to my room every single day. I couldn’t communicate. You know, no one can read lips. And I had a catheter and I had a sponge bath every day for 5 1/2 months. Talk about letting your humility, your ego, go. I mean you gotta let it go. But I think it’s being a roadie. You dig deep. There was no, “woe is me.” There was never the moment of “Why did this happen to me?” But what was really important to me was to know I didn’t cause it. Still to this day, I question it. They assured me 100% I didn’t do this. The infectious disease team felt that it was in my body for a long time and it was just growing. No one was healthier than I was. Like, I was a smoothie, wheat grass, boring girl. No carbs. A little bit of wine [laughing].

This group of girls that I surround myself with in Clinton, I mean, I’ve known Suzanne since I was 2. This is an amazing group of girls who, to this day, still support each other. And listen, when I left to go to college, I could’ve never looked back. But there’s something about these women, this town. I always came back, and I always kept in touch. I work really hard to cultivate these friendships, and I have them all over the world. Because even when I’m on the road, part of my excitement is that I get to see so-and-so in New Zealand or I get to see GB in Australia, etc. I don’t know a lot of people like us that have the core of like 10 girls. And my touring girls. And my LA girls. Tennessee girls.

And I knew I wasn’t going to have a normal relationship. I mean it takes a really strong man to be like, “Oh, ok, you’re going to be gone for 9 months, and you’re going to be on a bus with 10 guys? Ok, have fun.” But Scott gets it, because he does it, and you either trust or you don’t. Period. But these women! You have to have your girls.

I’m going to single out Suzanne. She is your health care proxy?

Here’s a woman who has 4 kids, she’s a lawyer, an amazing wife, she’s a volunteer, an incredible person. When I made her my healthcare proxy, we took it seriously but we also joked about it—we thought we’d be 80 in rocking chairs. I didn’t want a family member to be [health care proxy] because I truly thought it wouldn’t be needed until we were so much older and Suzanne would be there as my friend. I understood it was a huge issue with my family in the beginning because they didn’t know Suzanne was in that position, They didn’t understand why she was. Everybody in my family knows her, but I can only imagine how hard it was for my parents to not be in total control and I get that … again, this was a decision made by me when I was a very healthy 49 year old. But Suzanne did, continues to do, an incredible job. Soon my family realized the situation was in control. She was in touch with the hospital every day. Every night she would send out an email and assign the core girls each to send out emails so nobody was left wondering what was going on ... so, yeah, she’s a fucking rock star. Not only did she take care of all my medical stuff, she and my friend Square hacked all my accounts, took over all my finances, and paid all my bills. Because who’s going to pay my mortgage? Who’s going to pay my HOA? The girls also formed “Duff Inc.” which was Suzanne, Square, Jacqueline and Patt. All lifelong Clinton friends. They spent endless hours speaking to friends from Boston, touring, LA, everywhere, keeping people updated. They’d get together every 2 weeks. I think, a lot of alcohol was consumed and they would just support Suz and be her sounding board, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. They also set up an [online fundraiser] for me to cover my medical bills.

My family’s issues I know from the beginning came from me being an extremely private person. And also, in my business, you don’t want people to know you’re sick. When I had cancer, I never told anybody in my business, except obviously I was on tour with Stone Temple Pilots when I got diagnosed, so clearly they knew. But I didn’t put anything on [social media]. I didn’t put it out there because you don’t want people to think you’re sick. Our business is small. So I completely understand why my family at first didn’t want the fundraiser, but thank God my friends did it!

As I became clearer, I started to really worry. I was worrying about work. I have to work. I’m a worker. I’ve been working since I was a kid. And I’ve got Scott brushing my hair and being like, “Babe, just live. Now, stop worrying.” ... I’ve never asked anyone for help. I’m very proud. So, I was honored and thankful. Without help with my medical bills, I could probably have lost my home.

You were all of a sudden on the receiving end.

It was incredible. I’m still thanking people. I am still sending notes. I mean, there were over 1,000 people who donated! My friend Bill Bracken did a live Facebook concert! Then my friends Sean Mcnally and Michael Creamer organized a benefit concert at the Paradise in Boston. Oh my God, that was probably one of the most incredible nights in my life. Incredible to have all these artists fly from all over the U.S. and Europe and get together. It was overwhelming. I’m still blown away and I just feel sometimes, like, I don’t know … that I don’t deserve it. I don’t know where that comes from. I really didn’t do anything. It’s not like I’ve cured cancer.

But you obviously did something for these people.

I was just a part of the Boston music scene. Being part of it is making dinner for someone because they didn’t have money or having the band guys over because they got paid in beer. I mean, it’s just what we do for each other.

Not everyone thinks that.

But they should.

How many operations did you have?

Over 20 operations, most of them I don’t remember. I remember the amputations and I remember the follow-up amputations when I got home from the hospital. But I don’t remember half of it. All I know is that I’ve got permanent scars all over and I can’t feel parts of my body anymore.

I couldn’t talk, eat, drink, anything for 4 1/2 months. I remember looking at people who had water and I’d be so jealous. Let me tell you something: don’t ever take water for granted ever in your life. I had to learn how to walk. I had to learn how to go to the bathroom. I had to learn how to dress myself. I had to learn how to write. I had no muscle memory. I worked out obsessively before I got sick. I started as if I was a baby. I couldn’t sit up. I couldn’t roll over. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I remember thinking “Jesus Christ if I had known this was going to happen, I would’ve eaten all the pizza.” Just to sit up took a month. ... This one nurse, Barbara, was hard on me but in a good way, and I’ll never forget her. When I was being transferred to Spaulding after 3 months in SICU she leaned in—I thought she was going to give me a big hug—but she said, “Get the fuck up or you’re going die.” And she was right.

Because of COVID, we weren’t allowed to be out of our rooms. We were locked down. I never left my room unless I was having surgery or Barbara snuck me out for a little escape! I was surrounded by COVID cases. The nurses would come in crying because they just lost a patient. Nurses are incredible. CNA’s? Hello! The most unsung heroes of the world. They would come hang out ... So, every day I’d think to myself get up or you’re gonna die. I threw up every single day for probably 9 months, 3 or 4 times a day. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Walking was hard because I was so weak. I went from 200 pounds to 124. I didn’t even weighed 124 pounds in junior high. I was fragile and I was weak and I was bony. I wouldn’t look in the mirror. It was horrible.

I couldn’t look at my body ... I would see the clumps [of hair falling out] and I was like, “Great, God, now I’m going to lose my hair, too.” But it doesn’t matter ... I was just kinda like, “God, what’s next? I’ve lost my fingers, my toes, and my body, and now my hair. What’s next?”

Once I went to Spaulding, I could have more guests, but just one a day. My mom and dad came to visit once a week. At SICU, they were allowed in a couple times. No one wants to see their daughter like that, you know? I know they would have moved into my room if they could. And my family was incredible, talk about rallying! My Aunt Chris would come in and brush my hair and give me the most amazing massages. My Aunt Jeannie flew in from Dallas and just made me feel like everything is going to be ok. My cousin Kelly made me laugh. The list is endless. All of these moments meant everything to me.

Usually people came in 3:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. and I was lucky if I could last 45 minutes or an hour. And I always felt like I had to be “on.” I still couldn’t speak and I was still throwing up. Oh God, I threw up in front of so many guests. My friend was visiting and [my doctor], the amazing Dr. Nace, came in and he just started taking 60 stitches [out of] my hand while she was there.

The nurses at SICU kept telling me that I had to advocate for myself. How do you advocate when you don’t know what to advocate for? But I learned quickly and just like touring, you build the best team possible. And that’s what I did at Spaulding, starting with having Dr. Nace as my main doctor in charge. He was a pitbull and fought for me, daily.

Then one day this other doctor came in, Dr. Divo—his wedding ring was a skull—and I’m like, “Oh, we’re going to get along great.” We were waiting for Worcester to give approval to take the trach out. He said, “You know what? we’re taking the trach out on Monday. I’m tired of waiting because you deserve to speak.” So we didn’t know if I was going to have a voice. Can I sing like Adele? Hello? Can I be a rock star now? Please, God, let me be able to sing like Adele and please don’t give me a high squeaky voice. So, everybody rolled in and they did it right there. They took the trach out and I said, “Hi” and it was my voice! And it was clear! And the doctor was like “Say it again! Say it again!” and I was like “Hiiiiiiiii.” I never needed speech therapy.

What brought me great joy for the next week was [making everyone in] the room promise not to tell anyone that I could speak, so every time the nurse or CNA would come in, I would yell. And they would drop stuff and it would make me laugh! I spoke so much the first day, I lost my voice. I was calling people on the phone. For the longest time I wanted nothing to do with communication, and I know that upset Scott. He would show me videos and he would read [notes and emails], but I didn’t want anything to do with responding ... I was too exhausted. I was still trying to understand everything that was going on, and I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t handle the fact that I ruined people’s Christmas. That I ruined people’s New Year. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand. It overwhelms me ... It still does. I remember really not fully understanding until my girlfriend Jacqueline came to visit me. And I was like oh my God I’m so rude …  I haven’t asked anyone how their Christmas was ... I missed New Year’s Eve. I missed all these events, and I never asked anyone how their holidays were. I aked Jacqueline“How was your Christmas?” and she looked at me and said, “How the fuck do you think it was? It was fucking horrible, Julie, we thought you were going to die.” I was like, “Oh God, that’s terrible. Oh my God!”

Scott and my mom lived together for 7 months—in this house—and survived. My mom’s amazing, but honest to God, like, your girlfriend’s dying. Your daughter’s dying. Initially, you’re not allowed to go in and see her. So I know it was an incredibly stressful time, but they coexisted and made it work!

Helpless. Helpless. Helpless. I’ll tell you what. This has taught me how to ask for help. I never asked for help before. It was hard. And when I came home they put in those chair lifts … Scott redid the entire guest bathroom. They sent me home with a walker—which I never fucking used. Fuck you! And for my parents to see that it was so hard to walk … I was so weak. And my mom moved in to be there every day … helping me get clean, get dressed, feeding me. Dealing with me. She was incredible and I couldn’t have done it without her.

You went back to everything?

You know, listen, when you come home, and obviously I look different, you know? I had all my full amputations  ...I just didn’t want to go out. Plus, it was COVID. But then I thought, “Wait a minute this isn’t you. Since when did you give a shit what anyone thinks of you? What if people stare at me? Fine!” And we went out to dinner and people were staring at me but not in a bad way—it’s just a bit jarring to see someone with no full fingers. I remember  Suzanne’s little one, Ciaran asked, “Does it hurt?” The first question out of all children’s mouths: “Are you in pain? Does it hurt?” Nope. It doesn’t hurt.

You just have to have a sense of humor about it. I forget that people haven’t seen me yet, And  they’re like, “We’re so happy you’re alive!” This whole town has been incredible. People I don’t know—I mean, that [fundraiser]. This is an amazing town.

That’s why I came home; that’s why I moved back here. Why wouldn’t I wanna be here? Yeah, you know, I did Hollywood. I did Manhattan. Yeah, I’d love to have a studio apartment in Manhattan, absafuckinglutely—I’m a city girl. But, why would you not wanna be surrounded [by this]? My dad lives down the street. My brother, my niece, all my girls, all my guys.

You saw all of the nurses again. What was that like?

There’s so many more [that helped me], but 4 just stood out to me in very different ways. One was the nurturer, one was the badass, [one] was just real, and [one] was the tough one who scared me. They would brush my hair. They would calm me. They would laugh at me. I knew all about their families and relationships. We went to Clintons Bar and Grille and I had never seen what they really look like. So I only knew their eyes, because of COVID. It was important for me to thank them. And I always said, “I just want to have a glass of wine with you.” Well, 1 turned into 4, but whatever. Lots of tears. Lots of laughter. I thanked each one of them for certain things I remembered.

But what else happened was they told me things I didn’t know.  … some memories just came flooding back. The next day, I kind of went down didn’t move for a couple days. A lot of it was overwhelming. I didn’t expect the spiral but that’s part of the process. I have a whole list left [of people to thank]. I decided that I want to go back in and volunteer once COVID is over because I wish there was a “me” there, you know? No one can relate. No one is ever really going to understand how I feel and what I’ve gone through, what I’m going through. And that’s OK. I hope no one does. I hope no one ever goes through what I’ve gone through. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I can’t button buttons. I got stuck in a shirt. I had to text the girls to come get me out of this shirt, and I was laughing hysterically! I can’t feel skin [on parts of my breasts] so sometimes my boob will fall out, so everybody’s on boob alert if we’re out for dinner. I remembered I just wanted to drive! My family and friends were incredible, giving me rides to all my appointments, but that’s such an important part of being independent. When I was 15, I would wake up wicked early in the morning, steal my mom’s car and drive around the neighborhood going 5 miles an hour. Duh, stupid ... But, I got in the car and I started driving 5 miles an hour and I was fine! I was like, “Fuck you, doctor who said I’d be in a nursing home, never be able to eat, and never be able to speak. Fuck you!”

I don’t really believe in a God-fearing God, but I always did believe in a higher power. But after this ... I now believe there is, wholeheartedly. I do have a friend who speaks to the dead, and of course, I talked with her, and she’s said I have a team down here and a team of angels up there. One was in charge of making sure Suzanne was OK, and one was in charge of making sure my parents were OK.

I do find, you know, when people say, “Oh, God had this happen for a reason.” Don’t ever say that to someone who is really ill. Don’t ever say that God had a reason or—here’s another one of my faves—“You were meant to come back to do greater things with your life.” The other question I get a lot is: “Since this happened, how are you changing your life? What did it make you change?” Nothing! Nothing! I was living my life! I was doing what I wanted to do. I am more than happy to go back to touring and living my life exactly how I left it.

What are you most excited about?

I just want to get on the bus. Last Fall, I went to go visit the Crows when they performed in Boston and 2 hours before the show, it got called because of COVID. So I never got to see my guys, who I consider brothers. I went backstage.  Square gave me a ride home and I cried from the minute I got in the car for an hour. I wanted to go on the bus. I wanted to leave with them. It’s where I belong. It’s where I’m meant to be. The stronger I got, I said, “I’m touring. I’m going back. I can still count money. Everything’s just going to take longer.”

Oh! Also, I’m writing a book! Pre-Julie always knew I had a book in me, but I thought it was probably going to be fiction, and I wasn’t going to do it till I retired. And then I remember coming out of my coma and I’m like, “I’ve got the book now.” It’s not going to be a “Go team!” It’s going to be sarcastic and cutting and honest and it’s going to be called “Get the Fuck Up or You’re Going to Die.”

It’s been 10 months since we spoke to Julie. Today, she is on tour with Counting Crows in Tel Aviv and Europe. She’ll take a short break at the end of 2022 to work on her book, and then she and Scott will get back on the road to continue the tour in Australia, South Africa, Europe, and then home to the U.S. at the end of 2023. Well fucking done, Julie Duffy!

Anonymous

Photo: This image was gifted to us by and of our friend, Neelab. While Neelab is not part of our storyteller’s journey, she left Kabul before August of 2021 and was unable to come to the United States with her mother and sister. The Founders and Editors of Living Crue are so grateful to you, Neelab, for allowing your image to be aligned with this story of being of service to strangers. Our hearts are with you and your family.

Editor’s note: For her protection, Living Crue will not publish name, location or any identifying information about the author. Similarly, the names of the men and women referenced in this story have been changed.

THE MILITARY SPOUSE COMMUNITY IS BUILT ON THE SUPPORT AND SERVICE PROVIDED TO EACH OTHER WHEN MOVING FROM BASE TO BASE. THIS STORYTELLER WAS ABLE TO EXTEND THAT CODE ACROSS THE WORLD WHEN THE CALL FOR ASSISTANCE CAME FROM AFGHANISTAN.

Photo: This image was gifted to us by and of our friend, Nilab. While Nilab is not part of our storyteller’s journey, she left Kabul before August of 2021 and was unable to come to the United States with her mother and sister. The Founders and Editors of Living Crue are so grateful to you, Nilab, for allowing your image to be aligned with this story of being of service to strangers. Our hearts are with you and your family.

I would argue there is no better person to have in your corner than a woman because I know the strength of our gender: how we can share our hearts with each other in ways men often don’t, as well as how we carry the mental load for our families, never switching gears because we are always firing on all cylinders.

Women make incredibly powerful advocates not because we are ever singularly focused on our causes, but because we live them. What people need from us is always on our minds: while we drive to work or to drop the kids off at school, while we are changing diapers or making doctor appointments, sitting in a board meeting, working out at the gym, cooking dinner, or lying awake late at night, trying to finally quiet our thoughts so we can sleep. A woman’s mind is a relentless workhorse. We consider our problems and to-do lists over and over again and from many different angles until we navigate our way to a solution.

I think the biggest challenge for women who embrace causes bigger than themselves is not to lose ourselves in the process. For me, that most recently meant not leaving my sanity in the streets of Kabul, Afghanistan.

As a military spouse, I likely pay more attention to current events since our family is so directly impacted by them. My husband has served in the Army since the day he graduated from West Point, through multiple tours of duty in both Iraq and Afghanistan. When the summer news headlines began to pivot from the pandemic to our upcoming withdrawal from the latter, I became curious about how he might be feeling. He told me he was proud of what we accomplished and smiled as he glanced over at our young daughter.

Yet, my husband hadn’t remained in close contact with any of the Afghan interpreters, so I think it took him by surprise when, on a sunny day in early August last year, an interpreter managed to track him down on social media. This man was looking for help evacuating his family from Afghanistan before the Taliban gained control. One of his brothers had been taken by Taliban soldiers and his father had been shot, but luckily survived.

My husband quickly agreed to help if he could, but wasn’t sure how. I watched him try to track down information for a couple of days, but he was so bogged down in his own extremely long and busy work days that it was hard for him to dedicate himself to the task. That’s when I made the fateful decision to step in.

“Surely there are some other military spouses out there whose husbands or wives are more directly connected to the withdrawal and may have more information,” I reasoned.

The military spouse community is heavily connected online and across many social media platforms. As often as we all move across the country and world, it is the easiest way to keep in touch with all of our friends and family while also searching out information on the best school system, dentist, pediatrician, or even hairdresser at a new duty station. Just as our service members depend on each other for their lives, so too, do their spouses for keeping our families up and running and finding jobs and activities in new areas.

I began to reach out online for information that would help. A web of useful connections quickly began to form, both in the military spouse community as well as from my own personal network. Before leaving my career to stay home with our kids, I had worked in public relations and advertising, yet I had always been staffed in part to military and government contracts. And it just so happened that in the course of my travels, I had made friends with people who held far more interesting and complex international careers in service to our country than I’d ever fully known before. It didn’t take long for a motley crew of us to come together to try to help this man and our other allies in Afghanistan.

Does anyone ever really know what they are getting into when they volunteer for something so completely outside their wheelhouse? I don’t think it is possible. The job of a stay-at-home mother to little kids can feel like an invisible and thankless one, made all the more isolating by a global pandemic.

I was at a point in my life when I had been feeling more anonymous and unseen than ever, and yet before I even realized what was happening, I found myself working alongside some of the most high-caliber people I’ve ever met. Without going into too much detail in order to protect them, I ended up connected to the people working within Hamid Karzai International Airport (HKIA) in Kabul, the focal point of the United States’ withdrawal from Afghanistan. The State Department, U.S. soldiers, Marines, and special forces from the U.S. and other countries were all there, helping the thousands of Afghans that were trying to leave ahead of Taliban taking leadership.

For many reasons, it is really hard to talk in detail about everything that transpired in August, but I am proud to be a part of what I believe to be the greatest all-call extraction mission of our time. For better or worse, the advent of the internet and social media platforms have removed the barriers of both time and space from global communications, including requests for help.

While soldiers fought on the  ground in Kabul, message boards sprang up stateside on secure servers so we could collectively work to aid Afghan colleagues and communicate and pool requests for aid. This is part of what I monitored. Given the level of access I could offer to the HKIA command center, I tried to pitch in wherever I could, whether that meant fielding requests to extract American citizens, helping gather the information needed to place people on flight manifests, answering calls for medical attention inside the airport, or trying to help vetted Afghan allies gain entry.

For every person in Afghanistan we were able to assist, there were too many we could not. Every Afghan man and woman deserves to be known, risking their lives for their country. It quickly becomes all too easy to drown in the vast number of people asking for help. Instead, I will tell you about a woman who, for me, most captured the chaos of our evacuation efforts in Afghanistan. For security reasons, I will refer to her as “Ara.”

Ara served as an interpreter for U.S. forces, but also ran a radio station on a U.S. forward operating base. Ara was first brought to my attention by a retired soldier named “Rob”. I learned that she had long ago applied for a Special Immigration Visa (SIV) to the United States, but our country has been slow to process SIVs and her case was still pending as it had been for years.

I thought the trifecta of Ara (1) being a woman, (2) supporting our military as an interpreter, and (3) working in radio allowed us to make a strong case to  HKIA. Together, we hoped we could “categorize” her as someone who would be a “high value target” by the Taliban, hoping that with such a designation, Ara could be picked up by an extraction team.

I don’t know if people in the United States understand just how congested it was around the airport in Kabul. Imagine the crowd around an American football stadium, in high, late-summer heat, everyone fighting for the chance not to see a concert or sporting event but for their very lives. With each day that passed, the situation grew more violent and dangerous. The Taliban used violence to take control and ISIS-K planned its own attacks to undermine the Taliban.

After a day or two of working on Ara’s case alongside many others, it became clear to us that we were running out of time for her to be picked up. We decided the next best chance we could give her and her husband was to navigate them on foot through the streets of Kabul and up to the airport.

So many of us in this network held a piece or two to this puzzle, and more often than not, I found that once I could help someone with what they needed, they could offer me something equally valuable in return. This meant that at any given time, I could usually track down information on which of the multiple gates into HKIA was the least crowded and who was staffing it. I also would field information about Taliban checkpoints and other security threats.

Ara and her husband carried their charged phones and packed just one light bag each with enough food and water to last them for days. Rob and I kept electronic copies of all their important documents in case the Taliban waylaid or attacked them.

We started our operation in the late afternoon in Kabul, knowing the gates into the airport would be a little less crowded overnight. We used a secure messaging app to communicate. I passed on intelligence to Rob, and he used it to guide Ara.

All of the operations I worked were like this—where only the person who contacted me for help knew of my involvement or some variation of my name. I thought it was safest for my family if I remained as anonymous as possible, but I also think it was best for Ara to receive guidance from the person she already knew and trusted.

It took us hours on the phone together to get Ara and her husband into a positive position outside the airport. We had to reroute around the Taliban more than once, change which gate to the airport we sent Ara to wait outside, and then help her locate cooperative soldiers or marines to help her gain entry. Complicating our efforts, the Taliban began to cut local cell towers, so there were windows of time when the three of us would lose connection with each other and to the people providing security guidance..

After what felt like forever, Rob and I finally maneuvered the couple as close as we could to the airport gate, but based on what Ara was telling us, we realized she still wasn’t quite near enough for U.S. forces to pull the two of them in. The crowds were tightly packed, and no one was giving up an inch, even in the dead of night. At one point, Ara messaged Rob that guns were being fired nearby, but she and her husband stayed the course. Her bravery and trust were utterly humbling.

Desperate to help protect Ara, I reached out to a friend who I knew in vague terms had worked for a clandestine organization. I begged for any help he could offer in getting a woman whom I described as a “high-value female target” into the airport. He wasn’t on the ground in Kabul, but he was well-connected and came through for us. Before I knew it, we found ourselves connected via another secure messaging app to the Marine snipers positioned on overwatch above HKIA. They could peer through their rifle scopes looking for trouble in the crowd, but also keep an eye out for Ara. And since it was night in Kabul, she was able to use the flashlight feature on her phone to signal back and forth with the snipers. They were then able to get Ara and her husband into the airport for processing and placement on a flight out of Afghanistan. Thus began their immigration through one of our processing centers in Doha, Qatar, and on to one of the refugee camps in the U.S.

Since I’d never spoken with Ara directly, Rob was considerate enough to keep in touch with me and provided periodic updates on how Ara was doing as she and her husband made their way to the U.S. He told me once here, Ara continued to shine by voluntarily serving as translator at the refugee camp where she stayed. She was also teaching her compatriots about our American customs. She distinguished herself to the point that she was invited to meet with a team from the White House to discuss her experience of evacuating from Afghanistan.

Eventually, Ara and her husband were granted their release from the refugee camp and were flown to the final destination they had petitioned for in their original visa application. Rob was there to welcome them at the local airport when they touched down; he texted me a photo of their reunion.   

As you might imagine, I quickly became so immersed in these operations, that I barely existed outside of my phone and computer.

The TV babysat my three young children during the day, or they toddled along beside me outside on walks through our neighborhood while I continued to field calls. Despite the long hours he has always worked, my husband came home every day as early as he could for the final weeks of August. He watched the kids, cooked dinner, put them to bed and cleaned up the house. Meanwhile, I couldn’t “sleep” in our bedroom because of how often my phone would ring throughout the night with literal life or death situations.

In fact, I don’t think I slept for more than a handful of uninterrupted hours at the end of August. If I wasn’t actively engaged in an extraction effort, I’d lightly doze with my phone ringer set on the highest volume possible so I wouldn’t miss any calls. My nerves were shot: I couldn’t bear the thought of eating and often couldn’t find the time, yet living on coffee and anxiety had me frequently heading to the bathroom. I lost eight pounds in one week. My husband grew concerned. Between working his full time job, covering running the house for me, carrying a heavier parental load, and watching me grind myself to dust, his patience with the overall situation grew thin.

My kids started to frequently break down in tears about how much they missed me, even though I was still always physically with them. But I was just a ghost, always distracted. They’d plead with me to read them a bedtime story and to be the one to put them to bed, but I’d get four pages into a book and then receive a phone call that an American citizen was being beaten at a Taliban checkpoint, or a suicide bomber was headed to a certain area outside of the airport, and I’d have to rush out of the room, noting the look of disappointment and frustration on my husband’s face as I went.

As the final days of August grew closer, more and more of the calls I received pertained to threats rather than extractions. As a matter of context, various non-government organizations (NGOs) trying to evacuate folks from Afghanistan had hired transport buses with local drivers to pick up passengers and safely navigate them through Taliban checkpoints and into the airport via a designated bus entrance. By that point in time, the command center within the airport was increasingly concerned with security, and many of the buses were left to circle the airport while waiting for permission to enter.

It was not uncommon for these buses to wait upward of 17 hours, I was told by someone who contacted me for help. They’d heard I had lines of communication into the airport. This allowed us to work together to get their contingency to finally be granted entry to HKIA. I soon began fielding additional requests with other NGO transports, until I received one message in particular that made my blood run cold. A woman was contacting me because she suspected there might be a suicide bomber on one of the buses her group had hired.

I quickly gathered all of the information I could. The bus in question had stopped at one of the Taliban checkpoints on the way up to the airport, and as was normal practice, the bus driver had stepped out to talk with the guards to discuss clearance for the bus to proceed. But at this particular stop, the Taliban forced the bus driver to take on an additional female passenger without allowing her to be searched. The concern was that she was wearing a suicide vest. I gathered a description of what she looked like, the license plate of the bus, coordinates of its current location, and the contact info of passengers on the bus who spoke English.

I quickly sent the information onward to the command center within the airport, along with the clandestine friend who had helped me before with the snipers. I was told I would soon receive a call from an unregistered number and to answer it and provide all the information I could. I did so as succinctly as possible, praying the whole time. My kids were in the background, watching a children’s show on Netflix, thankfully oblivious and for once, quiet.

After ending that call, I circled back to my friend to ask him if I’d ever know the outcome—if the woman truly was a suicide bomber or if it was a false alarm. He gently told me it wasn’t in the nature of the work to get a report back.

When the last day of August passed and our official withdrawal from Afghanistan was considered complete, an abrupt silence descended upon my world. September was disorienting in its emptiness. It felt like I went from riding in a race car going 110 miles per hour to the driver suddenly slamming on the brakes. After my world had expanded so quickly to reach across the globe and be a part of a team conducting life-saving missions, I felt like I immediately and unceremoniously tumbled back into what had been my largely invisible and restrictive pandemic existence at home with my kids.

But in that disheartening quietude, I started to receive notes and photo updates on these men and women as they made their way to the United States, and I cherished these missives as I struggled to come to terms with everything that had just happened.

I realized I could finally sleep through the night without worrying about missing a desperate phone call. I returned to reading my children bedtime stories and snuggling them into dreamland.

I forced myself to slowly begin to choke down real food again, both so I wouldn’t get dizzy every time I bent over to pick up one of the kids’ toys, and so I’d actually have the energy to go running again, which has long been my biggest source of stress relief. That first time I laced up my sneakers, I was so calorically deprived and emotionally raw that I wondered if I’d even make it half a mile. I surprised myself. I ran and ran and ran, barely even registering the feel of my feet connecting with the pavement.

But you cannot outrun grief, and I could not outrun the thought of the allies we left behind in Afghanistan—the people I personally knew of and hadn’t succeeded in getting out, let alone the thousands of others. And, I discovered I could not go quietly back to my previous existence. I realized I missed connecting with others, and that while I know what I do at home on a daily basis means the world to my husband and children, I miss feeling like I am contributing to the world at large.

In embracing a cause so much bigger than myself, I felt like I was both losing and finding myself all at once. My husband could sense the upheaval in me, but I couldn’t find the words to properly express it to him at the time. I am thankful he has been patient with me as I work through these intense experiences.

I soon learned I was mistaken in thinking the withdrawal was over. Officially, it was. But for our allies still stuck in Afghanistan—the interpreters who served our military, the Afghan special forces who fought alongside ours, the former government officials, and female rights activists—many non-profit groups continue to work alongside our government to determine what else might be done to safeguard them and/or help them find safe passage out of Afghanistan.

Under this premise, when I was first approached to share the story of my advocacy work in Afghanistan, I didn’t hesitate to accept because I believed doing so would help bring much needed attention to the cause. Yet, I found sitting down to write about this journey quite daunting; I didn’t know where to start or how to organize my thoughts. Aimlessly, I began to pour out my experiences. I typed out 25 pages and kept going, becoming lost in the catharsis of it all, even though I knew I’d have to cut my draft way, way back to suit the format of a magazine.

Self-consciously, I sent that first draft to my clandestine friend who helped get Ara out. I wanted to make sure I didn’t share too many sensitive details or any information that might get anyone in trouble, but I also nervously awaited his overall feedback. I thought maybe he would be able to decipher a theme in my writing that would better help me structure the next draft.

“The main thing that comes through to me,” he ended up telling me, “is how much all of this has impacted you. I don’t mean to sound sexist at all, but women just give so much. They give and give and give.”

This friend pointed out, in his profession, he has been trained for, and receives support for such operations, whereas I do not. And I think he is wise enough to worry about what my husband has seen first hand and that my mother and mother-in-law understand all too well: that in serving others, we can lose ourselves.

Perhaps I lost myself in trying to help. I’ve gone from feeling the highest of highs when I could help someone, to the lowest of lows when I could not. When the stakes are so extreme, emotions can be equally intense, and there have been days when I’ve struggled to pull myself out of bed, when dealing with the many needs of my young children has felt like an impossible weight on top of everything else. But I’ve fought my way back from that by doing the things I’ve learned to help keep my head straight: not shunning negative emotions but owning and working through them, establishing and sticking to routines when I need them, eating well, exercising, and reaching out to others for support, but also knowing just to give myself some time and grace. So often we give these things away in spades, yet save none for ourselves.

I know I lost myself for a while. I gave my mind, body, and soul over so completely to what I’d argue is the worthiest of causes—trying to help save lives. But I know now it was dangerous to leave so little of myself for myself, and hurtful, for a time, to both my husband and kids to have nothing left for them. These were important lessons.

Today, I would argue that sometimes in losing ourselves, we find ourselves, too. We find our limits and our guardrails, and if we are lucky, we realize that to be the best advocate we can be for others, we need to find our own balance. We learn that we need to fight as hard for ourselves as we do for others. Over time, our lives change and so may our causes, and maybe the experience of losing ourselves is what informs us going forward. But the realization of finding yourself again on the other side can serve as a guiding light to always bring you back home.

While it has been more than a year since the Taliban has ruled Afghanistan, this storyteller continues to lend her skills and experience to families who want to leave Afghanistan.

Barb Chan

Barb Chan is the founder of Koolooks

BULLIES, LISTEN UP: BARB CHAN HAS HAD ENOUGH. AND SHE HAS THOUSANDS OF WOMEN AROUND THE GLOBE BACKING HER UP WITH ALL OF THEIR DIFFERENT CULTURES AND INDIVIDUALISM.

“Stick with your own kind.”

The words branded me with shame.

I had done it. I exposed my secret crush on a boy, and the humiliation that followed was scathing. The bully was an athletic, pug-nosed girl with pigtails. She was my tormentor, the reason why I dreaded sixth grade. She would always say, “What’s wrong with your face,” pull her eyelids up at the corners to make them appear slanted, and flatten her nose with her finger. It was mortifying.

I was the only Asian girl, the smallest, skinniest, most flat chested girl in my class. The bully reminded me every day that I didn’t belong. But that day, for just one moment, I forgot that I wasn’t one of them. I let my guard down.

The girls were huddled together, giggling and whispering about boys that they were crushing on. As they were babbling, I got swept up in the moment. Before my self-sabotage filter could kick in, the words bubbled out of my mouth.

“I have a crush on…Tom!” And like the sting of a whip, the bully’s words were swift and punitive, “Stick with your own kind.”

Aliens were not allowed in the popular white girls’ club. Aliens were not pretty enough, or good enough to be on their planet at all. I was an alien.

In those days, the nuns didn’t play. If you misbehaved, you would be roughly pulled aside, or slapped hard on the face. One day, my mom got fed up and told the nuns about the bully. I guess they really let her have it, because she toned it down. But I was still never invited to her birthday parties, or included in games at recess. When she showed up at my birthday parties, I felt honored, but my mother would give her the evil eye. My mother was no shrinking violet, she had that Asian dragon-lady mom temper that no one wanted to mess with. It wasn’t until years later, that I learned my fierce mom was also bullied at work. Her nurse colleague called Asian people “Chinks”, and a foul-tempered doctor once called her a “Stupid Chinaman”. Growing up in Idaho, 84 miles south of a white supremacist community in the 1960s, was pretty rough on a Chinese-American family.

Junior High was where hierarchies were born. There were desirables, invisibles, and everyone else in between. The invisibles were those who skulked down the hall, hoping not to be noticed, or slammed up against lockers and given painful wedgies. I had two real friends in junior high, and I was an invisible. My survival manual included not getting noticed by rednecks and getting called the “C” word. I found my solace in reading books, drawing, writing short stories, and excelling in school. I hand-illustrated all my written reports to get extra credit. Yeah, I was the quintessential Asian nerd.

Despite how I tried to be inconspicuous, there was a mean girl I’ll refer to as Bully2. She glared at me every time I walked by, narrowing her eyes as if I were the most despicable creature. She wore thick, black, smudgy eyeliner that made her look ghoulish, and she had long stringy hair. She hung out at the school gate everyday, cherry-picking her next victims. One evening, she cornered me at the local movie theater and started screaming, “Chink” and “Ching Chong Chinaman,” and “ Go back to your own country,” even though we were born in the same hospital in the same town. I buried my face in my hands and cried as my pretty blonde friend stood by helplessly.

One of the most defining moments of my life came when I saw Bully2 mistreating my friend, “S”. S was mercilessly bullied for her acne. They called her “Pizza Face,” and “Pepperoni Face.” I honestly don’t know how she survived puberty. During PE class, Bully2 picked up S’s sneakers and threw them in the trash. When I saw her do that, something in me snapped. I got so angry, I yelled, “Stop it! Stop picking on my friend!”

Well, that did it, I was as good as dead. But that was the turning point in my life when I went from victim to fighter.

A week later, Bully2 found me in the locker room and beat the crap out of me. But for the first time in my life, I fought back. I kicked and swung as hard as I could, mostly swinging at the air, but it felt good that the little hurt girl  wasn’t going to take it anymore. I have my friend’s sneakers to thank for that pivotal moment.

I was 12 years old when my father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. He was a professor of mining and metallurgy at the University of Idaho. Life became increasingly difficult as the tremors worsened, and he could barely drive us to school. One day, one of my dad’s colleagues said to my mom, “Look at him, he can barely speak. Why is he here?”

Weeks later, the new Dean circulated a bulletin announcing my dad’s retirement. It totally blindsided him. He went home with his head hanging and went to bed. The shame of a forced retirement caused such anguish to my parents. It was the end of a dream for my mom, who grew up the “invisible” girl child in China. She became a caregiver in her thirties, and worked night shifts to help put four kids through college. In my junior year, mom urged me to transfer from The University of Idaho to the University of Arizona, where I got my degree in graphic design. Soon after, she packed up two station wagons and moved the remainder of our family to California. We never returned to Idaho.

The impact of my dad’s illness hit me years later when I realized how much it changed the course of our lives. He was the heartbeat of our family. My hero. But after he got sick, it was my mom who became our superhero.

“ Life twists, but one thing I do know, strong women are forged when they are most expected to crumble. ”

My twenties and thirties were a blur of adventures and self discovery. I felt like a caged bird who had been set free. If Facebook had existed, you would have seen me flying “the friendly skies” as a flight attendant, riding camels in Cairo, discovering secret tunnels under the Louvre, featured in TWA commercials, cast in a little musical called South Pacific, owning my own modeling agency, and traveling the world with the models.

I discovered a passion for empowering young women, especially those who needed a little extra support and encouragement. We were an international modeling agency based in St. Louis. I scouted, developed, and promoted local models for commercial and editorial bookings and placements in New York, Chicago, Miami, Japan, Spain, Milan, South Africa, and many other markets. It was an industry that monetized young girls and their hip sizes. But the lack of opportunities for models of color in the 90s was daunting. As an agent, I had to navigate which girls could work in which markets. Some markets were not open to models of color at all. It felt so unfair, but it was a reality I had been accustomed to.

A wonderful therapist once told me that the pain, self deprecation, shame, and insecurities that I harbored all of my life were okay to feel. We are allowed to feel our pain, our disappointments, our hurts. It all belongs to us, and it is a part of our journey. We acknowledge that it’s there, and stop apologizing.

In my youth, I wanted to be anyone, but myself. The journey to self love started when I learned to love the part of myself that hurt the most. During one of our sessions, I was asked if I loved my younger self. To my heartbreak and dismay, I was unable to say “yes.” It took a lot of effort and tears for me to get there. If you are reading this, sisters, please tell your younger self, “I love you, little…(your name)”

I love you, little Barb.

I sold HR services for a while—a huge jump from my former profession. I called on C-level executives and sold a complex and expensive suite of services. It was a tough sell. But the best part of my job was working with entrepreneurs and founders and hearing their stories. I admired how they solved problems, created jobs, and empowered people through social, financial, and technical innovation. They were making a difference in the world.

It was always within me, the passion, creativity, and optimism to take risks. When I left the corporate world, it was a relief. I didn’t miss the forced-fun cocktail parties, the happy hours where no one stopped at two drinks, or the occasional unwelcome grope that many women like me endured. I didn’t miss the ‘good ole boys’ club, or the VP of Sales telling us to “stand on a desk, throw a rope over the beam and hang ourselves” if we didn’t make our numbers. Life is too short to live someone else’s dream.

2016 was the year that hate speech, bullying, racism, and discrimination became toxic on social media. The lack of respect for women was blatant and demoralizing. Even Instagram ifluencers were framing objectification as empowerment, which led to young women developing eating disorders, body dysmorphia, depression, and anxiety. 2016 was also the year that the first curated women’s mobile application that empowered women was launched. It was a voting and encouragement app where women uploaded two images and got votes and feedback from the community. Features were built into the app to drive diversity, inclusion, belonging, kindness, and culture. It was the first app of its kind to ban bullies and people who were not there in the right spirit. Thousands of women globally came together to celebrate fashion, beauty, style, creativity, culture, individualism, and their stories. We were a magnet initially for the Instagram crowd, but became so much more about women having a safe space where they could feel loved and accepted for who they are. Koolooks was born from the pain of racism, bullying, hatred, and misogyny, and it bloomed into a movement of sisterhood and belonging. Sometimes the most beautiful blessings come from the deepest pain. In creating Koolooks, I found my own sense of purpose and humanity.

When people ask me about Koolooks, my 30-second elevator pitch goes out the window. I can’t stop gushing about the world’s most wonderful community of women. Influencers with kohl-lined eyes in bejeweled saris, advocating for homeless dogs, Muslim sisters, veiled in hijabs, going for their masters degrees, Ukrainian girls proud and defiant, waving their blue and gold in the face of tyranny, Ghanaian designers illuminating our fashion feed in bold, brilliant plumage, Swedish schoolgirls modeling their prom dresses, kindergarten teachers, artists, doctors, lawyers, architects, vegans, mothers, sisters, friends. Women. Sharing. The common denominator: kindness.

Studies show that being kind to ourselves and others boosts happiness, and happiness improves health. The very essence of Koolooks is to lead with kindness and compassion, and make the world a better place, one vote, one encouraging comment, one person at a time.

So how does a technology-led platform achieve this goal? The magic lies in having an elegant software solution, a passionate, selfless team, a kind and loving community, and influencers that execute on the vision of our culture. Our community has become a lifeline for many, and a safe, genuine space where women feel deep, meaningful connections.

Small businesses are the hardest-hit sectors during the pandemic, so in order to ensure our survival, I pivoted our business model in 2020. Our infrastructure can now be customized and implemented for any enterprise company to help meet their community goals. One of the best companies in America is currently engaged with Koolooks to implement our software solution for their women’s empowerment department. With all of these amazing opportunities on our horizon, I am thrilled about the opportunities created for the amazing women and influencers on my team. These women, who originally joined our community looking for affirmation, belonging, and kindness, are now leaders and influencers that foster love and hope in other women. We truly believe that in uplifting and helping others, we uplift and help ourselves. Kudos to all women who rise above hatred and oppression to help pave the way for future generations. Let’s do this, Sisters. We rock!

Go to your mobile device right now and download Koolooks and join the movement.

Lisa Carlin

Photo: Ladybug Photography Dress: Strand, The Boutique

FOR LISA CARLIN, FIGHTING BREAST CANCER WAS ABOUT ADDING PURPOSE AND COLOR TO EVERY MOMENT WITH HER FAMILY, EVERY MOMENT IN TREATMENT, EVERY MOMENT SHE HEALED. HER NEW SHOE LINE, POPPIES WITH PURPOSE, INJECTS THAT COLOR AND PURPOSE INTO EVERY PRETTY STEP YOU TAKE.

I was 37.

Who gets breast cancer at 37?

Apparently me.

This was 10 years ago and I had just decided after many years as a working professional, that I wanted to stay home with my two girls who were 2 and 4 at the time. I loved my job working in the commercial interior design and architecture industry. I was surrounded and inspired by creative, talented, smart and fun people every single day. My career was a big piece of my identity. My husband had taken a new job two years earlier when our youngest daughter, Lyla was born. It wasn’t just a job, it was a new way of life for our family because he started working nights. His hours were completely opposite of ours. He started work at 6 p.m. and crawled into bed at 5 a.m. He loved it but we were two ships passing in the night with our opposite schedules, all while trying to raise our two young daughters, juggle childcare and the hustle of daily city-living in Boston. Life just got too busy and hectic so we decided it was time for me to just be mom. I recall worrying about stepping away from my career, and a dear friend at work said “you will never look back and regret taking time to be with your girls. You will regret not taking it.” It was the best decision I made. They were 2.5 and 4.5 at the time, summer was just starting and everyday was our day. “How long should we stay at the park today? Which park did we want to visit? Do we get in the car (no!) to run errands? Should we skip dinner and get ice cream?” Oh, what I’d do to go back to those days. Life was way less hectic. Life was good. We loved our new routine.

Like anything that changes the direction of your life, you never forget the moment it happens. It was January 2013, I started noticing a random discomfort feeling in my right breast. It continued on for a few weeks and then one day I felt a knot, about the size of a pencil eraser head. Seemed strange. I made my husband feel it to make sure I wasn’t imagining it and he casually said, “go get it checked out. It’s probably nothing, but it can’t hurt.” THANK GOODNESS I listened ( I don’t always!). I was able to get a doctor appointment within a few days but it wasn’t with my primary care doctor, who I loved. I saw another female doctor in the practice and I’ll never forget her name, Dr. Rhonda Rockett. To this day, I believe she saved my life and may not even know it, but I do and I am so grateful! I vividly remember Lyla, my youngest daughter, was with me at that doctor appointment. She was sitting in the guest chair sucking on her lollipop, not a worry in the world for a 2.5 year old. I wasn’t worried either until Dr. Rockett said, “You know what, let’s not mess around here. I want you to go get a mammogram.”

“What!? Ummmmm, I am only 37. I exercise. I eat healthy (most of the time). I get my sleep. I drink caffeine and alcohol in moderation. I am doing all the things I am supposed to be doing. Age 40 is when I am supposed to have a mammogram done, not now. ”

Well, ok, I thought, she’s totally being cautious. That’s what a doctor should do. So, I pulled my thoughts together, while staring at Lyla with her lollipop and said, “Ok. I can get a mammogram, no problem. When?” Tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. Wow. She was not messing around. UGH!

Remember how I said my husband worked nights? Well, any morning appointment required finding help when it came to the girls, since he slept until 11 a.m. I was not too worried about this appointment. I’ve got this. No need to come with me. I’ll get help with the girls and I’ll just go by myself. How bad could the mammogram be?!

That morning, I remember walking into the waiting room and I was by far, the youngest woman there by at least 20 years. I felt like I should have been there with my mom or my grandma. But I was there for me and started to really let my head go down a dark hole with all the “what if’s.” I managed to pull myself out of this for a moment, but two mammograms done, original and then a redo, I was now being walked into the outpatient surgery room for a biopsy with the head oncologist. Now, I was scared—terrified actually. What did all of this mean? There was a cluster of cells on the imagery that they wanted to explore closer. Now, I did wish my mom or husband had come with me.

Naturally, this all happened on a Friday and they told me I’d hear back the following week. “The following week?!” What?! Are you kidding? How do I go about my life after 4 hours of scans and biopsies? So I waited for the results. Saturday turned to Sunday, into Monday. They were long days of mindless worrying. We got through the weekend, which happened to be our 9th wedding anniversary. We mustered the energy to go out to a nice dinner and tried to celebrate. The night is still clear as day, I recall thinking, “Whatever this is, we are going to get through it.” Well, that Monday afternoon, we were out at the park, per our usual routine, and I got the phone call from the doctor. The biopsy confirmed, I had breast cancer.

Silence.

My husband and I just looked at each other and then at our girls and started crying. I instantly thought I was going to die. How can this be happening!? My head was swirling. At that moment, I happened to be with one of my dearest friends, who works in the medical field. She immediately sprang into action and reached out to some trusted doctors she knew and asked, “who would you send your wife to if she was diagnosed with cancer?” Three of the 5 doctors came back immediately with the same name, Dr. Barbara Smith. She specialized in women under 40. I never win raffles or scratch tickets, but I can now say I won the lottery finding Dr. Smith because I am here, sharing my story, and getting to watch my daughters turn 13 and 15 this spring.

Meeting with Dr. Smith and her team at MGH was where the real journey began. It was truly drinking from a fire hose with all the information coming at us. It honestly felt like they were speaking a different language. They were but it was their language that they knew very well. We were now along for the ride and putting all trust (aka my life) in their hands. Where do we start?

We started with the conversation around a mastectomy to truly see how much the cancer cells were traveling. “How can this be my life?” I remember thinking. I was just having the most wonderful days hanging with my girls at the park, feeling like life was good. Now six months later, I am discussing taking my boobs off with no known outcome and maybe a discovery that I don’t want to know about inside. All I kept thinking about was why the hell would I want to go through with another surgery like this if there’s a chance it could come back on the other side. DONE. Take both. I don’t want to worry about this again. But wait, I am still young and want to wear bathing suits, dresses, and feel like a lady. So many conflicting emotions and hard decisions to make. How do I explain to my 2.5 and 4.5 year-old girls that I was heading to hospital for surgery and won’t see them for a few days let alone be able to lift them for weeks. My heart was melting. Thankfully, we had so much help from family and friends, they didn’t miss us for a second. Cancer is a horrible toxin that invades the body yet ironically brings out the very best in most people.

Surgery day arrived. It was an early morning in April and I was quiet and very nervous. The hospital was cold. My husband was right by my side, like he always was. I, on the other hand, was facing my reality. “What are they going to find? Did it spread? What am I going to feel like after my surgery and what will my body look like? What the hell was this cancer doing? Was it spreading? What if they don’t get it all? When will I be able to exercise again? Will I run again? When can I hold my girls and take them to the park?” My mind was spinning as I was rolled into surgery.

BOOM.

“I woke up in recovery and realized that I couldn’t really move. I was bandaged so tight. Six hours had passed. There was my husband, right next to me keeping our families in the know throughout the whole ordeal and what a freaking ordeal this was. ”

Someone I had connected with, who also had very young children and also had a double mastectomy, told me she left the hospital and checked into a hotel for a few days so she could rest and heal. The minute my mom got wind of that idea, she made it happen. She took care of the girls in our small city home and sent us to the Four Seasons. I know I am lucky that I was able to recover there, but all I remember from the first two nights was the most excruciating pain ever waking me up in the middle of the night. Pain so intense it brought tears to my eyes. Plus I had tubes literally sewn into the sides of my body to drain all of the fluids. It was pain like I have never felt before. Those few days were really tough. The highlight of each day was my girls coming over to swim in the hotel pool, while I sat and watched. Thankfully, life was great for them and they didn’t really miss a beat.

Now we wait for the result of the pathology report from the surgery. It felt like an eternity, and it was not what I expected to hear. The cancer had spread to two of the five lymph nodes they took out of my armpits which meant it was super aggressive and moving fast. “What was happening? What the hell does this mean now?” Chemo. That’s what it means. This was the moment I remember feeling so defeated. I sobbed and sobbed and said it out loud, “I don’t want to die. I just can’t. Not now!” There was my husband, holding me together.

It was not long after this moment, I had to dig deep and figure out how to find strength to move forward. I swear those little girls, my incredible family and friends got me through that dark time. I had no choice but to keep going. And that’s what I did—for them.That was when I decided I was going to wear my pink ballet flats to chemo. I was going to pull myself together, so that even when I was losing my hair and eventually bald, I still felt like I was powering through this really dark time in my life. Little did I know that 10 years later those pink ballet flats would inspire a brand with meaning and purpose that I can share with so many going through cancer treatment, and help bring people together during a very tough time. My wish is that every pair of Poppies with Purpose shoes will help carry every cancer fighter through their dark clouds and bring them a bright spot. Everyone deserves it.

The chemo journey started off with a bang. IVs with fluids to hydrate me, Benadryl to help with any reaction, and then the red devil called AC. It was red, I peed red after it was done. The bag itself said “hazardous” on it. I remember thinking, “Well this is not good.” It knocked me on my feet. This became my full-time job because I’d be at the hospital sometimes for four to six hours. I always had someone with me, usually my husband, but for those eight doses I received every other week, I was never alone. My mother did what she does best. She quilted the most perfect lap quilt for me to take to the hospital because it was always so cold. The best part was that the quilt fabric was actually my grandmother’s “duster” that she wore around the house, wearing her curlers, drinking her coffee. Little did I know that quilt would inspire the name of Poppies with Purpose. It was a bright, cheerful pattern with bright orange poppies. I just loved it and still use it today.

Chemo brought the highs and lows, but we figured out the final meds combination so the nausea diminished after each treatment and so did my hair. That was tough especially because I had long, dark, thick-ish hair that I loved. It was part of who I was. My girls loved brushing it. Clare, our oldest, loved to sit and braid it. It started to fall out in clumps after the second chemo session. I knew then it was time to invest in a wig especially because we had two family weddings that fall and I did not want to show up looking like ‘the cancer patient.’ So, I enlisted my all time favorite hair stylist, Tim, to shave my head surrounded by family. We all cried! I have to say, I did get the best wig and I still have it and see it everyday in my closet. It is a part of me and my life that changed me to the core. I can’t quite part with it, not sure why. Chemo lasted all summer and we all got into a routine with it. I wore a lot of big floppy hats to hide my bald head, but sometimes I’d just be bald and in my bathing suit on the beach with my girls. I got a lot of “pity looks,” but you know what, I smiled and thought, “I am ok and I am here.”

I was never happier to be done with the chemo journey, but what I wasn’t expecting was how long the radiation would be. Six weeks, five days a week was harder for me than every other week of intense IVs. I really struggled with it! Again, I had no choice but to power through it. My sister-in-law and I would sometimes put the kids in the stroller and walk or even jog, if I was up for it, to radiation. Yes, sounds crazy I know, but it helped me so much getting any amount of exercise in, especially going there.

I am such a believer in people showing up in your life for reasons bigger than we may ever know. Much like the mammogram moment, I too was one of the younger people in the radiation room. Until one day when I met a girl younger than me. Her name was Jen and we ended up on the same radiation schedule so I would see her a lot. She was such a bright light with her beautiful smile and energy. We always compared notes about what was working on our terribly scorched skin and juggling our own health while trying to raise our daughters. We got to know each other through that time and continued to stay in touch.

Jen passed away.

That was truly a defining moment that I felt like I needed to bring Poppies with Purpose to people like Jen’s daughter, who could put on a pair of pink shoes, think of her mom, and hopefully in time find a smile instead of tears in her memory.

Cancer really does suck. It’s so hard, it’s so messy, it’s emotionally and physically draining to the patient and everyone in their support system. If Poppies with Purpose can help brighten someone’s day on their tough journey and make an impact on the world of research, then I have found my bigger purpose during a really dark spot. It is time to make more rainbows, one colorful shoe at a time.

With color and purpose,

Lisa

Michelle Schuman

Michelle Schuman

MICHELLE WAS ALWAYS CONNECTED TO NATURE AND ITS HEALING POWER. IT WAS THE SOLITUDE AND CALMING AROMAS OF ALASKA THAT ALLOWED HER TO HEAL AFTER LOSING THE LOVE OF HER LIFE.

In the distance, the Bendeleben Mountains disappeared into a memory as the angry, black clouds bled rivers of rain while winds shook the small plane. Our pilot, struggling against the controls, was quiet and focused on his instruments as we bounced up and down and side to side. I dared to look at Pete, my coworker from Palmer, as he held my hand. He whispered, “It will be ok.”

This was not my first rodeo flying in bad weather while working as a range scientist for the USDA, but this storm blew up fast and strong. My brain would not quiet as the words screamed inside my head, “Rick this was why. This was why. I love you.”

For months I had this foreboding that shadowed my excitement to see my husband. Finally, when Rick stepped from the gateway into the Anchorage Airport terminal, in May of 1983, I felt nothing but pure joy. Dressed in hiking boots and jeans, his wavy brown hair streaked with blonde, the dimples of his smile calmed my anticipation. And when I saw that familiar twinkle in his gray eyes, I ran to him and held him tight.

It had been nearly a year since I, too, had stepped into that same gateway and terminal in the Anchorage Airport. My subconscious convinced me that the short separation would be worthwhile in pursuit of our long-term dreams. After 4 years and many sacrifices, we now had an opportunity to have our careers not only in the same state, but the same city. I was thrilled, and yet worried with my second field season soon approaching.

I remember that weekend in April of 1979 visiting a girlfriend in Spokane. I was full of doubts and misgivings when I nearly called off our wedding. Rick was my soul mate and yet, I had to choose. Why? Did I not earn my path to have the man I loved and the career I earned?

At the age of 4, I announced to my parents that I was going to be a big game veterinarian. For years, that dream never faltered, no matter the obstacles and challenges that stood in my way, including my parents. Throughout my childhood, they reminded me I was on my own after high school graduation. They had no inclination to help their oldest daughter go to college.

When I found my mother standing amongst the remains of my pink papier mâché “piggy bank” coins scattered on the floor, she declared, “Your father does not leave me enough money to feed you kids.” On her knees, she gathered the coins into her apron and left the bedroom I shared with my sister.

Standing there, fighting against the tears, I picked up a piece of the pink papier mâché with the letters C O L L in gold glitter. College was my dream and even by the age of 12, I was willing to sacrifice anything to accomplish that dream. It was unfortunate my mother, intelligent and witty, used alcohol to diminish her desires. As I looked at the broken pieces on the floor, it was not just the piggy bank she shattered; it was also my heart.

On the good days my mom was known among the neighborhood kids as the cool mom. Although our home was cramped and tiny as a matchbox, it did not matter to us kids. There were no walls outside and the changing seasons simply broadened our playground. As spring brought warmth, Mom would throw my older brother, me, and my younger sister into our old brown

Chevy station wagon and take us fishing. She could sit for hours along the shore, her line in the water, a cigarette hanging from her ruby red lips, with distant eyes in a faraway place. As I glanced at her, she looked content and at peace with her hauntings. It made me smile.

I inherited her love of nature but not her patience. Rather than fish, I would explore the basalt cliffs, climbing the fractured pillars splattered with yellow and orange algae. It was rare not to see a deer or a rabbit. If I was lucky, I would find a snake snoozing in the warmth of the sand.

During the bad days, when depression and alcohol weighed my mother down, it was the smell of sage and the calling of the meadowlark that brought me peace. I would grab my bike and Jingles, my dog and faithful companion, and ride as fast as I could to the vast open fields of sagebrush. There, safe with Jingles at my side, I spent hours in the solitude of nature.

In the summer night, to drown out the alcohol-fueled anger, I slept outside on the cool, green grass under the glittering stars, making a wish for every star that sliced through the dark night, only to be swallowed by the darkness.

My life changed when I met Rick in the summer of 1976. I was offered a work study job through Washington State University with the U.S. Forest Service, in the Blue Mountains of Oregon. Neither myself nor my new co-worker Jan, also in work study and going to WSU, had a vehicle. Although the nearest town was an hour away, we had no problem finding interesting things to do and see in this wonderland of forest, rivers, and mountains. As recreational technicians, it was our job to maintain the dozen or so remote campgrounds scattered throughout the Malheur Forest.

After a long day cleaning outhouses and picking up human trash–and diapers–in fire pits, in outhouses, stuffed in garbage cans, all I wanted was a long, hot shower. I exited the passenger side of our two-ton truck filled with garbage and walked to the rear to unload our stinky cargo. What happened to Jan? It was then that I noticed her leaning against the truck, a grin on her porcelain face, staring. I followed her gaze to the ranger station where a dozen or so smoke jumpers were doing calisthenics, sweat glistening on their shirtless bodies.

I only noticed one guy, lean and muscular with light brown hair and smiling. Jan looked at me, “What about your rule?” “What rule?” I answered. That night I found out his name was Rick.

Amongst the thousands of acres of wilderness, Rick and I found each other. He grew up 40 miles from my home town in Washington State and he was studying pre-med at WSU. He was 6 years older than me, loved the outdoors, was smart, funny, and athletic.

No, there was never any doubt of our love or marriage. But when I was offered a wildlife biologist position in Montana after I graduated, I saw no reason not to accept the job. Rick had changed his major for a third time and he insisted he could only get his PhD in engineering at WSU. Not Montana State University. I wanted to get married and I wanted the job, and Rick could still get his graduate degree in engineering. What was the problem?

After a weekend of soul searching and my mom’s admonishment of my selfishness, I gave in.

One question I am frequently asked: “Do I regret anything?”

The answer is always the same. I regret turning down the job in Montana. I am convinced if I had only insisted, maybe even demanded, that we move to Montana after we got married, our future would have been the one we planned: kids, grandkids, and traveling the world. Or would it? That is the problem with regrets. We do not really know.

We got married on May 26, 1979, and moved to Pullman, Washington. Rick had a research assistant position which helped supplement the income from my jobs. He decided against the Ph.D. a few months into the program, allowing his insecurities of not being perfect, get the better of him. I was pissed, not at him but at myself, because I did not stand up for myself. When Rick graduated from Washington State University with a Master’s in engineering in 1981, he accepted an engineering position with Chevron in Concord, California.

California, and the job offer, became a long and heated discussion. This time, I did stand up for myself as an equal partner in our marriage. Rick explained to Chevron the terms of our agreement in acceptance of his employment. Chevron agreed to find his wife a position in the environmental department.

While Rick went to work every day, I was left with the burden of taking care of the tasks required when moving to a new city. After months had passed, and no word about my career, my patience had reached the tipping point as my life became filled with the domestic chores of an urban wife in an urban environment. I became a nag, asking my husband when was my interview for this promised position!

Without any confirmation of this so-called job of mine, I did what I thought I should do: I showed up at his place of work asking to see my husband. I had no idea security would not allow that. A few minutes later Rick, embarrassed more than angered, after being summoned to see his wife in the waiting area, looked at me.

“Really, I need security clearance to bring my husband lunch?” I smiled as I held up a paper bag. He kissed my cheek and said he would talk to his boss.

As more months passed, fearing for my sanity in this noisy human-created cement ecosystem, I gave up on Chevron’s promises and excuses. Rick was extremely busy with his various projects, requiring travel to offshore oil platforms so he was rarely home. Although Rick was apologetic and sympathetic in my yearning to begin my career, I learned at a very young age to never depend on anyone for something I wanted.

I said yes to a temporary position in Carson City, Nevada, with the Bureau of Land Management tracking wild horses. The field position required me to work 4 ten-hour days, which meant I had long weekends. It allowed me to visit Rick in Concord and when Rick was not working in the field, an opportunity for a romantic rendezvous in Lake Tahoe or to explore the natural world of the Sierra Mountains. It was perfect and a financial boost. Rick found a smaller, less expensive apartment and I scored on a living arrangement in Carson City. I paid $5 a night for a room when I was there.

The job was heaven. During the day, I followed different herds of wild horses, recording the size of the herd and notes on each of the horses: gender, age, and behavior. Watching these magnificent free animals, I was drawn to this beautiful white stallion, his head high, running behind his herd. He gave me hope. I could not imagine what they endured, surviving in some of the harshest environments in the world.

Near the end of the day, I would throw my dinner wrapped in foil on the truck engine and by the time I would stop for the night, I had a hot meal. At first, I was nervous throwing my sleeping bag on the ground, but eventually that is where I slept, watching  sunsets melt into clear night skies while stars danced as if choreographed with the music of coyotes howling in the distance. In the morning, the luminous orange of the sunrise welcomed me to the new day.

One afternoon before leaving for the field, I received a call from the human resources assistant with USDA in Anchorage, Alaska. She was asking me if I was available for a temporary range scientist position. I vaguely remembered selecting Alaska, along with several other states, on my application with the federal job registrar before Rick accepted the position in California. That was how I got the job in Carson City, but federal jobs in 1982 in the natural resources field were scarce.

During the conversation, I got the distinct impression the HR assistant was holding something back, a feeling I could not quite explain. They wanted me to start July 1, which was only a month away. As Rick and I discussed the options, one fact stood out: Chevron had an office in Anchorage. Although a temporary position, it would allow us to check out Alaska, a place we had planned to visit. We felt the opportunity was our destiny, so we said yes.

After flying all night, I arrived in Anchorage with a backpack and a duffel bag. The government did not pay for travel relocation for temporary employees, one of the many disadvantages of seasonal and temporary positions.

That feeling and the hesitancy of the human resources woman became clear when I was introduced to my supervisor. A touch neurotic with a complete lack of common sense or empathy, he insisted I leave immediately for the field camp. Before I left, the HR assistant apologized to me, guilt obvious in her eyes. “It’s okay,” I lied.

Once I landed in Nome, I followed the directions given to me by someone other than my supervisor, to the plane charter, Bering Air. Thank the stars they knew where the field camp was, because I certainly did not. We landed in a snowstorm on a dirt road in the vastness of nowhere, my home for the next 8 weeks. When the guy I was replacing showed me my tent, I realized instantly, this would be one of the many challenges this position would present to me. There was no door and the olive-green mummy sleeping bag was older than me. The feathers sticking out of the worn seams blowing in the breeze. This was an all-male camp and they had made their first move.

“Boys, boys, I accept your challenge. Let the games begin,” I muttered as I found the foot path to the outhouse, the sun-bleached caribou antlers sitting upon the tripod of driftwood, easily marking the location.

Walking back to my tent I could feel my body awaken from the inside out. The cool, fresh breeze cleansed my lungs. I stood still and with closed eyes concentrated on the silence. As I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but the sheer beauty of nature. My soul had been touched. I remembered the defiance in the eyes of the white stallion as he refused to be corralled during a round up and now, I understood. His soul belonged to nature, not to man.

Summer was over as the colors of the tundra changed from green to brilliant reds and snow dusted the mountains. On our last night in Nome, we were celebrating the end of my first field season with beers at the Board of Trade, when my crewmate announced I had won the bet.

I took a sip of the cold beer and remembered how close it came for me to sweet-talk my helicopter pilot for a ride back to Nome. It would have been so much easier to walk away from the world of testosterone and go back to my husband. All hell broke loose in our camp less than a day after my supervisor showed up. The tension this man caused was mind-blowing.

The bet was not only if I could handle working and living in a field camp. The bet was whether I could put up with the man who was my supervisor. At the time, or maybe it was the beer, I replied, “Well hell, he’s not the first cowboy with insecurity issues. Bring it on and get me another beer.”

Holding hands, Rick and I walked to my car outside the Anchorage Airport. Rick stopped, “Wow, look at those Mountains.” He looked at me and winked before getting into the car.

Since Rick was on a temporary assignment, Chevron approved us to stay in the company’s two-bedroom apartment, a step up from mine and in a better location to both our offices. I was thrilled to find out his co-worker, and a friend of ours from the California office, would join us at the end of May. He was also on a short-term assignment and would provide Rick someone to do things with while I was in the field.

To celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary, we camped in Denali National Park. It was magical, eating s’mores and drinking champagne while enjoying the midnight sun. Spring in the Interior happens quickly as waterfowl streak across the sky and moose and grizzly gorge on the newly sprouted vegetation in the understory. It is a time of rebirth and replenishment in nature.

Our life became routine, as if the year we were apart never existed. We spent weekends exploring trails, and Rick joined a softball league. But when the ice disappeared from the lakes, Rick was ecstatic to find out that windsurfing was a very popular sport in the Anchorage area. He bought a used windsurfer and we spent nights and weekends at the nearby lakes as he patiently taught me how to windsurf. And then it happened. The day finally arrived for my departure for my second summer on the Seward Peninsula.

Rick soothed my fears and tried to ease my anxiety. He thought it was the pressure I put on myself, finalizing the details of managing a remote field camp for 8 weeks, not to mention, the implementation of a multi-million-acre vegetation and soil survey. But that feeling deep in my gut tugged at my heart. He made me laugh when he said, “If you are not home for a break in 4 weeks, I am chartering a plane to get you.”

He promised me he would be careful. I turned to look at him before walking down the gateway. With watery eyes and his hands in his jean pockets, he smiled.

As the small plane shook with each blast of the wind, I squeezed my eyes shut. Concentrating, I focused my thoughts on Rick, needing him to hear me, to know how much I loved and cherished him. I was so completely in my own thoughts I did not hear Pete screaming in my ear, “Michelle, Michelle, look–the Bering Sea. We made it!”

We didn’t crash. I beat it! We beat it! Rick was right. Everything will be okay. Well, except for Pete’s tent as it blew across the tarmac in a direct trajectory for the Bering Sea. I remarked, “Maybe a dome tent is not the best choice.”

Upon our arrival in Nome the week before, my supervisor informed us he had errands to do. My co-workers who were accustomed to his antics, in unison said to me, “It’s better he is not around.”

A week later, the day before our fixed-wing nearly dropped out of the sky, my supervisor arrived in a chartered aircraft with his young son. There was no explanation as to where he had been for the last 2 weeks, and he said nothing about our new guest, as if this was a normal occurrence.

As the soil scientists abandoned me for their week off, I had spent a frustrating day with my supervisor in hellacious weather. The pilot was losing his patience with this man’s lack of safety. My gut was on fire with anxiety. The next day, I informed my supervisor I had work to do in camp. I winked at the pilot and whispered, “Just remember you are in charge.”

Then the world that I knew ended.

A few hours later, Ruth, our cheerful Yupik cook, yelled that we had a visitor in camp. Standing next to her was an older man from the nearest village, his black hair covered with dust. He had ridden his three-wheeler from Elim. The sadness on Ruth’s face could not be masked. I didn’t even notice that the helicopter mechanic was frantically hooking up the battery for the radio phone. Our only communication to the outside world.

“What’s wrong?”

The small man, with the weathered brown face, explained there was an emergency for me. And then I heard chatter on the radio as our mechanic called me over, giving me the receiver. A man’s voice said my husband’s name followed by the word accident and then two words I could not comprehend.

I clicked the button, “This is Michelle, over.” Silence, then click, “Michelle your husband was in a car accident. I am sorry, but he died during surgery.” Click. I dropped the receiver as Ruth caught me and the mechanic caught the receiver.

I needed air and ran outside. The walls were closing in on me.

The sea was tumultuous, the color of deep sapphire fringed with brilliant white as the waves crashed against the sandy shore. The noise was deafening, but I welcomed it as I did not want to hear myself think. The salt spray lingered on my face as I got closer and closer. I knew I needed to breathe but how could I? Why would I?

I screamed at the stormy heavens above, “You fucked up! You were supposed to take me! Not him.”

Exhausted, I sat on the desolate strip of beach, shivering.

The mechanic sat next to me as he wrapped my coat around me.

I found out later from Ruth that the Agency refused to send a charter to pick me up even after the mechanic relayed to them that there was no response from the helicopter. He was screaming at them over the radio phone. Throughout this conversation, Bering Air made arrangements to divert a commercial commuter flight from a local village to pick me up.

The mechanic helped me back to camp where I packed and I waited with Ruth. When the thumping of the helicopter was heard, our mechanic rushed out to tell them what happened. I saw anger on my pilot’s face as he stormed into the kitchen. The scene in that small kitchen, surrounded by sea and mountains and tundra, is forever imprinted on my brain.

“I am taking you to Anchorage, Michelle,” my pilot commanded. My supervisor said he had no permission to take the helicopter to Anchorage.

Everything was in slow motion but I grasped how precarious this situation could be. As the mechanic held the pilot back from attacking my supervisor, the pilot looked at me. His anger was transformed into sadness. He walked over to where I was standing and hugged me. I whispered to him that I will be okay. This man was a survivor of Vietnam, as was my husband, and I felt his despair.

Three days later I carried my husband’s ashes onto an Alaska Airlines flight to Seattle and then a long drive to my parent’s house. I am not sure what I would have done without the help of my mother-in-law with the funeral arrangements. I felt suffocated, as my mom dictated orders to me. I had to buy a dress and shoes. I had to buy flowers for Rick. Why would I have to do that, I asked her? That was already being arranged at the funeral home in Wenatchee. She called me selfish.

When the cards started arriving, many with checks, I cried with gratitude and heartache. And then she told me I could not keep the money. It was not for me. It was meant for a charity of Rick’s.

I heard Rick’s words as I felt a slight touch on my cheek, “Go fish, Michie.” Three words he would use to settle me when disparaged by my mom.

Sage calmed my body as I breathed the rich aroma deep into my lungs. A red-tailed hawk screeched above as he caught the warm thermals from the basalt cliffs. Shadows were creeping across the dusty ground where I sat. I have no recollection of how long I sat in the sagebrush field, nor how I got there. What I do know was that I was not alone.

The power of nature has no boundaries or limits. It provides our soul sustenance without conditions, even during the gloomiest of days. Although lonely, we will never be alone, as the moon and the sun will always be there to guide us. Nature is a relationship that will last an eternity, if we allow it.

Michelle Schulman is a writer, adventurer, and environmentalist. “I was born in a small, rural town in eastern Washington, where I was free to explore the basalt cliffs and sagebrush fields. After receiving my undergraduate degree in wildlife biology, range management, and soil science, I married my soulmate, whom I met working in the Blue Mountains of Oregon. Our adventure took us to California, where my husband was a mechanical engineer; and Nevada, where I tracked wild horses. And then, I was offered a position in Alaska, working with reindeer and muskox. We thought it destiny, as his company also had a position in the same state and the same city, Anchorage. Early on in our Alaskan dream, Rick was tragically killed, propelling me on a tumultuous journey through a male-dominated culture that routinely diminished and disrespected the accomplishments and abilities of women. I experienced with great dismay the ways in which greed and ambition so easily place humanity and the environment in jeopardy. My memoir, The Understory, is the culmination of my efforts to control my own destiny, through the healing lessons of nature, and my love of writing. Currently, while in Florida, I am writing and wandering, as I ponder new beginnings, while looking for a community to call home.” Michelle’s book” The Understory: A Female Environmentalist in the Land of the Midnight Sun” can be found on Amazon.

Christine Soutter Suau & Jenn Norris

SHENANIGANS WITH CHRISTINE AND JENN.

LIFELONG BEST FRIENDS CHRISTINE & JENN ARE THE HOSTS OF THE POPULAR PODCAST “SHENANIGANS WITH CHRISTINE AND JENN.” LIVING CRUE ASKED THEM ABOUT THEIR HISTORY AND FOR THE FORMULA BEHIND DECADES OF CONNECTION. THEY ANSWERED US IN THE FORM OF AN EXCLUSIVE PODCAST IN THEIR SIGNATURE, INAPPROPRIATE HILARITY AND LIKE-IT-IS-LIKE-IT-OR-NOT STYLE. HERE ARE HIGHLIGHTS, BUT REALLY—GO TO THEIR PODCAST (YOU CAN FIND IT WHEREVER YOU LISTEN TO PODCASTS).

Recorded July 20, 2022

Christine: I’m so excited about today!

Jenn: Oh my gosh me, too! So, our friends at Living Crue magazine—

C: [sings] In Living Croo-ooh. Just kidding.

J: She’s going to sing through this.

C:  I’m going to try not to.

J: Marci Bracken and Bridget Snell.

C: They’re so lovely but I think—and we may have mentioned this to them—but I’m, like, obviously the sappy of this duo.

J: I’m not.

C: No, I know, you’re the funny one. But we are so grateful that they want to recognize our friendship in the magazine. Which is, like, super cool.

J: Super cool, yes. So, they asked us a bunch of questions—and we really haven’t talked about our answers. We don’t even know what the questions are. I’m just reading them now.

C: Online. With a glass of wine.

J: We’re flying by the seat of our pants.

C: It’s what we do. Yeah. And we haven’t seen each other for like 2 weeks.

J: We have not. And then we’re going out tonight after this.

C: Woo!

J: Woo! I adore you.

C: I adore you back.

J: Hey!

C: Hey! Hashtag awwww! So this is kind of a cool concept, too, because they provided us with questions.

J: OK so [the first question] ‘In a nutshell’—I love that word. Nut. Shell–‘how did you meet when you were kids?’ You don’t remember, that’s the funny part.

C: I don’t. I mean, you know, my memory is shoddy at best. But not ‘shoddy 240.’

J: That was me, in high school. I was ‘Shorty 240’ in high school.

C: I never called her that, ever.

J: No, I know. But she was like Rachel and I was like Monica from “Friends.”

C: We were the real deal. The real deal Rachel and Monica.

J: Right.

C: Yes, but honestly, I don’t remember, because I think you’ve always been in my life.

J: Awww! We met on the bus. I remember it clearly. I have “Rainman” memory. She had these sparkly blue eyes. “Mesmereyes,” we called them. And she was so friendly and warm and kind. And I had really—

C: And you had a green and white striped sweatshirt, right?

J: No, but do you know when is the best time to wear a striped sweater?

J & C: All the time!

C: But I’m sure you had on a white turtleneck and either a Champion sweatshirt or a green and white striped hoodie.

J: And I had a lot of split ends. OK. so that’s how we met. We met on the bus.

C: How old?

J: 12-ish. What is your first memory of me?

C:  I don’t really know, honestly, I don’t remember you not being in my life so I remember you vividly, again, with the mock turtleneck.

J: It wasn’t a mock turtleneck … No, I had a full turtleneck.

C: I know you did, I know.

J: That covered my entire neck. And my chin.

C: And your body.

J: And my other chin.

C: And your feathered, rolled hair.

J: Which I forgot to brush out.

C: No, no, that was that was the look. So, maybe at our first dance? Maybe in 8th grade? Maybe a dance?

J: Did we dance together? To “November Rain” by Guns N Roses?

C: It was Oxford Hills Junior High School.

J: Yeah, see, I’m sure that Marci and Bridget don’t want us to do this. I’m sure they want us to answer the question.

C: Do you think so?

Editor’s note: Yes, yes we do want you to do this!

J: That was a question, so [next question] ‘What’s the first memory of each other in school?’

C: OK, eighth grade dance. “Stairway to Heaven,” and probably we went into the bathroom and someone was in there crying. Or several girls were in there crying.

J: I didn’t cry, usually.

C: Not me either. Still don’t. So then in high school we were inseparable.

J: And we dated best friends of each other.

C: Yes, but never the same person ever.

J: No, we never dated the same person as each other.

C: Your eyes looked at me so weird. And then?

J: There’s a really embarrassing moment. I–

C: Lost your virginity when I was in the room? Is that where we’re going? I don’t know if that can be in the magazine.

J: Right next to you

C: Right next to me. I mean, not in the same bed.

J: It did last about for about 4 seconds.

C: It wasn’t in the same bed or anything. But I was in the same room for sure. But I think, yeah, once high school hit, we’ve been inseparable ever since. We have some really, deeply personal things that we’ve helped each other through that we cannot say.

J: We are saying it.

C: No.

J: Yes, we are. They like funny, though? OK, so ‘What is your favorite memory from college?’

C: Oh boy, I don’t remember college. No, I’m just kidding. Wow, there’s a lot of them. Did you remember freshman year when we were on bunkbeds and we thought like it looked like a potato masher?

J: Yes. You know bunkbeds when you’re on the bottom bunk there’s metal up top? So we were together on the bottom bunk, laughing our faces off, because—

C: We were probably high.

J: No. Yes. Well, we imbibed in some fungi. I kept saying ‘it seems like we’re potatoes that are gonna be mashed!’ Because it looked like a potato masher.

C: And then someone knocked at the door and we both froze.

J: No, remember I yelled at a guy.And I wasn’t like that, usually.

C: You’re very even-keeled. Until you’re not.

J: Until I’m not. But somebody came to the door with Cheetos and I said, ‘We don’t want no effin’ Cheetos!’ and he’s like, ‘Oh, OK.’

C: ‘I was just trying to be a nice fella.’

J: And then we laughed and we laughed and we laughed and we laughed.

C: For, like, 12 hours straight.

J: I really liked going to the Hamptons. We were together a lot. Christine went to Johnson and Wales, I went to UMass Lowell. And we were at each other’s places all the time. I pretty much—

C: Yeah, you were like an honorary sorority member. So, I was in Phi Sigma Sigma. And there was another sister that looks somewhat like Jenn (Laurie) and so Jenn sometimes got to go to events. Especially, actually, after college—remember we are at the one there was like, a hazing, but we didn’t haze, but we kind of did?

J: I didn’t do that.

C: No, but you got to go to an event where there were pledges.

J: I can blend.

C: Yeah. But not to be confused with the friend blend, because we love that, too. We were like chameleons.

J: In college I would just–whoever Laurie was dating– I would make out with, just to take one for the team.

C: I should have been on that trajectory, but I wasn’t.

J: I’ll do it, I’m a good friend like that. '

C: Yeah. You are.

J: No, You know I would never do that.

C: Why didn’t you make me a good friend like that? I just got stuck in that saaaaaaame. Thing.

J:  What’s that song by Gwen Stefani? “That Same Old Love.”

C: What’s next?

J: Adult life? What’s our favorite memory?

C: Oh my God I don’t even know. I would probably say Atlantis the first time. When we went just you and I.

J: Oh my God! 2016. Christine and I went to Atlantis in the Bahamas together, and it was—

C: The first time I have been away with you since we were in Naples, Florida in high school. Because I wasn’t allowed out ... that probably was one of the best times. And we always have the best luck. We met this guy who was—

J: He had pants up to his nipples.

C: Yes, he had dad jeans that were, like, the worst dad jeans that I had ever seen. But … he got us into this pool there.

J: At the Cove. If you’ve never been there, go with your girlfriend. It’s so fun.

C: The best party ever…There was a guy there that was on “The Bachelor.”

J: And he was super hot.

C: Super hot. And he pulled Jenn aside. And you know, I was married.

J: No, you were married, unhappily.

C: Yes, but the guy said to Jenn, ‘How married is she?’

J: And I said, ‘She’s pretty married.’

C: ‘She’s married. Otherwise she would love to make out with you.’

J: Yeah I did maybe say that.

C: And low and behold. If I had only known then what I know how.

J: Yeah, I know, geezus.

C: What about you, what’s your favorite?

J: That was my favorite vacation, too, but Saint Pete’s Beach was pretty lit.

C: Oh my God.

J: We just came back from vacation together. I just talked to my Nana, who was 91 years old.

C: I loved Nan.

J: And she said, ‘Always go on vacation with your girls.’

C: Which she always has, right? She always went on cruises

J:  Hawaii, Alaska. Every place she’s been with her girls. She would go with like 10 girls ... My grandfather always said, ‘Go!’

C: I love that. That’s super important. And I do want to say one of my other most favorite memories with you, as horrrrrrific as it was, was the 2018 marathon. Because you literally carried me.

J: Oh, yeah. That was  my first marathon

C: No, but for real. That was your first marathon, was my first after Devin died, and I was separated and restraining orders and it was a monsoon and you were by my side the entire time. To go across the finish line without Devin there, but to have you there, was like—you got me there.

J: And there’s a great picture of us holding hands as we passed the finish line, which is one of my favorites.

C: Also, I had Owen and Brendan in the car and they were playing summer jams and they were playing Jay Z “Run This Town” and I said, ‘Do you guys remember when Auntie Jenny and I made–’ and they were like, ‘The video on the treadmill.’

J: We were trying to re-create, because we are the Brady and Gronk–

C: of something. We’re the GOATS of something.

J: We’re the GOAT rodeo.

C: Oh my God, yes! Perfect segue! My friend just told me this thing—I know this isn’t a part of our question, but we have to—I have to say this: GOAT rodeo is one of the best things I’ve ever heard.

J: But I feel like a GOAT rodeo to me when it’s a shit show night out.

C: It is. It’s any type of chaos where things are all over the place.

J: We should look it up on Urban Dictionary. Next question.

Editor’s Note: We looked it up. Christine is right. But Christine said it with less “fucks” in the online definition.

J: Alright, next question. ‘The dumbest comment anyone has ever made to you about your friendship?’

C: ‘Do you guys hook up?’

J: Oh!

C: Yes, literally.

J: I forgot about that.

C: That’s not the first thing that you would’ve said?

J: No.

C: Oh my God

J: That gets asked.

C: So many times. And we never have. Not even like stupid drunk, whatever.

J: No, I don’t think we’ve ever made out.

C: We’ve never made out nor have we made out with the same person.

[whispers]

C: Well. That one person. Okay. Yeah, that was my fault.

J: No, I mean, I set you up with somebody that I dated because I thought it was a good idea.

C: It was a way different time frame when that happened, like, 20 years later.

J: Any who … You.

C: You’re not interviewing me. What’s your answer to that question?

J: Oh! If we go away with a lot of people … we are in sync a lot and we want to do the same thing and we want to be together, not in a sexual way, but together. We’re just in sync.

C. We sleep in the same bed.

J: We like to go running in the morning. We like to exercise on vacation. We like to drink a lot. We just go with the flow. It’s about balance.

C: Ebb and flow, yeah.

J: Do you want to get an IV? Do you want to drink too much, then get an IV? Yes, all of it. Yep. Go running totally hung over and barf on the side of the road? Yes. So I think the dumbest comment, making a long story longer, is ‘You guys are obsessed with each other.’ That’s what I’ve heard a few times.

C: Don’t hate us cause you ain’t us

J: I think it’s the Boston accent.

C: Don’t hate us cuz you ain’t us.

J: That sounds like anus. Oops.

C: I thought that, too, when I said it.

C: Don’t drain us.

J:  Now. What about my anus? Scratch that. Sorry, Marci and Bridget.

Editor’s note: No apologies. We’re just going to clean up the coffee that came out of our nose.

J: Okay. [next question] ‘What has not changed at all about the other since you were young?’ So you’re, you’ve always been, in my opinion, a positive person. Like, you gleen positivity. Even through the shittiest shit ever. And you are still like that. Even more so now than you ever were.

C: Thank you. You are. I mean, funny has never changed. You’ve always been super funny, but you are also such a loyal friend, literally to everyone and anyone ... Vacations? You made those happen ... I just say, ‘Yes. Book my trip. Tell me what I owe you and I’ll meet you at the airport.’ And it doesn’t even matter, but with any of your friends. So you have always been such a good, good friend. To everyone.

J: Thank you.

C: You’re my backbone.

J: I think showing up is a huge part of friendship and give and take and all of that. And I think that’s a huge part of our friendship.

C:  Yeah, totally. I called Jenn 2 weeks ago when I was at the doctor’s and I was like, ‘Oh, by the way? You’re my health care proxy.’

J: No, I’m 6 people’s health care proxies.

C: I mean, it also helps that she’s a nurse. But, you know more than most anyway.

J:  I drink and I know things.

[next question] ‘What do you find in your relationship that you don’t find in other relationships?’

C: Literally everything. What do you mean?

J: Snuggles

C: Snuggles, yes. You’re always my person. You’re my person. I call you. I know it’s a little different. You have a husband.

J:  And I have it. I have an answer.

C:  Okay, go.

J:  To never. Ever. Run out of things to talk to you about,

C: Right?

J: Ever.

C: It’s the craziest thing. Typically, we’ll talk on the way to get together on the phone. Yeah, whoever’s in the car. And then usually we have to recap after. And the whole time we’re on vacation, we talk non-stop.

J: You would think there’s a little comfortable silence, but we usually don’t. Unless Christine is super hung over.

C: Then I need a minute, but I only really need a minute.

J: You’re like, ‘Stick an IV in me.’

C: Yeah, and I’m good to go. But that’s what I told you before that. Like with Joe, I talk about you all the time. He must be like, ‘Geezus Christmas.’

J: He Must be like, ‘Do you guys hook up?’

C: I know. Yeah. You’re just obsessed. Obsessed!

J: [question] ‘Was there ever a phase you went through that the other tried to get you out of? Bad haircut,  music, or something bigger, like a horrible boyfriend?’

C: Oh, my God. I mean, I think we could both say many things about this? You had horrible boyfriends for a while. Remember the guy? We’ll call him “Shat.”

J: Oh, I know who you’re talking about.

C: I won’t say his last name, but he definitely, I think, swung for the other team. Jenn liked him. But otherwise, I mean, I really didn’t say anything except you went out with someone for a long time who I thought was not the best for you.

C: Going back to Shat, I took him to a party once at Kim’s house. Oh. And her gay uncles were like, ‘Oh, my God, the fresh meat!’

J: I didn’t take a clue. I was in my early 20s. I had no idea.

C: You were just going after whatever you could.

J: Okay, calm down.

C: It’s okay, I did it in my 40s.

J: After the same big douche bag.

C: I know. Terrible. I don’t think they can print douche bag. So you can omit that and put.

J: D-bag.

C: What about what me?

J: Okay. So obviously like we’ll talk a little bit about because the readers don’t know about our huge history.

C: Oh yeah.

J: In 2007, I was engaged and Christine was my maid of honor, and we planned the wedding and everything was going great.

J: So I was with somebody for a years and it was great. And Christine, this was like one of the only guys Christine liked

J: Right. So his name was Jay and he was he was a just a big life.

C: Life of the party.

J: Good, funny. Loved to be inappropriate. You used to say the phrase ‘I’m funny, right?’

C: Yes.

J: Yes. And so we were 4 months away from the wedding and I knew that something was wrong. He always answered his phone. We l just had we had a good relationship and we talked about everything. I am still close with his family. His family is amazing. And he struggled with depression and anxiety. I’m a big advocate for people with mental illness. I work with people with mental illnesses. And I was at work. I was a nurse manager for a psychiatric unit for adults and adolescents. And he wasn’t answering his phone, which was abnormal.

And I went to his house and found him. And he had taken his life. And it was the most traumatic experience of my life to date. And hopefully ever.

But my friends. I mean, it was just an out-of-body experience just because it was so quick and awful and everything is just gone from your life in a second. And I called 911. And I was ...  I just fell to the floor. I was. I was just breathless, I think, is the way that I can describe it. It is still traumatic because years and years of flashbacks of that very moment. And I think, when you have PTSD.. [you] have those flashbacks for a long time. And I had a lot of guilt. What could I have done? I knew that that people are depressed. I should have seen more signs. I should have known. And it took me years of therapy to figure out that it wasn’t me that could have saved him. We were pretty open and honest with each other, but his demons were too big for me to see and he hid them.

C: He didn’t let you know.

J: Yeah. And I think people that commit suicide and take their own life oftentimes if they if there’s a cry for help, then they want help. But if there isn’t, then sometimes there’s no— Always reach out to people. I did reach out. Many people did. And there was no ... there were just no signs ... And it taught me how to seek help myself because I have a hard time with that. So I had to go to therapy. I had to rely on my friends. I was like a little debilitated for a little while. I mean, I did some … I had such a wonderful group in Newburyport of friends, and you were at my house and Kim was at my house and they were, like, in my bed.

C: Owen was 6 weeks old and we just stayed with you for three weeks straight. It was the most horrible experience ever ... when we did our podcast and you talked about it on that episode, for me, to watch you retell that story was really heartbreaking and heavy. Because, I know your story. I lived it with you ... But I had never really heard you tell the story. I know all the facts, I know all the things. But to hear you tell the story from start? We feel each other’s pain, right? I will never forget Steve is the one who called me.

J: Yeah, he’s he’s one of my best friends and he’s incredible. He’s like my brother.

J: And he hurt and he’s not a crier, ever. He hurt for me in a way that was unimaginable. But you never forget and I always say this, you never forget who’s there for you. Friendships, talking about friendships. I used to remember who wasn’t there. Yeah, which isn’t right. I don’t do that anymore. Now I remember who is there ... We go through some really shitty things and we were there for each other and we know who was there for us. But when you go through good things, too, and you want to celebrate. Some people don’t show up for that. Because they’re not happy for you maybe? Or they’re going through their own storms of of being unhappy.

But I think part of friendship and part of, like, this whole thing, this whole beauty of friendship is being there... And I know it sounds cliché, but through the shitty times ... I’m your biggest cheerleader. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. And I know you feel that about me. Because you are. You know, a happy advocate. A happiness liaison.

C: Yeah and there’s never like an ounce of  jealousy. Or one-upping. No anything.

J. No, we don’t. We don’t fight over dudes or other friends.

C: Unless they’re really shitty friends. And I will make a point.

J: Because I let everyone in and you’re like ‘No. You have to let all the stray cats in.’

C: So fast forward. Actually, prior to that 2005. When my mom battled breast cancer for a long time. And my mom was like a second mom to Jenn. And she was a warrior. So courageous, so strong, so brave. And she was. She was my person. Poor Jenn, I called–I will never forget it– at 1:30 in the morning after my mom passed away. Because you were that person that I needed to call. Which was the worst thing ever, because then you’re at home by yourself and you’re not going to go back to sleep.

J: I remember exactly where I was. I was in Newburyport.

C: Yes. I called you and could envision exactly where you were. And then I thought about it and was like, ‘I’m a terrible friend for doing that to you.’

J: Of course you would call me in the middle of the night. Of course.

C: And then in 2017—we’re a decade apart with our horrific chapters—I have 4 boys. And my youngest son, Devin, fell snowboarding and we thought he got a concussion. And 5 days later he was throwing up. I took him to the emergency room. We found out he had a rare brain tumor called diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma, which is also referred to as DIPG. And there are 0 survivors. So we were told when he was 6 years old that he had 8 months to 2 years to live. Out of nowhere.

There’s nothing, nothing. No warning, nothing to prepare you for that. Nothing that could have eased you into something like that ... And you were the first person I called. And Devin and [Jenn’s daughter] Molly were close ... they were almost 2 years apart.

J: Yeah, their birthdays were a week apart.

C: So I’ll never forget we came home from the hospital that first time after he was diagnosed and we went into the back room and cried together … you were were my person.

J: And I just remember you being at the hospital. Devin was laying on you all the time and you were always there. And I would go see you.

C: Yeah, all the time. Yeah. I mean, he was only in the hospital for those 3 weeks. But you came in often. I never, never left.

J: And I remember you just wanted to shampoo your hair.

C: I know. And then someone came in and did it for me … it was like such a game changer, which sounds so vain, but I hadn’t showered in days. And then, you know, we brought Devin home and you were there around the clock. And Devin died ... right after Molly’s birthday.

J: Devin passed away very early in the morning on October 20th.

C: But you were there instead of with Molly. And then 2 months after that, I separated from my now ex-husband, which had been a horrible, horrible relationship for many years. And you know—we’ll say this forever—’He broke every vow but he never cheated on me.’ And you would say ‘Yeah.’ You never said more than that. You never prompted me. You were always there. And then we were training for the marathon … And people would always say ‘Do you guys cry when you run?’ We laughed.

J: It was therapeutic.

C: It was our therapy. I mean, we would run 21 miles together and laugh and talk all the shit through and find the funny.

J: Find the silver lining. And I know that I didn’t, you know, I sort of had an intuition that what was happening in her marriage. I didn’t say anything because I do think people have to find their own way. I didn’t have proof and that would have been a shitty thing to say. I found out later in a terrible way. But I think that you needed to find out the way that you did.

C: Yeah. So, yes, it did happen my entire marriage and I didn’t know. But yes, I think everything happens for a reason ... I’m a big believer in that. I know you sometimes go back and forth with that, but ...

J: It’s very hard for me to grasp … I have a hard time with religious views. I do believe there’s a higher power. But it’s hard for me to grasp how children are taken … That’s really hard. And I know that you went through it. Like, what I went through was something that somebody had control over. Right? But the way Devin passed away was something I just feel like I don’t get. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around.

C: Yeah, and I agree, but I feel like, you can’t control what happens, but you can control the way you react.

J: React and respond.

C: He changed so many things, right? This is a whole other deep, deep conversation. But I just think that he changed so many things. He moved the needle on this disease that has no cure. I mean, Neil Armstrong’s daughter died of it two years before he walked on the moon. And Elon Musk can go to the moon in a day. Right? I just think that yes, it was the most horrific thing imaginable. But put that aside. And there were so many positives.

C: Good things.

J: Humanity came together. The whole community came together. The whole state. Boston. And I mean, everybody came together for this little boy.

C: Yeah. So that was amazing. And I, I certainly do have faith in humanity, even though if you watch the news, you will just hear bad things, which is why I never watch the news.

J: Never watch the news. If you want to believe in humanity, there’s actually a good Instagram—

C: Shenanigans? Is that what it is?

J: @she_naniganspodcast. But there is a podcast called “The Good News Movement.”

C: Oh, I love that. That’s so cool. How come you haven’t told me that?

J: I thought I did. No? Okay, well, write it down.

C: But I also think–and this is the last thing I’ll say–I can’t say this to a lot of people, but I because of losing Devin, and I have 3 other sons, it gave me the strength to leave a bad marriage and to show my surviving boys [my ex-husband’s actions] that’s not okay.

J: I know. You’ve become a totally different person as far as ... your belief in yourself, your faith in yourself and how strong you are. That has completely changed. Even if you look at pictures of yourself.

C: Oh, I didn’t look good. My eyes were like—

J: You were vacant. And not just when Devin was sick. Obviously, that’s understandable. But in your marriage.

C: When you just said, ‘how strong you are,’ it made me think of the video with Devin.

J: I know!

C: ‘Do you know how strong you are? How really, really strong?’ Maya Angelou.

J: Yes, Maya Angela. And we actually sang that all around Atlantis.

C: Yes, we did. Yes. And that was before anything. Yeah.

J: [next question] ‘Funniest story you want readers to hear on the podcast?’ We actually have a ... really funny and inappropriate, if you like inappropriate, “Dirty Little Secrets.” Season 2, Episode 12 will be really funny. But the funniest stories we had are both high school and college days. So that’s season 1, I think. Episode 3. But, you know, just listen to them all.

J: Okay. ‘When you were each going through these horrific experiences what was the one thing that only you could do for each other?’

C: Oh, wow ... I will say, I don’t like to cry. I call you when I’m crying or about to cry. But you actually make me feel okay about crying. You tell me I have to cry. And then you make me laugh and get me out of it.

J: With inappropriate commentary. [next questioin] ‘Do we have a phrase, song or something that brings us to center?’

C: [starts singing] I mean … we have our amazing songs from Molly.

J: See, which is the next question!

C: Segue! So Molly, her very talented daughter that we just mentioned, who was friends with Devin, she’s 9 years old … and she wrote a couple songs for us. So in season 1, she wrote that first song and her dad helped her with the ukulele. But in the second song and the second season, she plays the ukulele by herself.

J: And then she did mention she wrote another song, which I have heard. Yeah. So she wrote the lyrics to both songs.

C: Which is pretty incredible … I only have boys, so she is like, you know, my little lady also. And I think she has some of my genes. Like, she likes shopping.

J: She does. Yeah.

C: And I love shopping. Jenn does not like shopping.

J: So, I mean, I’ll shop if I’m drunk.

C: Yeah. I would shop 24/7. But that she wrote a song about our friendship I think is just one of the coolest things ever.

J: And she has a little friend named Abby. And like they remind me of us.

C: Yeah.

J: Except they’re both blonde.

C:   I’m a wannabe blonde.

J: Molly’s inspiration is Grace VanDerWaal.

C: Oh, yeah. Yes, she loves Grace, but Molly’s actually better.

J: Did you see Stargirl 2?

C: Nope. Didn’t see Stargirl 1.

J: Riveting. [question] ‘Do you ever argue?’

C: Very, very few times.

J: But that’s it.

C: One was before 9/11. Yes. And we made up on 9/10.

J: Right. And Christine lived in New York City.

C: Yeah. So I couldn’t get a hold of her. And I was thankful that we met up the night before 9/11.

C: Me, too.

J: And it was over, I think, a dude.

C: It was a dude. Was that it? It was, yeah. A dude that you dated that I didn’t like.

J: Oh, he was selfish.

C: Yeah.

J: Controlling. We’ll call him “Piss.” [laughing] Shat and Piss!

C: [lauighing] That’s amazing. Amazing. Wait. I mean, we haven’t argued that much more. More now that I’m diagnosed with–

J: ADHD. We just know that she’s late all the time. So, Sarah Silverman, I follow her podcast, and she has a best friend who’s always late, chronically late. She just talked about it a few weeks ago, and she was like, ‘Listen, I have a friend who’s chronically late and it’s super annoying and I get used to get so pissed off about it. But now I’m just like, this girl is chronically late, so I’m just going to like, plan that she’s going to be here at like 7:30, even though she said 4:30.’

C: I don’t ever mean to. And I know it comes, like, for a lot of people, it comes across as rude and disrespectful. It’s never that way. I’m just in a million directions. Which really makes sense. You would think now that I’m medicated, it would like reel it in a little bit, but I just have 8 million things going on at one time.

J: Mm hmm.

C: Love you.

J: Love you as well. Mm hmm.

J: [next question] “Tell us about the data you found that gives some science behind friendship.” And I can. I can speak to that. Can you?

C: I know you’re the data girl.

J: So friendships and love and affection and all of that … release hormones.

[sound of wine bottle opening in the background]

So the hormone responsible for love and affection with the loves of your life and your friendships is called oxytocin. And that, like, is all about trust and all about affection and love. And that’s the hormone that’s released, literally.

C: I love it.

J: Oxytocin, dopamine, all of it.

C: Do you remember when we went to one of the marathon expos and we were ...

J: I know.

C: It’s terrible.

J: The wine is good, right? Just trying.

C: We were dying, laughing, and we just were going, ‘We didn’t eat gummies!’ I laugh harder with you than I’ve ever laughed in my life. I mean, I guess you’ve made me laugh for most of my life, but you make me laugh harder than ever.

J: Right?

C: Which is why people probably think we’re annoying.

J: So hugging. Friendship. Love. Trust.

C: I taught Jenn how to hug. Jenn did not like hugging.

J: I don’t know if you want that to be your marketing, because if other people hug me, they’re going to be like, ‘She’s not good at it.’

C: I love hugging so much. I hug everyone all the time. Jenn used to do the most like noncommittal hug. It was like T-Rex arms that would just tap you behind your back or your arms, like in a place that no one ever wants to be touched.

C: But now you embrace.

J: I do know. I’m working on it. I’m working on hugs. The other thing I wanted to say about friendship and happiness is it’s scientifically proven that happiness is contagious.

C: Oh, totally.

J: So when you hang around happy people and inappropriate people, you become happier and more inappropriate.

C: Those are two things that everyone should be.

J: So spread your happy. Oh, that’s not a dirty share.

C: I like ‘spread your happy.’ ‘Sprinkle with happiness.’

J: Sprinkle that shit with happiness, it’s contagious.

C: And I think that’s it. We hope that you enjoy our impromptu liveness. There’s nothing better than a good friendship ... I couldn’t do without you.

J: I couldn’t do it without you either. So love you.

C: Thanks for being my sister.

J: Thank you for being my sister.

C: I love you. Cheers.

Cathy McGrath + Maureen Cardinal

Maureen Cardinal (left) and Cathy McGrath

AFTER BEATING CANCER AT AGE 40, CATHY MCGRATH WAS DETERMINED TO ADD A BIT OF DIGNITY BACK INTO THE PAINFUL AND RESTRICTIVE TREATMENT. SO SHE ASKED HERSELF, “WHAT WOULD JACKIE ONASSIS DO?”

WHEN I WAS 40 YEARS OLD, I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH BREAST CANCER. I HAD BEEN GOING TO MY OB-GYN FOR A YEAR COMPLAINING OF PAIN AND PRESSURE IN MY RIGHT BREAST. HE ASSURED ME THAT BREAST CANCER IS NOT PAINFUL AND NOT TO WORRY ABOUT IT. I WAS SLEEPING WITH A BRA ON BECAUSE THE PRESSURE WAS SO INTENSE. FINALLY, AFTER MY THIRD VISIT HE DID AN ULTRASOUND. THERE WAS A LUMP THE SIZE OF A CHICKPEA. IT DID NOT SHOW UP ON A MAMMOGRAM. I ASKED HIM TO SCHEDULE A SURGERY TO REMOVE IT. I WENT TO MY LOCAL CATHOLIC HOSPITAL, TOLD MY HUSBAND TO DROP ME OFF AND I WOULD PAGE HIM WHEN FINISHED TO PICK ME UP.

When I woke from this first surgery there were nuns around me praying. I thought I was dreaming. The surgeon said he was very sorry to report it was a very aggressive cancer and when he went to remove it, it scattered. He explained it was like mercury at the bottom of those old thermometers. We met with the hospital oncologist, and he told me and my husband that we should go home and get our affairs in order. We were both in shock and absolutely devastated and petrified. Our lives were literally turned upside down. We had 3 young children ages 7, 9, and 11.

I went into Boston to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute to get a second opinion and hopefully a better plan. Which was breast surgery, a chemotherapy clinical trial, and radiation. I had a lumpectomy at Mass General Hospital but they could not get clean margins.

Then I woke from my third surgery at MGH, a mastectomy and reconstruction, with multiple post-surgical drains. These drains are tubes that collect fluid from the body through a clear bulb-like container—often called “grenades” because of their shape—and these drains hang by a few stitches where the surgical incisions were made. These drains are extremely painful and become heavier and more painful as they fill with the fluid coming from inside our bodies. I found it very difficult to manage doing simple tasks and handling the cumbersome tubes at the same time.

I asked the nurse how best to manage these drains. “Go to Home Depot and grab a tool belt,” she said. This seemed absurd to me. “Seriously? No one has thought of anything better to manage these drains?” “No,” she said. “But someone really needs to!”

I thought there needs to be a better way. The loss of dignity and control was devastating enough but wearing these drains around was too much. Plus, if I could figure it out, it would be my giveback to other women battling this disease. As I lay in the hospital bed clicking my morphine clicker, Princess Di popped up on my TV Screen. What would Princess Diana or Jackie Onassis wear if they had to endure this post-mastectomy trauma? There is no way they would be running out to Home Depot for a tool belt. So, the process began.

I sketched a design on a napkin and called my sister. She inherited the domestic gene, she is extremely talented at sewing, cooking and even baking. I do not sew, cannot even do a hem, but I do know style—and what a woman needs after a mastectomy. I explained what I needed her to sew: the sleeves need to open to hide the IV’s and have easy access for a blood pressure cuff, there should be pocketing along the bottom to hold the weight of the drains.

After my makeshift jacket, I went to my aunt, a professional seamstress, and redesigned a classic jacket. My design showed all-around pocketing to hold multiple post-surgical drains and allow for one-handed dressing. I added a drop down button for access to a port-a-cath and used Velcro to reduce the pain involved with getting dressed and to allow for easy access for post-surgery exams. But what my design did best, is restore the dignity and independence that we often take for granted with the seemingly simple task of putting on something pretty when we feel awful.

The product was named ‘Jacki’. No more Johnnie hospital robes (Jackie is a nickname for Johnnie and I also believe we all have a little Jackie Onassis in us!) It was everything the hospital Johnnie is not: incognito and with classic style and multiple custom features for all phases of treatment: surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and physical therapy.

I had wonderful neighbors. One was a partner for a big Boston law firm. As Betty Hanley Esq. drove me into Boston for treatment, she explained how to file a patent and decided to take on this project pro bono. I filed for a 501c3 non-profit status to be able to give these garments free of charge. Then I met my neighbor/partner/friend Maureen, CEO, Program Director, Jack-of-all-trades, who took charge as we learned every step of this new venture. Maureen Cardinal is the real engine behind our success. I had the vision but Maureen brought it completely to life. My title was chief volunteer and I helped when able, consistently inconsistent.

We went to Polartec in Methuen, MA and presented the Jacki to then-CEO Michael Spillane (we were introduced by a middle school volleyball coach, Tom Holland). Within 10 minutes into the story the CEO said ‘I get it’ and we will donate material to your nonprofit to help produce these garments. We had to learn every aspect of the apparel business right down to the buttons. We also had to learn to write grants to fund the program, mostly to pharmaceutical and medical device companies like Genentech and Boston Scientific, for example.

We were very fortunate to have my old boss, Richard Trussell, come out of retirement as the CFO who ran all the accounting, inventory contracts, and vendors. The word spread and we had many, many people come volunteer. We had friends, family, and local mothers dedicate their time to help in our success; each one brought their talents and specific knowledge: Pam Connelly, Darlene Hall, Joan Johnston, Danielle Flynn, Chris Baker, Casey Cardinal, and over 33 students from North Andover High as well as our own sons and daughters, their friends, and college interns from Merrimack College. It truly did take a village to succeed.

We tested the Jacki in two top Boston hospitals with the help of my  cousin, Janet O’Connor, an oncology nurse. The Jacki received rave reviews and took off immediately. The surgeons who operate at more than one hospital often brought them to their patients outside of our test hospitals. Our program, this jacket, ignited a movement! It went from patient to patient, nurse to nurse, doctor to doctor. Dr. Mehra Golshan, then a young breast surgeon at Dana-Farber and now at Yale Cancer Center in Connecticut, said “I cannot express how wonderful this Jacki program is, across all corners the response has been a resounding “Yes” to the Jacki. In treating women with breast cancer, I can say that the dignity and care of my patients is my highest priority. The Jacki has allowed for the women to maintain their dignity during this most difficult of times.”

This is where the the story turns, it is the point where the story is no longer my own. It becomes the story of the 30,000+ incredibly strong, resourceful, amazing women we have helped to get back to daily life. Like the woman who delivered her father’s eulogy in a Jacki just days after her mastectomy. Or the woman who was released from the hospital in her Jacki so she could dance with her son at his wedding. Or the young mom who just wanted to make it to her daughter’s kindergarten open house without carrying around all those drains. Or the grandmother who wore her Jacki so she could get down on the floor and play Thomas the Tank with her 3-year-old grandson.

We know nothing is easy about this cancer diagnosis. Life just seems to get so much more complicated. We who have been through it, know that the mental game is just as hard as the physical game. The guilt, the fear, the anguish, the pain, is insurmountable.

We received hundreds of letters from these incredible women.

Two of my favorites are:

“Having been diagnosed with breast cancer and having surgery, a mastectomy, within 32 days of each other, and 6 hours of travel has been an exhausting, expensive, and emotional experience.  I almost did not have time to cry. However, when the breast nurse gave me the Jacki, I broke down and wept. Your gift of the Jacki made me feel like I could go forward. Looking smart, whole, feminine, and like myself. I cannot express my thanks to you enough.”  - Beth S., Maine

“Thank you so much for designing such a practical solution to a big problem post breast cancer surgery.  When the nurse told me about your program, tears came to my eyes. My body hurt, my heart hurt, and my soul hurt with my diagnosis, and now someone was helping me on the road to recovery. I am a mum of 3 young children, and my diagnosis shook our foundation. Breast cancer surgery recovery is tough with drains etc. Your solution gives women some dignity, fashion, and comfort during a very challenging time. Thank you to you and your sponsors.” -EQ, Massachusetts

Ultimately, our mission is to provide the Jacki free of charge to any woman who has to endure a mastectomy. The small quantities we were manufacturing in East Boston were very costly to produce even with the donated material from Polartec. We then learned of a place that manufactured samples in China. Maureen tackled all that was involved with overseas production, shipping, and communication, and we were able to lower our costs dramatically.

In 2013, we entered the MassChallenge start-up innovation contest, and we met a man who worked for Genzyme who was holding a class on obtaining Medicare health codes. We told him about our breast cancer garment and he said, “Lucky you, a breast cancer health-code is the easiest to obtain since wigs paved the way on emotional quality of life.” This was our “aha!” moment. It was time to do a clinical trial.

We went to Dr. Mehra Golshan and Dr. Margret Duggan, two compassionate and exceptional breast surgeons from Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. We joined forces with Dana-Farber and Faulkner Hospital to conduct a 3-year clinical trial. This led us to finally securing the government approval needed for the Medicare insurance code for the Jacki jacket, just like the mastectomy bra and camisole. The clinical trial was spearheaded by Dr. Donna Berry, the Director at Dana-Farber’s Phyllis F. Cantor Center for Research in Nursing and Patient Care Services. The Center conducts research on quality of life and care for cancer patients and families.

Proudly, the Jacki is now available with insurance reimbursement, with a prescription from your doctor or nurse practitioner, just like the bras and camisoles. We needed to spread this great news! Somehow we need it to go viral.

l-r: Maureen Cardinal and Cathy McGrath

Now Maureen and I are in our 60’s. YIKES!! I am most grateful to be here in my 60’s. A true gift given to me by the dedicated, compassionate nurses, surgeons, doctors, and their brilliant expertise at MGH.

We finally accomplished our goal of making the Jacki available to any woman enduring a mastectomy, without financial burden. We owe our success to hundreds of selfless people who volunteered behind the scenes and guided us through each phase of this unending learning curve. We are so honored to help those amazing women and men fighting not only for their lives, but for their lives back. It is an absolute privilege to help make such a difficult and private time just a little easier.

Learn more about The Jacki at www.thejacki.com

Debbie Egan + Janet Quint

Different continents can’t keep Janet (left) and Debbie apart

IN 1984, AUSTRALIAN MOM DEBBIE AND AMERICAN MOM JANET STARTED CHATTING IN LINE AT THE FOODCOURT OF A SUBURBAN NEW YORK SHOPPING MALL. IT’S BEEN 40 YEARS, HUNDREDS OF LETTERS, TRIPS AROUND THE WORLD AND A  “PEN-PAL-SHIP” THAT DEFINED THEIR LIVES. THIS IS THEIR FRIENDSHIP STORY.

How did you meet? You live on opposite sides of the world!

Debbie: I live in Sydney, Australia, but we met at the Galleria Mall in White Plains, N.Y., in 1984. My husband Tony had come home one day and told me he was being sent to Armonk, N.Y. to attend a 9-week management course and that our 10-month old baby (Luke) and I could come too. I almost decided not to go. In my mind, White Plains conjured images of a roadside stop on a long highway. It certainly wasn’t mentioned in the tourist guides! I “ummed” and “ahhed” for quite some time before deciding to just go for it. Little did I know that in a few short weeks I would meet the friendship love of my life.

Janet: At that point in my life, I was living in Hartsdale, N.Y. with my husband and our 11-month old daughter, Lauren. Life was getting complicated for us. We were going to be moving to San Francisco soon and I was about to leave behind our families (parents, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends) and my career contacts; therefore, emotions ran high. It had been a difficult decision but we were going. So, between packing and organizing, I took my baby girl on an outing to the Galleria Mall because that is what you did in 1984.

D: Yes! Each day I would push Luke in his pram to The Galleria, which at that time was an attractive mall and (to me) a treasure trove of shops that were far more interesting than the ones back home.

How did you start talking?

J: I have always been an outgoing person, have loved people, and wouldn’t hesitate to initiate conversations with strangers (a habit that I may have inherited from my dad!)  As I recall, while my baby and I were taking a break at the food court at the mall, I saw a woman about my age with a baby about my daughter’s age. Perfect! As I recall, I initiated the conversation by asking, “How old is your baby?” We exchanged niceties, but her accent intrigued me. If these two were not living in N.Y. how on earth did they end up in White Plains? Hearing the story of what brought them here, prompted me to think that this potentially interesting woman knew no one and had no real destination during her visit to the U.S. It just popped into my head that it would be fun to have her over and make her day much more interesting by seeing an American home, hanging out with someone who also had a baby, and seeing what else we might have in common. I certainly did not know any Australians.

I reassured Debbie that not all Americans were like me but that I was a safe bet and it could be fun to take a chance. I knew it was an unusual offer but suggested she discuss it with her husband to see if he felt it was something he supported. Had I ever spontaneously invited a perfect stranger to my house? Absolutely not!

D: Now, I’d heard about the warmth and generosity of Americans, but was totally shocked when Janet invited me over to her place. She gave me her number and said to call her! Not known for my adventurousness, once again I “ummed” and “ahhed.” Should I call? Was she just being polite? Would it be weird to be picked up by a virtual stranger and taken to their house? Thankfully, Tony convinced me to put my shyness aside and make the call. I am forever grateful that I did.

On the agreed day, Janet picked me and Luke up and took us to her lovely home, where we sat in her sunny back garden and began to learn a little about each other and our families. She was getting ready to move to San Francisco and yet she had still found the time to open her house to me.

And so then one returned to Australia while the other moved cross country to California. You decided to keep in touch by letter?

J: After Debbie returned home, she politely sent a thank you note to me for the lovely afternoon. That impressed me. I reached out by writing back after that and asked her to let me know how little Luke was doing and from there, our letter writing began.

D: When I returned home, we began to write to one another, slowly revealing more and more about ourselves and realising we shared all the important ideas about life and love. It’s an indescribable joy to be part of this amazing relationship that grew little by little, through each letter that found its way to our mail boxes. In time, we were pouring our hearts out to one another and working our way deeper into each other’s hearts and minds. I look back at all our correspondence and see the change in tone over the years—from the ‘slowly getting to know you stage’ to the ‘jump straight into the deep and personal.’ From ‘Dear Debbie’ to ‘Darling Deb.’ From ‘pen friends’ to ‘best friends.’ Over time I found myself telling her everything. There is NOTHING I couldn’t or don’t tell Janet.

How have these letters affected  your lives?

D: Janet has been there for me, during all the major ups and downs of being a human. I look to her wise counsel in everything and her advice is invaluable to me. Her intuition and love hit the right spot every single time. I never have to second guess what I write. I know she will always ‘get it.’ With every word of hers that I read, I hear her voice speaking to me.

J: Letter writing is a magical experience. Our letters did become more and more revealing as we shared life’s experiences and highs and lows. I strongly believe that the unique thing about writing is that it is a linear experience. In a conversation, there is an exchange, a give and take. But when you write, your thoughts are uninterrupted and you can allow yourself to use the writing to explore your own feelings. Liken it to a diary but with someone who cares on the other end. Debbie supports my feelings and gives invaluable advice; try to do the same for her.

Are you still writing today or have you switched to real-time texting or video calls?

D: Letter writing has been fundamental to how our relationship progressed from our initial brief physical meeting into the deepest of friendships. Being a more traditional ‘long form’ means of communication, we filled our letters with all the little details of life. No brief texts or short messages in those days—and for that I’m very grateful. As time passed and technology meant we could connect instantaneously, we continued to document the story of our lives, to laugh and cry on each other’s shoulders.

J: We have evolved in terms of how we communicate, moving from standard letters, to email letters, zoom meetings, and reunions in person! But the essence of our communication remains the same. The thrill of receiving a letter never goes away. Via mailbox or via email, the excitement of knowing there’s a letter waiting for me can make my day better. These letters are not a page long. They go on for pages and pages. I take each word in and usually read it many times (many, many times).

Do you ever see each other in person?

D: Oh yes! The first time I saw Janet again and met her husband, Brian, was in 1990 when we stopped off in San Francisco on the way to New York, where we were preparing to move for a work assignment. In 1991, on a west coast road trip, we finally got to have both families in the same place at the same time. Janet and I already felt like we knew each other’s children, but it was wonderful to see them together and watch them interact.

In 1998, I had 3 children and Janet had 2. Janet, Brian, and the kids visited Australia and we spent a wonderful couple of days together (and they got to visit some Aussie attractions we have yet to see!)

We started to travel together as well. An absolute highlight was meeting up in New Orleans in 2014 to celebrate 30 years since that first serendipitous encounter. There have been more visits to Australia and San Francisco (and Napa) and an incredible trip to China in 2018. We now have plans to meet in 2023 and spend a couple of exciting weeks in Australia’s wine country.

J: Traveling together is just a dream! Who could have imagined that our husbands would get along and actually enjoy traveling together as well? Occasionally, people will think they are brothers or that we are sisters, until they hear the accents from different parts of the world!

Favorite part of your friendship? Favorite thing about one another?

J: I love that our story is so unique. Letter–– writing is now a rare way to communicate—in this fast paced world it is essentially a thing of the past. For us, after a chance meeting, it is how we shared our lives and our worlds. How many people today can say they have an actual pen pal? Is it even a thing anymore?

Debbie provides me with unconditional love and support and holds my heart. She is often among the first people I turn to for counsel and support. I treasure our friendship, precious time together, and our story.

D: I love everything about our friendship. I’m constantly amazed at the depth of connection that can exist in a long-distance friendship that has grown, for the most part, through letters. I love having a friend who knows my history over a long period of time and who can pick up a hint or idea that is woven somewhere into what I’m trying to articulate and can then express it back to me. That is a very deep layer of connection and understanding. I love that our friendship encompasses our families, especially that our husbands are such great mates. Janet knows all my insecurities and foibles and loves me anyway. She gently nudges my thinking and helps me see a way forward when I’m in a rut. I adore her impish smile and her laugh. She knows how to listen and be serious and she knows how to have fun. She brightens every moment and has added joy to my life in so many unexpected ways. I love her beyond measure.

Why do you think it worked so well?

D: What made Janet and I ‘click’? We were at the same stage of life, each with a first child under the age of o

ne. We were ‘stay at home’ mums, sharing the delights and exhaustion of babies and parenting. We both had husbands with very demanding jobs who worked long hours. We understood all those demands of sometimes ‘solo’ parenting. We lean the same way politically and share a love of books. Those are great starting points, but to make a long-distance friendship develop into one of the defining relationships of your life, there has to be something more. Beyond the shared values and shared sense of humour. A special magic. Maybe it’s the curly hair.

The biggest things can grow from the smallest points of connection. Grab those moments and hang onto them with all your might. The stars aligned so perfectly to bring us together,. We have felt the magic of that moment every day since then. We are more than BFFs. We are Best Friends In The Whole Entire Universe.

J: We were 2 young women who took a chance back in 1984 and became old-fashioned pen pals. Old-fashioned pen pals became each other’s confidantes. Confidantes became best friends and  world wide travel buddies. The connection was serendipitous but led to a lifelong friendship that has endured distance, time, and the craziness of life, of raising a family, keeping marriages together, working in and out of the home, and experiencing political, climate, and emotional upheavals.

I am one lucky lady. I have been blessed with family and friends who contribute to my everyday life. My friendship with Debbie has added so much love, adventure, and depth to my life. Thank you Debbie, my Australian friend, for taking a risk and spending an afternoon with an outgoing American mother and her little one. What a life-changing day!

Nancy Gaudet

“THIS IS THE END OF ONE LOVE STORY AND THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER,” WRITES NANCY GAUDET.  “SOMETIMES THE ROAD WE TRAVEL IS NOT THE ONE WE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE.” SOMETIMES THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. BUT NANCY BELIEVES THERE ARE “GOD INSTANCES.”

I believe there are times when a higher power, something far bigger than ourselves, is at work in the universe. Once in a while, we are lucky and are in the right place to cross paths with someone special. I realize some might think this sounds crazy, and to a non-believer,  probably sounds like a bunch of bullshit. However, the story I am about to tell you happened to real people. There is a beginning, a middle, and an end. In the next decade of my life, when my memory fades, I will have these words to recall this time in my life. It is my sincerest wish that it gives someone else like me the gift of hope.

FALL 2019

In October, about 2 hours after completing a 100-mile bike ride in Florida to raise money for Type 1 Diabetes, I had a massive seizure and ended up in a Neuro Intensive Care Unit for 5 days. My company flew a dear friend, Cynthia, to Florida to help bring me home. She thought she would be there for a day. Instead, she sat at my bedside for 4 days. I learned that the seizure was caused by hyponatremia, a condition caused by low sodium. I also developed rhabdomyolysis, a syndrome that breaks down muscle tissue and can cause organ failure or death, if not treated urgently. My kidneys were failing and I was close to needing dialysis. I remember the hospital chaplain reading me my last rights and praying. The doctors pumped me with IV fluids, did CAT scans on my brain, and induced rest, all the while waiting for my kidneys to respond in a normal manner. I could not walk for many days.

When I could slowly walk down the hall, they sent me home on day 8 with a script for physical therapy and a visiting nurse. Cynthia patiently waited for my condition to improve and helped me navigate back to Boston. I consider myself to be fiercely independent and strong, but I did not feel remotely strong and I found depending on others to be strangely frightening and vulnerable. I was told I needed to rest for 12 weeks. That meant no working, no driving, and no strenuous activity. It would be 24 weeks before I could ride my bike again. I had a difficult time showering and making myself a cup of tea. I could barely walk. Living alone certainly has its advantages—until it doesn’t. Perspective. I was fortunate that there was no permanent brain damage and I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky to have survived the entire incident. If I had that seizure in my hotel room the outcome would have been drastically different.

My true friends, family, and colleagues show up. They bring me food, drive me to doctors’ appointments, and set up my computer at home. Flowers arrive daily. So do deliveries of homemade soup, cards, and get well wishes. I feel very blessed by all of the kindness. I am somewhat surprised that so many people are concerned and show such respect and love for me. It feels like a gift! I separated from my husband after leaving an extremely toxic marriage. The greatest joy I received from that marriage was my one and only son, Ryan.

I have spent the months since, recovering, reflecting, and taking a long, hard look at myself. I recently came across a quote by author Edith Eger “Our painful experiences aren’t a liability—they’re a gift. They give us perspective and meaning, an opportunity to find our unique purpose and our strength.”

My new best friends are the visiting nurse and the physical therapist. My new reality is my lovely, sunlit 2-bedroom apartment, an overstuffed easy chair, and the Hallmark Channel. This predicament has forced me to slow my life down to a screeching halt. I am one of those people that can’t ever say “no” and have a long list of things to do on a daily basis. If I keep busy, then there is not a lot of time to sit with my feelings.

I often wonder why God saved me. I think of my ride buddy, Kelly, who had the horror of watching my seizure  and who would have been the one to tell Ryan that she was the last person to speak to me or see me alive. I feel awful about that. Perhaps God has a plan for each of us. With renewed gratitude, I implement a daily ritual of prayer and deep-breathing exercises. I need some advice and a plan. I am thinking long and hard about my purpose here on earth. I need strength and I’m in search of answers.

WINTER 2019

At about 10 weeks into my recovery, I break all the rules and drive myself 5 miles to church for a Saturday afternoon mass. It has been weeks since I went to church. During the homily, the priest tells us to all go home and write our own obituary! It was as if God was speaking directly to me. In his remarks, the priest said it is important to know how we want to be remembered. He spoke about the dash—that line between the year of birth and year of death in every obituary and on every gravestone. He preached that, “In this life, when all is said and done, it is not important how much we own, what kind of car we drive, or how much money we make. What matters most is how we live in our ‘dash.’” He challenged me to think about the things in our life that might need changing while we still had the time. Those remarks haunted me for days. Was it just a coincidence or a “God instance?” I perseverate over these questions, “How will they remember me? How am I living in my dash?”

I feel blessed that I have a wonderful career that I have worked hard at for more than 30 years. In the property management business, every day is fast-paced, and no 2 days are the same. I have the good fortune of working with the same team throughout this time. I am surrounded by colleagues that share the same values and work ethic. We are like a family, and I have grown into a leadership position that aligns with my own personality, goals, and aspirations. Now sitting at home, it is time for me to pause, refer to my growing bucket list, and do some scrutinizing of exactly how I am living in my dash. That untimely seizure gave me a rare opportunity to reflect on so very many things. I do not have any of my wishes recorded on paper. I have an unfulfilled bucket list and the gift of more time to change things. I made a commitment to myself to take control of my life. I ended some friendships that were just not working for me. I cherished and thanked the friends that were there for me during a desperate time. I started saying “I love you” before saying “goodbye.” I hugged people like it could be the last time I would see them. I woke up grateful for another day on this earth. I prayed every morning for God to help me become the very best version of myself.

I get busy doing some things out of my comfort zone. I sign up for an acting class at a community theater around the corner from my apartment and do a Google search for ballroom dancing lessons near me. I call my attorney to finalize my divorce. I get busy writing my will, changing the beneficiaries on all my accounts, and making sure to protect everything I worked so hard for.

For the final task on my checklist, I took the plunge and joined a dating website! Online dating was awkward, interesting, and somewhat amusing. I have not dated for more than 30 years! The dating website was full of singles, divorced people, and those seeking everlasting love. The algorithm, based on questions I answer, is guaranteed to find me the very best match. Being the bottom-line person that I am, I look only at the profiles of men who are greater than a 90% match and within a 60-mile radius. My profile consists of a few decent photos, a short bio, and a list of 3 things I am looking for in a partner:

1.     Make me laugh

2.     Make me dinner

3.     Ask me  about my day (and listen to my answer!)

Not a tall order. A very short list.

I go on several lunch dates (even though I am keenly aware that I look way better in candlelight). To me, dinner seems like too much of a commitment. I make small talk, look for kindness, a sense of adventure, and someone who can make me laugh. I have a rule that we must talk on the phone before I will go on a date. There are way more phone chats than meetings, and finding my true love seems like an improbable task!

Sadly, most of my dates talk way more than they listen. They say they hate their jobs, are counting the days until retirement, and seem to want someone to take care of them. So much for algorithms! My lunch dates include a fisherman from Nantucket, a silver fox from Braintree, a Christian Scientist from Newton, an optometrist (who was all hands) from Rhode Island, and the guy with a golden doodle.

I have a couple of lunch dates with a lumberjack from Cape Cod. We decide it will be fun to give ballroom dance lessons a whirl. He has two left feet and no sense of rhythm. Our weekly dinner dates, followed by dance lessons, quickly become a chore on my to-do list. He seems excited to see me, makes it a point to ask me about my day, continuously makes attempts at telling me jokes—I give him credit for being mindful of my checklist. But, when he eagerly asks if I am going to sign up for the next set of dance lessons, I politely inform him that I am planning to take tennis lessons. My longest dating relationship terminated in the parking lot after dance class.

I thoroughly enjoy acting classes! The feedback from my classmates and the teacher is that I am an “articulate storyteller” with an innate ability to portray whatever character I am assigned as “extremely believable.” I feel a small glimmer of hope that maybe someday, before I turn 75 years old, I could possibly be on the big screen. I sign up for the next session right away. I am embracing new things!

As the calendar rolls forward to 2020, I decide to take a break from online dating. I am bound and determined to continue down this new road of discovery.

In mid-January, my son Ryan, goes off to Florence, Italy, to study in his junior year of college. I am thrilled for him and in full-on panic for me. I can only think of the complications that could arise if he needs medical attention for his Type 1 Diabetes. I smile and hug him long and hard at the airport but cry alone in my car all the way home. Ryan had traveled to Europe many times since he was a teenager. He is a semi-pro cyclist on Team Novo Nordisk, an international professional cycling team made up of athletes with diabetes. The first time he traveled to Europe, he was just 15 years old. He flew off to Belgium, alone, with his bike and diabetes supplies. I survived all those trips, but the longest duration was about 20 days, not more than 100 days as this trip would be! I said a silent prayer and asked God to watch over him. To alleviate my fears, we made a pact that I would fly to Florence and visit him at the end of his semester to celebrate our milestone birthdays: 21 and 60. That allowed me something to look forward to and gave me a shot at maintaining my sanity. We would ride our bikes together in the hills of Tuscany, eat pasta for lunch with warm, fresh bread dipped in olive oil, and sip a good Brunello di Montalcino together.

SPRING 2020

We are all fully aware of how the world has changed. Coronavirus hits Italy hard and early on. This is a global pandemic. Hospitals in Italy are at capacity, people are dying daily, cities are being evacuated. The borders to neighboring countries are being closed, students at universities are abruptly sent home as colleges close their programs. It is a mad scramble and several days of anxiety trying to get my son a flight back home. The photos all over social media of trucks lined up in the streets of Italy waiting to remove the dead bodies are horrifying to me! Ryan returns safely, but heartbroken. He was having the time of his life “living the dream,” he said. At this point, there is no way to even test for the virus in the states. Ryan quarantines for 14 days and I pray he does not have the virus. This catastrophic event changes everything about our daily lives.

As the world is spiraling out of control, in early March, my dear friend of more than 25 years gets some very bad news: her husband has just been diagnosed with glioblastoma, a rare and aggressive form of brain cancer. John is only 58 years old and is fit and healthy, playing basketball just 2 weeks prior to his diagnosis. His youngest daughter is still only a sophomore in high school and 2 other children are in college. The 2 of us cried together about this long road of uncertainty ahead for them. I happen to be pretty good at fundraising and tell myself that God will work through me and I will help my friend. This is something I am meant to do.

I learn that John’s best friend, Chris, has purchased a used handicap-accessible van for them and has offered to drive her husband to Boston for his daily radiation treatments. I wonder, “What kind of friend buys someone a van and helps take them to radiation every day?” These 2 men met in little league when they were 8 years old. That means they have been friends for over 5 decades! Chris shows up every morning with a cup of coffee and a smile on his face. My friend connected Chris and I and we spoke about fundraising ideas over the phone, but at times we both became emotional about John. A few days after our initial call, I sent him the book “Chasing Daylight,” a true story about a man with glioblastoma. I suggested it would help Chris know what is coming and how he can help his best friend. We continue working on our fundraising: recruiting friends, setting up committees and wondering all the while if it is possible to raise any money during a global pandemic. In a world of darkness, I am hoping to find just a tiny sliver of light.

After several business calls with a man I have never met, I become very interested to know more. I turn to Google. I am always amazed that anything you want to know is just a few clicks away! I find a wealth of information. Chris is 57 years old, holds 2 Master’s degrees, has 2 children in their 20s, has a successful career, and an address on the North Shore. He is involved in some very significant fundraising efforts and charity work and has been dubbed “Man of the Year” by a local charity. It is evident that he is a master fundraiser.

If you were to Google me, the results would show that I am 60 years old and a senior vice president of a family-owned real estate management company south of Boston. I hold one Master’s degree, have one child in his 20s and an address on Cape Cod. I host a monthly support group for moms of children with Type 1 Diabetes. I spend a fair amount of time training on my bike for century rides, volunteering at JDRF programs, and raising thousands of dollars for diabetes research.

The Google search made me feel hopeful. I felt excited. I thought, together we can really do something great for our friends. I was so excited to do something positive. This was really a sliver of light.

One Friday night we decide to speak on the phone and discuss business over a glass of wine. We talk about our dear friends and the heartbreak we feel. We talk about how much money we think we can raise. We discussed our jobs, our children, and where we went to college. We learn that we grew up a town apart and that last Thanksgiving we were both at John and my friend’s house with dozens of other friends but never met!

After a few glasses of wine, we realized we had been talking for almost 5 hours! I reluctantly suggested that we should hang up, though I admit, I could have talked for several more hours. Talking to him was like putting on an old sweatshirt—comfortable, warm, and cozy. I learned that we liked the same music, the same food and wine, the same people, sports, books, tv shows. Was I flirting? I made him laugh! He made me laugh! The connection was surreal. The following morning, I felt compelled to send a text: “What is worse—an alcohol hangover or a vulnerability hangover?” Minutes later he responded with, “HA HA! GREAT question!” I could not stop thinking about him. I wondered if he was thinking about me at all.

A week later,  we were back on the phone talking long into the night. I learned that we had a lot of common interests and similar personalities. We both came from humble beginnings. We both had an energy and passion for causes and people we loved. Getting to know him was like reading a really good book and I could not wait to turn the page.

SUMMER 2020

Chris and I have many more phone calls and fun texts. We talk about books, our present living situation, the pandemic and how it has changed our lives, our children, and religion. He was a football player and I was a cheerleader! We discuss our college experiences and how we each paid for our own education. We talk about how we both live alone and work a lot. He eventually admits to watching the Hallmark Channel and says he definitely believes in fairy-tale endings. I immediately inform him that my own life-experience is not remotely similar to any of the Hallmark movies! The idea of a Prince Charming is a myth, and I absolutely do not believe in fairy-tale endings. When I inquire about what happened to his marriage he says, “It is complicated.” When he asks what happened to my marriage I say, “It’s complicated.” We leave that subject alone.

At this point, most businesses are closed. We are in lock down. We have several Zoom calls with the fundraising committees about virtual events, as we know gathering in person will most likely be improbable for many more months. It is early June by now, the world is still a very scary place. Chris informs me that we have spent more than 400 hours on the phone! Imagine speaking to someone whom you have never met in person for that long? He does not seem real. For all I know, he could be a psychopath. I have not yet told anyone about him. I wonder if he was a gift from God.

I have only seen Chris’s face on a few Zoom calls with the fundraising committees. I boldly suggest we schedule a private Zoom. He eagerly agrees and by 7:00 p.m. we are drinking wine and showing each other our apartments. This is not really a “date” so I do nothing to prepare. I am wearing an old sweatshirt and baggy shorts; I wear very little make up and have no polish on my nails. My grey roots are at least 3 inches long! I am rethinking this idea but throw caution to the wind! This is me. I am who I am; I am a 60-year-old woman with flaws and wrinkles.

We have such easy banter, just like on the telephone. We talk until Zooms cuts us off at the stroke of an hour, but continue on the phone for several more. He tells me that the pandemic is one of the best things that ever happened to him ... He says that he learned a great deal about himself during the pandemic and will not go back to his former way of life. I share with him the story of my seizure and that it was one of the best things that happened to me. I tell him how it allowed me to take a long hard look at myself and my life and determine what is really important. I have spent the last 2 years living alone, trying to move forward and become the very “best version” of myself. I say that it is time for me to close this chapter and I do truly believe that God has a plan.

A few weeks into June we realize that lock down is not changing anytime soon. This round of radiation treatments will end soon, and I ask Chris to help me set up John’s room so his wife can work next to his bed. We decide to meet there, for the first time in person, and then have lunch outside in a socially-distanced manner.   

I am nervous. When I walk into my friend’s living room, my eyes lock with his. My heart does, in fact, skip a beat and I feel my throat catch. This is not what I expect. I do not want to feel anything! My friend introduces us and we all laugh at how he and I had never actually met in person until that very moment. We get busy building a desk together. We joke around a lot during the process and the same easy banter we have had over the phone continues in person. We both agree to keep our blossoming friendship a secret for the time being. We leave in our separate cars but meet in a parking lot and drive together to his friend’s vacant home north of Boston. We spend our time walking on the beach, me showing him how to look for sea glass. He brought some special Italian wine he thought I might like since I missed a trip to Italy for my birthday. I am impressed with his thoughtfulness. We eat outside on the patio overlooking the ocean. We watch the most perfect vibrant sunset of orange and pink. We build a fire and listen to music. We learn that we are both big Bruce Springsteen fans! The song “Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts starts to play and I am struck by the lyrics.

I set out on a narrow way many years ago/Hoping I would find true love along the broken road/But I got lost a time or two/Wiped my brow and kept pushing through/I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you.

Thankful for the darkness, I desperately want to stop time and hold onto this most perfect moment forever. We realize we have to drive a long way home. We awkwardly do this half-handshake-half-hug. This was not a date. But if it were a date, it would definitely be in the top three of my entire life! I smile all the way home.

The next day, he calls me and says that he had the best time and suggests we do something outside again the following weekend. I emphatically inform him that these are to be considered “adventures” not dates because I am terrible at dating. Since he already learned about all my bad dates, he wholeheartedly agrees, adding that we are much too old to be “dating.”

As the days turn into weeks, we take turns planning adventures and bike rides. After one particular adventure he makes me dinner. No other man has ever been to my apartment. Chris is the very first man in my life to make me dinner. I recall getting out of the shower and finding him in my kitchen in his pajamas already prepping for dinner. He has a glass of wine waiting for me on the counter top. This is my fantasy! To sit here on my bar stool and just sip wine, talk, and watch someone else make me dinner. After dinner we watch a movie and hold hands on the couch like teenagers. Chris stays over and sleeps in my son’s room. He is a true gentleman.

In the morning, we watch the sun rise, and drink coffee together. At this point, we have hugged, we have held hands, and snuggled on the couch. Then finally, we kiss. It was so worth the wait. It was that singular, slow-motion moment when two very bruised and battered hearts let the tiny droplets of love seep in ever so slowly. It feels like a gift from God. We do nothing more than that. I am too scared. As the summer rolls on, we ride our bikes on the Cape Cod Canal, on the Rail trail, along the coast in Rhode Island. We walk the beach, eat fried clams, and learn so much about each other. I am feeling scared, but having fun.

We have mobilized 2 groups of people to help our friends. We have managed to help raise over $150,000 and planned a 1-day virtual Walk/Run/Ride event with more than 140 participants. The event includes a parade of people in matching T-shirts walking by John’s house so he can watch from his driveway in his wheelchair. This event raises another $30,000! At this point, the radiation treatments have stopped, and John’s condition is slowly declining.

FALL 2020

Chris and I begin to meet at church with masks on sitting 6 feet apart. We pray for our friends and I also say a silent prayer for myself: “Are you there God? Please, please send me a sign that spending time with Chris is the right thing for me to do at this point in my life. I am feeling scared. I have the urge to just run away in the opposite direction. I really need a sign!” I have this conversation with God and ask for a sign for 3 consecutive days.

The following weekend I receive a package from The Vermont Teddy Bear Company. Inside the box is an adorable little stuffed dog. The card reads, “Maybe start here. I named her Faith. She will always come when you call her.”  Chris tells me it isn’t from him. I text some friends. I call the Vermont Teddy Bear Company. I cannot figure out who sent this gift. The next day,  my assistant asks if I recently received a package—she sent me the dog! She reminded me of a recent conversation about me getting a dog during COVID. She had joked that with my busy lifestyle, I would be better suited to raising a stuffed dog than a real one. Of all the names in the universe, I asked, why did she choose the name Faith? She replied, “Because life is all about faith, hope, and love.” I closed my office door and sobbed at my desk. That was the sign I asked for! That was the sign that I prayed for! I truly believe God  was telling me to take a leap of faith.

When 2 very bruised and battered hearts collide at exactly the right moment, I have to believe that something bigger is at work, that God has a plan. I believe that when you truly open your eyes and ears and heart to what God has to say, you will understand. Chris and I are wildly, deeply, joyously in love. All those conversations ,slowly learning about each other, paved the way for a deep and lasting connection. Working together to help our friends was something that brought us together. I truly believe it was a God instance. In the most unlikely time, when the world was a dark and scary place, together we found that tiny sliver of light.

Chris told me he fell in love with me from the inside out, my heart first. I tell Chris that meeting him felt like a gift from God.

In October of 2020, Chris’s best friend, John, passed away. It was a Sunday. I believe only angels die on Sundays.

SPRING 2022

On May 6, 2022, the day I turned 62 years old, Chris and I closed on a house in a gated community located in Plymouth. We plan to retire there together in the next 5 years and spend our time drinking good wine, riding our bikes, and making each other laugh. Once in a lifetime, if we are very lucky, someone comes into our life that we really connect with heart to heart, soul to soul. A connection happens, friendships develop, and we find lasting love right where we are.

God blessed the broken road that led us here.