Eulogy for a friend

 My dear friend, Tim Hendrix, passed in July 2023. He was a week shy of being 59 years old. His illness was long, terrifying, vicious and unrelenting. It was incredibly hard to watch his dreams die. This is my eulogy to be presented on 9/23/24.

Welcome and thank you for being here today. Your presence and witness not only honor Tim, but are a balm, support and accompaniment to the grief of everyone in this room. I recognize Tim’s family, the many friends who served as Tim’s family during his illness, and especially Tim’s partner and fiancé, Mahmod Eslami, who joins us via livestream from Italy.

 

My name is Amber. I am a friend of Tim’s. We met in the hallway outside this room more than 20 years ago. We shared meals, laughter, sadness, a love of fashion, and most enjoyably, we shared in making music together in this room. He lovingly watched my daughter grow up, encouraged her, wrote glowing reference letters for her, and performed her wedding ceremony. Tim was family.

 

If I asked you to raise your hand if you were also Tim’s friend, I expect all of you would raise your hands. If I asked you to raise your hand if you thought of Tim as a very close friend, almost all of you would raise your hand.

 

Tim had an enviable gift; a gift of making friends and being a friend.

 

When Tim asked me to be his partner on his medical journey, I began attending many office and hospital visits with him. Each place we went, Tim started making friends. The second time we visited an office, the staff knew him by name and greeted him with a smile.

 

I started paying close attention to how Tim effortlessly did this. He started by really seeing a person. He acknowledged them personally. He accepted them for who they presented themselves to be. He was honest with them. He remembered them whenever we returned. He encouraged them when they shared with him.

 

As a friend of Tim’s, I expect you experienced much the same as the people who provided Tim’s medical care.

 

Tim met us where we were and saw us for who we are. He didn’t ask us to be anything less or more.

 

Tim joined in our sorrows, our triumphs, and in our indomitable task of day-to-day living in this world.

 

Tim saw us; he accepted us; he loved us.

 

Tim, like all of us, had his faults. But I think his primary motivation was seated in love. Accepting people where they are requires an act of lovingkindness. Truly seeing people requires a deep understanding of the human condition. Loving others requires giving of yourself.

 

One time in the hospital, we asked him if he wanted anything. He was suffering greatly and coming to terms with his terminal condition. His reply in the midst of this was, “I just want everyone to love everyone else.”

 

PEPPER STARTS PLAYING “ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE”

 

As a friend of Tim’s, he saw your melody and offered a harmony as he shared your lives.

He accompanied us in the major keys of our joys and the minor keys of our sorrows.

When we needed encouragement, he provided a supportive rhythm to help us keep moving forward.

Tim helped us sing our songs. We loved him for that.

 

PEPPER LEADS CONGREGATION IN SINGING CHORUS

I Juggle One Thousand Basketballs

Standing in the center of the old gymnasium, soft light seeping through the windows high on the walls of stone, I juggle one thousand basketballs. The capricious orange spheres float in the air, up and down, sometimes caroming off of the high ceiling, almost but never touching the once-shiny wooden floor.

I ask the one thousand basketballs to settle, to find a roosting spot.  They drift down one at a time, several all at once. There is silence as they come to rest.  Some of the basketballs do not move downward, but continue to float and bounce.  A few rise from the floor as high as my head.  “Hush little ball, time to settle, if only for a few moments,” I think.  “Sink down onto the floor.”

I stand alone, silent and still in the midst of one thousand basketballs.  They lie at my feet, some still agitated, like babies who do not wish to nap and struggle to stay awake.  I try not to look or pay attention to the recalcitrant ones.

My gaze turns upwards, away from the one thousand basketballs. The roof of the rock gym is very high; the light pleasant and soft as if dusk is approaching. My mind is quiet and my soul lightened.  I remain unmoving as long as my mind allows.  I turn in a circle inch by measured inch, stretching out my arms as if they are moving through deep, blue water, feeling the lightness of my soul as it dances through my body. If I stay here long enough, I find bursting love and contentment at the center of the dance.

My arms float down to rest at my sides as I stop turning. My eyes open to find the soft light in the high windows. I feel movement around my feet as the balls begin to stir, rising with a languidness they did not show before. I acknowledge them with a softer mind. They begin their gentle bouncing, now less frenetic. Our movements have come into symmetry, the beginning of another dance. It is time to leave the rock gym.

It is strange that I come to this memory to find balance, stillness.  The rock gym is not a place I found silence or peacefulness in my youth.  Yet, I return often to let the one thousand basketballs find rest and my soul to find a few sacred moments of meditation.

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The rock gymnasium of my school years, grades five through twelve, was where gym classes were held, basketball games played, health and art classes met in the odd-sized classrooms both downstairs and behind the balcony seating area.

The unique structure was built in 1939, a WPA project of the era.  Neighbors brought rocks from their fields and yards to the school site, as well as wood for the construction.  It still stands as I remember it, now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. 

       

     

          

Walking the Tightrope

Tax time is here.  For me that means a 4-month burst of activity in a season of busyness.  Oddly enough, I enjoy this time of year.  On the positive side, I get to reconnect with people I see only once a year.  It also helps the household bottom line.  On the negative side, I sit too long at the computer which I find spiritually draining, we eat out more often (maybe that should go on the positive side), I don’t exercise or see my friends often enough, but most importantly, I rarely make time to just “be.”

We are human beings and not human doings for a reason.  God created us to be…be with God, be with each other, be with ourselves and be in the beauty of all creation.  Eckhart Tolle, author of several books about living in presence and the power of being, teaches that the mandate, “Be still and know that I am God” is the entire wisdom of all religion.  My thought is that being still is the wisdom, root and fruit of spirituality, that which we find within ourselves and not in the rhetoric and traditions of religion. 

Finding true stillness is the most difficult spiritual practice I have ever attempted, whether on a yoga mat, on the beach, or in a worship service.  I found true stillness for the first time on my back porch during the twelve months of my cancer treatment.  It is a wonderful place to be, really be.  At first it seemed strange – just being.  I was so tired and sedated that it was easy to just sit.  “Being” soon became my favorite thing to “do.”  I made a list of things I did while I sat in the rocking chair through spring, summer, and on into fall. 

Consider, ponder

Watch the birds, imagine, feel a breeze, check the plants

Watch the venus fly trap, catch flies, feed the venus fly trap (presumably this was on a day when I was fairly well medicated)

Pray, read, visit

Watch the dog roll in the grass, watch my daughter play

Look for fireflies, smell the grill

Rock in my grandma’s chair, remember my grandma

Enjoy the changing trees, wonder

Feel the warmth of the heater

Mull, listen to the sounds of my husband’s newspaper

Close my eyes, just breathe, shed tears.

Stillness is immensely valuable. Opening space in my mind opened my soul.  I made time with my Creator and eventually found myself. The changes were subtle in the days, but profound in the months.  I discovered an ability to view the world with a sense of healthy detachment and a willingness to relinquish control. 

But tax time is here.  The challenge of accomplishing work well and on a timely basis is always at the forefront.  It is vital for the wellness of my whole being to live a season of balance, not a season of busyness.  It is a little like walking on a tightrope.  A steady balance is hard to maintain in the face of deadlines and competing interests.  

How can I believe that listening and stillness are essential to my soul and not make time for them?  I already have time marked on my calendar for exercise classes and lunch dates.  I even have a plan to play duets with a fellow musician!  However, I have not marked out time for practicing the art of being.  Perhaps that is what I should “do” today.

"Being spiritual has nothing to do with what you believe and everything to do with your state of consciousness."
— Eckhart Tolle

A Grand Affair

On this December morning, I am sitting in my living room enjoying the sight and smell of the decorated Fraser Fir that stands in the bay window.  As beautiful as it is in and of itself and also because of its transient nature, it is not the star attraction in the room.  The real treasure is the female presence in the corner.  I knew she was feminine from the moment I first saw her.  She is my piano.

Several years ago I bought her from a family that was selling the old church piano to fund their daughter’s wedding.  It was difficult to determine the potential of the piano, but I followed my gut feeling and brought her home.  

She is an upright grand constructed of solid, quarter-sawn oak and cast iron.  She is barely moveable.  I can date the manufacture date of 1893 from the Steinway serial number inside.  Underneath the keyboard is a sign of something from her past.  I can envision a “rebellious” young teenager lying on the floor of the Sunday School room under the piano in 1973 penciling on the peace sign that remains there to this day.  I love it!  After a major investment in her repair and rebuild, she once again has the solid, sweet tone of the Steinway masterpiece she was created to have.

All these attributes are not what make her my treasure.  I have had a years-long love affair with her.  She comes alive under my fingers, challenges me and makes the music sound better than perhaps I can play it.  I can pour out my emotions through her and she always listens with clear empathy, no judgment involved, and allows me to express myself in a beautiful way.

Somewhere through the years I began using her.  It wasn’t just about the magic of merging piano, artist and spiritual creativity anymore.  I started using her to impress people, to feed my sense of self-worth.  And the magic just sort of dried up.  I lost my artistry and creativity by turning the music into church WORK.  Instead of finding joy and adventure on the bench, all that awaited me there was stress, fear and dread. Along with that realization and my burgeoning inner journey into losing religion and finding true spirituality, I decided to relinquish my church WORK.  Leaving that behind is like abandoning a label that I once coveted.  Oddly enough there is no sadness or regret about my choice, only freedom to rekindle the magic.

At this moment I vow to never turn my gift of music into work again.  I firmly believe that music is one of the God’s greatest creations and gifts to us.  It deserves my best effort at accomplishing what I love and finding delight in the gift wherever seems right to my soul.

Now I am once again finding myself on the bench at odd moments during the day, tentatively picking up old favorite pieces, finding the dexterity in my fingers isn’t too far gone, remembering the joy I found here.  Even in this moment I am antsy sitting here writing because I just want to play my favorite Christmas music along with this treasure of a piano. 

This will be her 117^th Christmas.  She has seen many piano players come and go through the years and will likely be played for many Christmases long after I am gone.  I hope she remembers my touch and her part in my journey, and I secretly harbor a desire that she likes me the best of all who have drawn music from her soul.

Without music, life would be a mistake.

Friedrich Nietzsche

A Line of Gold Thread

The house is still this morning except for the heater which I feel blowing on the side of my neck.  I get up to turn down the thermostat and am reminded once again of how thankful I am for this new programmable model.  My dad installed it just the other day.  When I come downstairs at 6:15 in the morning, the house is already warm.  I think of it as his warm hug each morning.

One day I mentioned how I would like to have a programmable thermostat, and, true to form, Daddy came to the rescue.  He had an extra one in his stash of odds and ends, and offered to bring it over and install it.  Daddy does anything he can to make my life better.  Sometimes he calls just to see if there is anything he can do for me that day.  It might entail driving me around when my toe was broken, fixing something in the house, or just having lunch at the hot dog place with me and Mom.

When I was three years old, he was in the sleeper of an 18-wheeler and his partner fell asleep at the wheel.  Daddy’s back was broken in the accident.  I don’t remember much about it except for sitting on top of his full-torso cast and knocking on it.  His back hurts a lot now and he has to be careful not to aggravate it, so he is limited in his activities.  Yet he always finds time to help and goes out of his way to share his time and infinite skills with me.

We have installed numerous light fixtures, water faucets and ceiling fans together.  He has hung at least 15 windows in my house.  This is how he shows his great love for me.  It is the largest thing about him.

He is thin, the fat and muscle shrinking away with age.  His gait is affected by his back pain and peripheral neuropathy in his feet.  But his eyes are the clearest, brightest blue I have ever seen, his white hair is full and as gorgeous as a lion’s mane, and his smile the same as I always remember – lighting up his whole face when he sees me.

I know Daddy’s love for me is pure and steady and deep as a long, slow-moving river.  But his love for my mother is most remarkable.  It is the rudder by which he guides his life and his moments.

They have been together for over 65 years.  He prefers her company over anyone’s.  They don’t always agree and I am sure they have their own issues, but they remain as steadfastly together as swans who mate for life.

Daddy is very quiet and speaks only when he has something worth sharing, except for when just a few family members are together and he readily joins in the conversation. His voice is gravelly and he cannot produce much volume because of a paralyzed vocal chord.  But he never misses an opportunity to say, “I love you,” or “You be pretty, now.” 

My dad, who can fix anything and who loves with greatness, can easily melt into the background.  But it is those people in the background who provide the unwavering love that keeps the rest of us afloat – a firm anchor tethering us when we need it.  He provides my grounding and shows me that love is the most important thing.  I hope I can come close to his grand capacity for what he teaches every day.

I love you, Daddy.

There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself.  ~John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, 1994

Fierce Grace

The sister of my soul shared a beautiful sentiment with me, so I give her credit here.  She imagined how different it would be seeing other people through God’s eyes, not through the filter of our own experiences.

That made me think about my family and how our history and daily interactions result in blinders and filters on my eyes.  There are always minor irritations, flat-out anger and miscommunication when you live with someone – or even when you don’t.  

Every night my husband turns off the NUMLOCK on my keyboard and the next morning I input transactions into Quicken that have no numbers.  Every night he checks his email and finds the NUMLOCK key turned on.  We both mutter under our breath about the daily irritation. God must think we are terribly petty creatures who completely miss the magnificence of the humans who share our most intimate spaces.

I envision how God sees us.  Our Creator surely looks upon us with love, whole-hearted acceptance and grace for our shortcomings.  That is how I perceive my Creator – full of grace.  Do I have simple, no-strings-attached grace for my family?  Or for people I don’t even like?  Or for telemarketers and foreign technical support?  Don’t even get me started on that rude woman in the subway.  Do I even have enough grace in my entire being to lovingly deal with a NUMLOCK standoff?  Some days I wonder.

The same wise friend also talks about “fierce grace.”  Ferocity is “unrestrained zeal or vehemence; furiously active or determined.”   Imagine being determined to see all the people you meet with eyes of grace.  I aspire to live that fierce grace, but am not totally successful.  Well, marginally successful if I am honest about it.  But I am more aware that the people in front of me are beneficiaries of God’s grace and therefore my own should follow.  I need to walk the walk with a little more “unrestrained zeal.”

Perhaps we must consciously encounter each individual aware that our interaction may bless us both in some way.  How differently would we answer the telephone if first we acknowledge that one of God’s finest creations is on the other end, and ask ourselves how this exchange can result in a blessing?  How often do we answer the telephone with irritation at the interruption? 

We may find that life looks very different when we follow a path of fierce and conscious grace.  I can only imagine.

PS – I decided to turn NUMLOCK off.

The Queen of Lists

I confess that I am the recently self-deposed Queen of Lists.

During my reign, I maintained a list for work items, house-related projects, personal lists, shopping lists, Christmas lists and a list for the highest priority items from the other lists.  There was even a special book in which to keep the lists orderly.  High priority items went on the dry-erase board along with the grocery list, which was then transferred to paper for the actual grocery trip.  Ah, the Queen of Lists was also the Queen of Organization & Control and believe me, she was good at it.  All those little tasks marching in an orderly fashion between lines of paper, some with check marks showing their contented state of completion.  What lovely lists!  What guilt-ridden lists.

Almost immediately after my cancer diagnosis, I had a visceral reaction to that once-revered book of lists.  It had morphed from a useful tool into a judgmental and controlling force that had entangled the strands of my life, sucking out spontaneity, creativity, and the desire to just be.  I didn’t simply toss it into the trash can, I threw it with a punch that would make a fast-pitch softball player proud.  I could almost hear the Queen of Lists shouting “Off with her head!” just like the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland. Ha! What a relief it was to hear that book of control thud into the can. 

It was time to live, not list.  It was time to stop finding personal satisfaction and significance by checking off items on a never-ending list.  It was time to open my hands and heart and let true life happen in the ripeness of its own time.

During months of self-introspection, silence and growing awareness, I developed a single list that has replaced all of the others.  It is an ongoing work that I hope to never finish and there are no items to check off.  It is a list of lessons I am learning.  Significant lessons that took way too many years to realize.  Lessons that allow for the beautiful unfurling of life.

“Why” is often irrelevant and unanswerable.  “How do I choose to respond” is what makes a true difference and allows healing and growth.

Embrace those who speak truth.

Seek the full face of God in its many forms, restoring the sacred place of the Divine Feminine in my life.

Being is infinitely more important than doing.

Silence can be priceless.  So can the sound of noisy children and garage bands.

Some books just aren’t worth finishing.  Some books should be read at least twice.

Music is one of the greatest gifts to mankind.

Friends and a good husband don’t care if you have hair.  A great husband will even shave your head and declare that this is a sexy look on you.

Always ask for pain meds if you even think the situation warrants it or if multiple needles are involved.

Some days can only be managed with rich, dark chocolate.

Some things we get through a day at a time.  Some days can only be gotten through a breath at a time.

Speaking truth from your soul is highly underrated.  Being nice is (often) highly overrated, especially when it gets in the way of truth.

There is great value and new life in losing my religion and discovering my spirituality.

There is an inner voice that most of us lose somewhere along the way and there is hardly anything in life more important than finding it and letting it always speak clearly to us.

Always dance when you have the chance.

Accept help with grace.  Offer it with love.

Always, always choose life and live it with a fierceness that recognizes the fragility and transience of it.

One last confession:  I have begun writing my grocery list again.  The family and the dog appreciate that!  But there is no Christmas list, or house list, just a few reminders on my calendar or sticky notes that occasionally get lost on my rather messy desk.  Forgotten details are a price I willingly pay.  Why?  In this overscheduled world?  This is the only life I have and the more I let go, the more I truly live.  Try it.