A beautiful, intelligent, talented and incredibly strong woman passed away on Aug. 26, but it’s only now sinking in. Renée Klosterman-Power was a friend and colleague and I never said a proper goodbye.
We had been trying to get together for lunch or tea for months over the winter but something always got in the way. Schedules, weather, an unexpected appointment, a new job assignment…we’d phone each other and message on Facebook joking about how we knew we’d manage it soon. Finding an hour or two to catch up couldn’t be that hard.
Then winter faded into spring.
On May 22 Renée emailed, apologizing first for the ‘group’ nature of it, and then conveying some hard facts about how her life had changed drastically over the last few days after a routine visit to her oncologist in Olympia, Wash. Renée’s status as a breast cancer survivor had suddenly and alarmingly been updated to cancer fighter, round two.
My eyes glazed over and my chest tightened as I read through the text several times in slow motion, praying that the content might change. ‘On Monday, over one liter of fluid was removed from the tissue surrounding my right lung. Cytology of the fluid showed evidence of tumor cells. The VERY good news is that the test also showed positive receptor for estrogen/progesterone…’ True to her positive and unflappable nature, she joked that losing her hair would be a great cost-saving strategy in these economic times. Her levity eased my mind and the directness of her words filled me with confidence that she’d have no trouble bringing down her malicious new foe. Still, I was terribly frightened for her and at a loss about what I could do to help with so many long miles between us. I told her I’d try to come up for a visit over the summer and she was delighted.
That visit never transpired.
Recently, I woke up at home early on a quiet Sunday morning longing for the feeling you get when you unzip a tent at 10,000 feet and are engulfed in the rosy clarity of a crisp, high altitude dawn. I headed outside to my backyard, gathered up some wood and sparked a small blaze in the fire pit. Smoothing the cool sand around its wrought iron base with the flat of my palm, I reveled in the magical moment that had been so easy to conjure up. A sharp crackle punctuated the stillness as a delicious and evocative piney smell wafted around me and the dogs wandered contentedly throughout the yard. Directly overhead, a hot air balloon drifted silently northward. It wasn’t camping in the wilderness, but it would do. As the sanctity penetrated my being, I felt a wave of emotion rising up inside.
I found myself thinking about Renée and the fact that I would never see her sparkly-eyed smile again or hear her wonderful laugh. Why didn’t I make it to Olympia this summer? Why didn’t we talk and write more when she was sick? How did we blow all those chances to get together back in the winter? Renée will never know how much I loved her and what an inspiration she was to me. Just then, my self-loathing pity party was interrupted by a raven cawing only a few feet away. Jolted back to the present, a surprising line popped into my head. What would Renée do? And then it all became crystal clear.
Renée would smile and laugh and say, ‘Wow, Beth, cool idea to make a fire in the pit. What a great way to start your morning! Now go on about your life, take care of your beautiful sons, keep writing and keep your light shining bright. Don’t fret for me and most of all, don’t fret for what couldn’t be. This is what is meant to be.’
I walked over to grab another piece of wood and, ducking under the crabapple tree, came upon a ribbon-like garter snake, absolutely motionless, staring up at me. Suddenly there were so many signs of Renée’s wisdom and spirit and such an abundance of life around, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and contentment. I went back to the fire and the blank sand canvas, placed some rocks in the shape of an R and finally said goodbye to sweet Renée.
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