Eulogy for Mary

Mary and I met through the Busting Out dragon boat team in 1999 and our friendship grew as we got involved in other activities together, such as hiking, biking, downhill & cross-country skiing, cottaging and even winter camping. Mary participated in it all, even after her cancer came back. Many years we did the Run for the Cure together, and the year of her recurrence, we crossed the finish line together, holding hands.

Mary taught me to not let cancer keep me from living my life.

The winter after her cancer returned, a group of us went to Algonquin park to camp in a yurt and ski. Mary was having chemo treatments, but she didn’t let that stop her. We skied together and, as I struggled to keep up with her, I remember thinking: I hope I could handle it half as well as Mary if my own cancer ever came back. Little did I know that I would soon be joining her on that journey.

When my cancer did return, Mary was one of the first people that I called. I met her for lunch the next day and told her that I really didn’t want to join her ‘damn club’. But now that I had, we were in it together. That Christmas she gave me a lovely fleece nightgown with the words ‘our damn club’ embroidered on it.

Mary taught me how to be both a ‘classy lady’ and ‘one tough broad’

Mary and I often went on group hikes or ski outings together, but we had an agreement that if one of us needed to turn back, we would turn back together. Sometimes I didn’t feel like going but there was part of me that thought “If Mary can do it, so can I”.

Mary taught me that if you have a battle to fight, it’s better not to do it alone.

We participated in the “Look Good, Feel Better” program together, where we learned how to draw eyebrows where there were none. No disrespect to that wonderful organization, but we secretly called it “Look Good, Feel Like Crap”. A few weeks before she died, I brought my mom and my son Adam to see her, and she put on makeup and draped herself in a lovely red shawl for our visit.

Mary taught me that, if you have to be sick, you might as well look good doing it.

I know it was a hard pill to swallow, but Mary handled the loss of her beautiful thick hair with humor and grace. In a piece that she wrote and posted on my blog she said:

“Well, as my friends say, bad hair is still way better than the alternative. But just in case, here’s how I want my epitaph to read: She died after a long and cranky battle with cancer and hair care.”

Mary taught me that it’s better to laugh than to cry

In 2004 we travelled together to China to paddle in the World dragon boat festival in Shanghai. After the festival, and a group tour that took us to several cities in China, Mary & Jennifer & I went on to Vietnam.

We enjoyed great meals (even though we weren’t always quite sure what we were eating), tea ceremonies, boat rides in the Me-kong Delta, foot massages, and unknowingly what our guide referred to as “friendly massage’.

Mary taught me to hang on to my bathing suit straps while having a massage on the beach (even though I have pictures to show that she didn’t!)

We spent the better part of a month together and the only complaint that Jennifer & I had was the snoring. You wouldn’t believe the noise that could come out of such a little person! She’d probably be mortified that I shared that with you, but somehow it made us feel better to know that she wasn’t quite perfect after all.

I recently went through the pictures of that trip and it was a joy to see photos of Mary looking lovely and healthy and strong. That’s how I remember her: with her head of beautiful thick hair, smiling, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Mary taught me that the world is a wonderful place to explore and that times with good friends are to be cherished

Mary touched so many people, as we can see by the turnout today. I know that at the International Festival in Peterborough last weekend, she was with the Busting Out team in the boat and in spirit.

Mary taught me to dig deep and paddle strong.

And that cancer doesn’t define you.

It’s not how you die that matters, but how you live your life.

And Mary’s was a life well lived.