Remembering Brandie

My Eulogy for Brandie

I've done my best to capture what I actually said that day in the chapel...and resisted my urge to edit it. It's not all in the notes I held in my hand and my memory of it feels like a dream so it's probably not all in my head either. I hope it's pretty close.

Brandie has a lot of amazing friends and any one of them could be up here right now. The last two years have been nothing if not a team effort. I think I just got voted "most likely to get through it." We'll see, please bear with me.

So the first day of third grade there was a new girl in my class. She sat down next to me and introduced herself. We agreed that we both enjoyed macaroni and cheese and Menudo and that was that; we were friends. Years later I found out that her dad had put her up to it. I believe the instructions were "go make friends with that girl, look at her mom," (I think I may have actually thanked my mom for being hot at this point...that was probably inappropriate). And as far as anyone knows, that was the last time that Brandie did exactly what someone told her to do.

She didn't follow the rules unless she truly agreed with them. And if she didn't, she made her own rules. During her radiation treatments she had to go to St. Vincent's every day and they had a very straightforward process for checking in. You sign in and wait for them to call you back. That didn't work for Brandie, so she made a new system. She would sign in, walk back and announce to the nurses that she was ready for them. When I hesitated, she said, "oh don't worry, it's okay, they know me here." And boy did they. She was their worst nightmare as a patient but she was also a blinding ray of sunshine in that place. She did what she wanted, but with such ease and confidence and with a big sweet smile that they loved her.

Kasey drove her to the rest of those treatments...every day for six weeks. Sometimes the valet attendant wouldn't be at his podium when they arrived. Most of us would wait. Brandie would leave the keys in the car, go to the podium and write her own valet ticket and go on in. Kasey told me that in those six weeks she never once heard Brandie complain about cancer. She didn't spend a lot of time crying "why me?" She accepted that she had it and then she went into battle mode. She was there to win, and she did really.

In February Brandie had to spend about a week in the hospital and I came down to stay with her to give Richard and Rhonda a break. It probably sounds strange, but we had so much fun. We got to have a sleepover like we hadn't done in many years. We talked and laughed and I painted her toenails. We also spent a lot of time talking about today and what it would be like, what she wanted it to be like. She had some instructions for all of us that she asked me to give you. She said, "I don't want a bunch of people standing around crying and talking about how sad they are, y'all should be happy you knew me! I know funerals are sad, but I'm happy. I'm a happy person and I'm okay." I know that one of the most difficult things about this illness for her was that it made other people sad. She hated to make people sad and worried. She spent just as much time comforting me and telling me that everything was going to be alright as I did her. She wanted us to be okay, because she was really okay.

She was grateful...not for the cancer, but for everything good in her life. Sometimes she would just stop and ask me, "why are all these people being so nice to me? I mean, they have jobs and kids and a million things to do...I didn't even know that girl in high school!" She was constantly amazed and humbled and truly, truly touched by all the kindness and generosity she received. Last year she told me that she was the happiest she had ever been in her entire life. She laughed and said something about always having to learn things the hard way. But she said she was happy because she didn't take anything for granted anymore. Anything. Instead of sitting around and feeling sorry about all the unfair things that life had dealt her, she sat around and counted all the blessings in her life.

And look what she did. She reconnected old friends, she created new friendships, not just for herself but for many of us. She was the center of this huge network of people. She inspired people who had never even met her. She inspired us to really live our lives, to be fearless. She made us check our priorities and make time for the people we care about. She gave me, and hopefully all of us, the greatest gift...gratitude. True, deep down to my bones, gratitude. Forever. She changed me forever. She gave me the opportunity to learn what was really important to me, she made me a better friend, a better mother, and a better person. She knew that there were many blessings in her struggle. She loved that song, Live Like You're Dying, and that's exactly what she wanted all of us to do. She knew that there were wonderful, beautiful things that we could all take from this and that is what she wanted this day to be about.

Wal-Mart, Still Painful After All These Years

NOTE: So I wrote this a few years ago and since then have limited myself to 1 trip to Wal-Mart each year (none if I can manage it). It still makes my blood pressure rise; today's trip was no different even though I was alone. I thought I'd share it now, with thanks to Paige Campbell for some great editorial notes.
Enjoy!

In Envy of the Wal-Mart Mommy

After completing the guilt trip I gave myself for entering this evil store and agonizing over the origin and labor practices that produced the items I came to buy, I begin my journey through the aisles as my two year old begins to beg and plead for each and every product emblazoned with his favorite Disney Character (don’t even get me started there, I’ll save that guilt for another time). The plethora of tactics and methods gleaned from the dozens of parenting books and countless articles I’ve read since my son was in-utero leap into action. I get on his level, make eye contact, and use my kindest voice to “explain” to him why it is important to be grateful for what we have and not forever wanting more. My rational and sensitive child takes heed, for the moment. But, alas, the cheery mouse and the giant smiley face have teamed up against me and around every corner looms the aforementioned favorite character.

Take two: (still using the kind voice) “Honey, we cannot get a new toy today, I’m sorry, I know you’re disappointed,” (validate the child’s feelings) “but we just can’t today.”
“But Mommy, it’s a lamp/clock/sippy cup/plate/pillow (you choose), that’s not a toy!” He looks triumphant. I pause and wonder to myself, why did I come here? Not in the philosophical manner but really, what was I looking for, was it toilet paper? More whiny-voiced begging erupts from my buggy.

Take three: (slightly more impatient this time) “Honey, I can’t understand your whiny voice, could you use your nice voice please?”
Yes, toilet paper, that was on the list – where am I? house wares? Okay. Reroute. Paper goods. Louder begging comes from the buggy, so I change my approach.

Take four: (I don a cheerful tone. Re-direct the child, that works, right?) “Hey Buddy! I need your help! Can you help me find all the things on our list? I know you’re so good at finding things and I don’t think I can do it all by myself!” It worked…for about a minute. Then BAM! another picture of the favorite character jumps out of nowhere and just like that we’re headed for meltdown city. I return to my breath and think to myself, don’t freak out, you can do this.

Take five: (calm but serious Mommy voice, stern face) “Okay, that’s enough, this is one. We cannot get a new toy or anything else today that is not on our list. If I get to three…” Oh crap! What am I going to do if I get to three, leave? I am not coming back here to do this again! “…um, if I get to three, I will be very upset,” nice one mom. Oh, so lame.

I think I can actually feel my blood pressure rising, is that possible? Where the hell is the damn toilet paper?

“Hey Mama,” he sounds a little sheepish; I guess he got the point.
“Yes baby?” is that toilet paper?
“Hey, um, Mama…”
“What honey?” oh, nope. Paper towels.
“Um, Mama…”
“What?” But paper towels, that means I must be close, right?
“Hey Mama…”

I snap “WHAT!?” But I think, “oh my god, say my name again, I triple dog dare you! Just spit it out kid! What. Do. You. Need. To. Say?”
“I pee peed.” Silence. Stillness. Yellow puddle under the buggy.

And I think, man, that Wal-Mart Mommy has it all figured out. Hand them some nitrate-filled fast food and a high fructose corn syrup and red dye no. 4 Slurpee and smack ‘em if they open their mouths. Dr Sears didn’t get to her. No parenting literature or guilt trips are slowing her down. Her cart is full, her list complete and a mere glance at her kids strikes fear in their hearts and quiet in their lips. She sails through the check out to her car while I crawl around on the floor cleaning up pee and soothingly reassuring my toddler that “we all have accidents when we’re learning something new.” Sucker!

(c)2008 Lindsey C. Holderfield

Mother of Rylan (now almost 5) and former Wal-Mart shopper.