Laura

At the beginning of March, a very, very dear friend passed away after a long, long battle with cancer. I hesitate to even refer to it as a “battle” because it wasn’t so much a fight that Laura engaged in, but rather a graceful defiance. While I was very aware that the end of this life was near for Laura, learning of her passing still came as a shock. I had just returned from Montreal, with two days to spare before leaving for my road trip to Texas. The idea that I wouldn’t be attending Laura’s memorial service hit hard. I wanted so very much to be there, especially to hold hands with Dara. I knew that Ryan and I would have to conduct our own ceremony while we were away.

I met Laura in the fall of 2004 as we embarked on our Masters in Child Study and Education at the Institute of Child Study, OISE. To see Laura was to be instantly mesmerized. A wide blazing smile and luminescent eyes, Laura’s face beamed kindness and inquiry. I remember seeing her across the room sometime in the first few days of our program and thinking, “Who is this woman?” When people use the expression, “There’s just something about her…”, well, that was Laura.

I’ll never forget sitting on a patio on Prince Arthur Street one afternoon, somewhere in the midst of our orientation meetings, surrounded by a bunch of strangers who would soon become like family, each taking a turn to introduce themselves. Laura spoke of her partner who ran a boys camp north of Toronto and how she was taking the Masters program to prepare for the education/summer camp that they were planning to open eventually out in BC. I was fascinated by the way she spoke, the words she used, the assurance in her voice of her life plan. In all likelihood, I probably felt jealous of her confidence – though those are not feelings I can actively recall now.

A few weeks into our program, I received an email from our advisor informing me (and two other people) that Laura would be away from school for the time being because her partner Tim had died in a tragic climbing accident in Scotland. I was shocked. It had been barely a week since she’d shared her dreams with our new group. The email was also sent to Dara and Ryan, two people I hadn’t yet spoken to in any classes. The next day, I sought out both of them to connect and commiserate regarding the dreadful news. We learned that Laura asked for the three of us to be notified because a) we were in all of her classes and could provide notes and b) she’d felt a quick kinship to us all. From that point on, we always declared that it was Laura who chose our little group – 10 years later and they are/were three of my nearest, dearest friends, from the program or otherwise.

Laura took the loss of Tim hard. I remember years after, when my engagement broke up asking Laura if there would ever be a day that I wouldn’t think of Adam. Yes, she said, because heartbreaks heal. I asked her if it was the same with Tim. “Do you still think of him everyday?” I asked. With glassy eyes, she simply replied, “Yes. Every single day.”

Sometimes Laura would joke that Tim’s death gave her cancer. And who knows. There are a million and one theories about these things. But I certainly believe that heartbreak, death, and loss can wreak physical turmoil on a person. Of course they can.

When I think about Laura, I feel so much gratitude and joy for having known her. Laura was the kind of person who made you feel like you were the most important person in her life. When she greeted you, it was with wide arms and hands, stretched out as she loudly proclaimed your full name. She remembered everything, details of your stories, names, places, people. Which is entirely fitting as Laura was a storyteller. Apart from her three published children’s books, Laura was also a master oral storyteller. To hear about an average day in the life of Laura was to be rapt with attention and then inevitably doubled over with laughter. She could command an entire room with just her voice.

Laura braved cancer like a champion of the ages. When the doctors gave her 3 months to live, she told them to book her an appointment in 4 months. When she showed up at their office still living and breathing, well, let’s just say I would have paid to have seen their faces. They called her the Titanic (as in she was going down), but Laura kept herself afloat with breath and light and love and rocks and lions – right until the very end.

While in Texas last month, Ryan and I drove out of Austin to McKinney Falls State Park at the exact same time and date of Laura’s memorial back home in London, Ontario. Laura thrived in nature – she believed deeply in the healing powers of Georgian Bay – and so we found it fitting to be outside, near moving water. We sat with our legs dangling over some rocks while I read a passage from Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet. It was so very bittersweet. I was deeply grateful that Laura was free from the binds of cancer – she was free from pain and struggle. But she was also gone. And that made me very, very sad.

When I got home, I went searching for two items I had to have in my hands. One was a dedication she’d written in her book, Seasons Change Like Lions Do. The second was a contract from many years ago. I’ll share them with you now.

I love reading this. I love looking at her handwriting and remembering our time together. And I love that she’s written “I’ll always be by your side”, because of course she will be. Of course she is.

And here is the contract:

It’s crazy to me that when we wrote this, we had no idea what was to come. No idea that on August 1, 2014, Laura would no longer be with us. Eight plus years ago, three goofy friends just sat around dreaming of a time long, long off when we would gather beneath the tower, red parasols in hand. And while we won’t be making the trip across the waters to Paris this year, Dara and I will be together at my family’s cottage very close to that exact date. We will have our feet in the lake and our eyes on the sky. I’m sure we’ll hold hands for a moment and remember the dynamic spirit who brought us together. For me, Laura will always be in the wind, in the trees, in the water, in the rocks. Solid, yet ever flowing. Strong. Resilient. Sure.

I miss you, Laura. But I’m so, so grateful you’re free.

xo shades

PS. If you want to know more about Laura, go to this video, this article, or this obituary.