I lost a friend yesterday. A good friend. A standing weekly phone call friend. A multi-generational friend. A person who I've written to you about before.
This is the first email she won't open.
She always opened all of my emails. Mostly because our friendship began a decade ago as one of teacher/client and she was in the habit of finding out what was coming up next for me and the studio. But also because she knew that writing mattered to me and was the type of friend that understood how to show love through small acts like opening and reading an email. A great friend.
I'm known for being very forthcoming with my Pilates pro clients about the grief that comes with client relationships—namely, that when the Pilates goes away, the relationships often dissolve as well. But every so often, you luck out and find someone who was meant to be in your life, regardless of whether a reformer is involved in your interactions. And my friend? She was like suddenly finding a needle in a haystack: sharp, shiny, and with a wit that would stick you when you least expected it—no reformer required.
Our first session was like many of my first sessions: a little awkward and a lot of ambivalence. Me, boldly asking her to explore breathing. Her, rolling her eyes, wondering when the "real" workout would begin. But years later, we would laugh about that initial meeting, realizing how significant that first breath would be not only to our bond but also to her ability to navigate through the battle that ultimately ended her time on this earth.
Through a simple act of asking her to slow down and listen, notice, and make choices, she began to understand that those things were available to her in other ways in her life. These skills would serve her well in developing self-advocacy to transition from the role of the ultimate caregiver to one who needed to be cared for.
During periods of my life where directions were unclear and I felt like I was spinning my wheels without any movement, she reminded me of what I had offered her—never leaving out the "against all odds" part of the story. (She was a tough nut to crack and knew it!) She encouraged me to keep writing, sharing ideas, putting myself forward, and was often the first to have eyes on drafts and submissions for some of my biggest projects.
Earlier this spring, we met for lunch after our respective doctors' appointments and had a marathon talk about life, love, illness, and well, us, over fries and salad. As she rose to give me a hug goodbye, she lost her balance, weak from treatments that had stolen weight from her already thin frame.
I quickly scooped her up to keep her from falling and swiveled her into a kind of Fred and Ginger dip-like move to hide the fall. I knew she would be mortified by the thought of falling in public, and I said aloud, "If you wanted to dance with me, you just had to say the word!" We giggled and said our goodbyes.
Amidst treatments and life, it would be the last time we would see each other in person, but we still kept up on the phone. You always think you'll have one more dance, one more laugh, or one more inappropriate text exchange. But nothing is guaranteed.
I suppose what I'm most grateful for is recognizing that in so many ways, we were able to open doors for each other to be uncomfortable, which in turn helped us grow. She in her movement and emotional depth, me in my belief that my work could travel outside of the Pilates studio and create impact.
I'll miss the way she called me a bitch when I brought out the magic circle (the only person who was allowed to).
I'll miss our long-form conversations that spanned everything from gardening to the best pantsuits for women.
I'll miss sharing life updates about my son and her grandkids and all the drama of youth sports.
I'll miss her telling me the epiphanies about health and wellness messages she grew up with and how they didn't serve her, knowing that our conversation opened the door for this realization to be had.
I'll miss our raw honesty with each other and how somehow, even though we were from different decades, cultural backgrounds, and income brackets, we could always find our way to common ground.
Life can be such a kick in the heart sometimes.
They say the bigger the grief, the bigger the evidence of the love that was there.
If that's the case, I sure do love you, C. I'll see you in the clouds, my friend.
Living Well With You, Not At You,
Coach JZ (Jenna)
0 comments