I often think about what I am going to write in this post, weeks before I actually write it. I find inspiration all around me and like to connect to the world when I finally put paper to pen. Sometimes though, something happens that changes even the most well thought out plan. The past month has seen many events like the Boston Marathon bombing and record rainfall in Chicago: both of which had stories that did inspire me and gave me something I could write about. As a runner, I felt the Boston Marathon bombing a little closer than normal. I cried as I watched coverage of people bleeding with missing limbs, and the story of the 8 year old who was there watching his dad cross the finish line caused a pang in my chest as I thought of my own daughters who are always there watching me cross. I could barely bring myself to think about it.
The event that is most on my mind today as I write though is of my friend and coaching colleague, Kelly VanReeth who passed away on Friday. I didn’t know she was sick last week. The last time I’d seen her she looked well and we passed in a bit of a hurry promising to do lunch soon. I had been thinking of her last week and was going to send an email when I received word of her death. I didn’t know Kelly very well, but I knew her well enough to know that she will be so missed by those who were lucky enough to call her their friend. I realized that my grief wasn’t only for her passing, but also for the friend I will not get to know better or the work we will not be able to collaborate on now. As I pause today to reflect on her passing, it’s made me think about what I want to do to honor her memory.
Kelly was a cancer survivor. Her story was compelling and inspiring. She had lived with the possibility of her early death for much of her adult life and she bore the physical marks of her illness even after she completed treatment. Her fight with cancer had left her with an “old lady’s body” as she liked to quip whenever we met for coffee. She was my age and while she was thin and looked frail, her eyes shone bright and when she looked at me and asked a question, I felt her strength and spirit pierce through me. Though I never coached with her, I know she was fierce and committed to her clients. Up until she died, she was in the game. I admire her for that and I also want to remember her for her work, her commitment and passion, and her unfailing spirit and faith in the human condition. Her illness may have been a part of the script of her story, but it was not her whole story.
I don’t often do this, but today I’ve found myself wondering what Kelly would do upon hearing of my death. I imagine she would be sad, shocked, and she would mourn the loss as if she knew me longer than she had, and then she’d look to her coaching practice and continue asking powerful questions – inspiring people to live their lives bigger than their circumstances, in contribution to the world, and in alignment with their being. Since Kelly isn’t here to ask, I will ask it. “Where would you like to be 3 to 5 years from now? What do you want more of in your life?” More importantly, “What are you waiting for?” Thank you Kelly for reminding me that I might die tomorrow but I’m alive today and as long as I’m here, I might as well be in the game 100% and make it count.