Tag Archives: Catie

#reverb10: friendship

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Day 16 of #Reverb10 // Martha Mihalick (editor) asks // How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst?

—

Don’t take one thing for granted.

Adore your husband and children.

Make a batch of chocolate chip cookies from scratch every week.

Marry a man who “doesn’t bug” you.

Wear hats.

Sit in the sun for a few minutes every day.

Laugh often.

Smile always.

Romantic comedies are always the best choice.

It’s okay to cry, even when you’ve got to be tough.

Call your friends, even the ones you haven’t spoken to in years.

Live with grace, always.

Take lots of pictures.

Send notes.

Wear pajamas to the movie theater.

Having faith doesn’t mean it will always turn out how you hope right now, but that it will all be right in the end.

The end isn’t really the end.

—

Catie, the first friend I met in the dorms my freshman year of college, passed away this past February after a battle with cancer. She was 30. The disease was painful and the fight was long. And though it was hard, Catie held her kind and gentle grace (with a side of wit and humor). She is survived by her husband and three small children.

Her life, and her death, changed me. I will never forget watching the red Tennessee dirt crumbling over her casket. We stood, huddled and trembling, shuddering from the cold–and the loss–tears streaming, eyes burning, missing our friend. But knowing. We will see her again.

More about Catie …

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A Broken Piece of Bread & A Thimble Full of Water

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When the sacrament finally made its way to me, I felt as though I needed to grab a handful of bread from the tray and eat it all at once. And when the water came, I wanted to drink a gallon. That’s the only way I can describe the feeling I felt Sunday morning after three days of memorializing my friend. It was a whirlwind of crying and hugging and reminiscing and eulogizing and laughing and crying some more.

The funeral was Friday. The burial Saturday. If I thought any semblance of composure I had left shattered when baby Sarah started crying “mommy!” when the casket was rolled away, I can’t even begin to describe the feeling I felt as the red Tennessee dirt fell, filling the hole in the ground, but breaking a new one in my heart.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. When you believe in miracles, you’re supposed to get miracles. By Sunday I was drained.

I craved the healing power of Christ’s atonement in the worst way. I needed Him to fix the gaping hole left in my heart, and in my faith. And so yes, I contemplated taking more than my fair share of the bread and water. After all, isn’t that what it’s for?

My heart still questions. My eyes still cry. But life has gone on. It has to, I know. And yet, I want to stop and scream sometimes. “Don’t you know?! Don’t you know that my friend just died? Don’t you realize that while you are worrying about silly, stupid things that a good man just lost his love and three little ones just lost their mother?”

But instead, I bow my head. And I pray. That, just like He fed the 5,000 with a few loaves and fishes, He can fill me with just a broken piece of bread and a thimble full of water.

Wanting to say. Needing to say.

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All the to-dos are accomplished. Bags are packed. Itinerary printed. Security cleared.

And now I wait. For the plane to board. For the group to gather. For the memories, laughter, and tears to mix and flow.

While the reality, and fragility, of life seems to sink in.

All my thoughts seem to epitomize “cliche.” And yet, I still find myself wanting to say, needing to say …

Life is short. Life is precious. Life is a gift. Say I love you. Today. Right now. Hug daily. Forgive quickly. Forget the laundry, and go to lunch with your girlfriends. Get off the phone, get on the floor, and nuzzle your little one. Turn off the TV and talk. Look around. Look up. See the world. See others. Don’t go to bed angry. Don’t wake up late. Do the things you want to do. Go to the places you want to go to. Learn the things you want to learn. Become the person you want to become. Be real. Be truthful. Be great. Don’t waste. Don’t wait.

The Long Week Ahead

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… am trying to get life in order before I fly to North Carolina on Thursday for the funeral on Friday.

… am busting into “doer-mode” which is how I cope with things like this.

… am cleaning and organizing and laundry-ing as I hate to go out of town only to come home to clutter and chores.

… am making lists of everything I must remember to do, bring, pack, reserve, print, and buy.

… am needing to take care of a lot of Church assignments and work assignments before I can leave.

… am trying to decide what time to fly out of Nashville on Saturday after the burial in Tennessee.

… am looking forward to stopping in to see my parents on the Island for a few days while I’m that close.

… am so happy to see my girlfriends, but am so sad about the “why” for our get-together.

… am really tired due to a terrible night’s sleep.

… am puffy-eyed.

… am still struggling with the fairness (or lack thereof) of this whole thing.

… am trying to remember the Plan of Life that I believe with all my heart.

… am thankful for all the comments, calls, emails, texts, and Facebook messages. I know Catie’s family is buoyed by the support of both friends and strangers.

… am wanting to share this story, because it makes me smile and laugh which is who Catie was. So here it is, as told by Catie’s husband Steve in an update to her friends last Friday, Feb. 19:

Catie’s breathing tends to worsen at night. We’ve tried various treatments, but none of them seem to have had a great effect. Catie still has no appetite and continues to struggle eating. Her not eating much, not sleeping well, difficultly breathing, along with all the past cancer treatments and the cancer itself, have combined to really take the strength out of her. But she is taking things in stride, and has even said this week several of the funniest things I can remember coming from her. For example, on Wednesday morning we were talking a little about what happened the previous night. [Background: Catie had lost consciousness a few times the night before and struggled much to breathe.] Catie didn’t remember much, but did remember thinking it was her time to pass on. “I guess someone cut in line,” was her explanation for still being here. She also hasn’t lost her smile.

For Catie

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[You and your Mary, right after a kiss]

It’s sunny today. I reminds me of that morning when we first met–you and Alison walking on the sidewalk by the dorms. And it reminds me of you. If I had to pick a color that said, “Catie,” it would be  yellow.

I’m still in my pajamas, my hair in a big knotted ball on top of my head. It reminds me of those Friday nights junior year that we’d go to the dollar theater wearing our pajama bottoms and BYU sweatshirts for the midnight movie.

[Me, Alison, You, Mandy, Emily]

Beside me sits my scrapbook from freshman year. I’ve been thumbing through it all morning. Remember the Halloween dance we went to? I went as a mom with curlers, bathrobe, and green mask on my face. Yeah the fellas were all over me, let me tell you. And you went as my baby? You had pigtails, wore an adult onesie, sucked on a pacifier and everything.

[You, Alison, Me, Kassie, Camille]

Oh and remember white trash registration night? :) Why did we do that again? And lyrcra leg fights? Mandy and Em were the champs. And then there was that time we had a Chinese party in my room. Our little group ate $80 worth of Chinese food. And afterwards we lined up the mattresses and did tumbling passes. We definitely came up with the weirdest things to do to pass the time when we were 18. It was so fun though. :) Oh! And our Christmas picture for our families:

[Top to bottom, left to right: Em, Lizzie, Me, Mand, You, Kassie, Camille, Alison]

That was also the Christmas we all put out “barf bags” just outside our dorm room doors. Remember? So we could leave each other love notes and goodies? I still have my note from you. It says: Krista, Hi! You are way too cute and always make me smile! Good luck on all your finals. You’ll do GREAT!! I’m taking you up on that visit to Hilton Head!! [heart], Catie.

Catie, did you know that you always make me smile? Even through the tears and mascara that have stained my face this morning. I’m still smiling … because I’m thinking of you. Thinking of how you were my first friend at college. Thinking of Tuesday devotionals and Tunnel Singing. Thinking of our long talks and walks to campus. Thinking of all the letters we wrote on our missions and phone calls exchanged while you were dating Steve. Thinking of your perpetual smile and beautiful face. Thinking of the freshman girl reunion we organized at your house in California. Thinking of how grateful I am that we got to visit one last time last summer. Thinking of the way our friendship, and your life, has changed me.

[Katie, Me, You (and your Mary), Em, Mand (and her Maddie). I love that we're holding hands.]

I can’t help but think about how all of us girls were “randomly” assigned to Deseret Towers T-hall 2nd floor. And how it wasn’t really random. How we’ve all been through finals and first apartments and pans of brownies and learning Em’s dance routines in the living room and misunderstandings and boys and missions and men and marriages and babies and careers together, and now this. How could we have known at 18 what life would bring twelve years later? Would we have done anything differently? I think I would’ve tried harder to get everyone together more often. I think I would’ve said, “I love you” more.

[Our last ward prayer before Sophomore year]

I’m pretty sure you know how much we all love you. Actually, I’m certain you do. And I hope you know how much we miss you. Already. Mandy called this morning to tell me. And we cried. Sobbed together really. I could hear her little George through the phone say, “Mommy I don’t want you to cry anymore.” And we laughed, but we couldn’t stop. Neither of us said much. We just cried.

[Just one more of you and your Mary.]

Catie, I don’t really know what to say. I just want you to know. To know that those of us who knew you before the cancer, will never forget the vibrant, bright, life-filled woman you were and now get to be again. And we’ll make sure your babies know who you were. We’ll make sure they know how funny you were. We’ll make sure they know how good and kind you were to everyone. We’ll make sure they know what a great missionary you were and how much you loved Steve. And we’ll make sure they knew the little things too, like how you’d pull your eye-brows out when you were studying hard, how much you loved your momma’s red-eye gravy, and how you’d talk incessantly during movies. We’ll make sure they know that you played a mean fiddle, that you were full of life and laughter. And we’ll make sure they know how much you loved them. We’ll wrap ‘em up as if they were our own and make sure. Promise.

Oh and Catie? I love you.

… I’ll be seeing you.

[You and me]

She Knows What She’s Living For

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I graduated from high school in a class of 23 seniors. And then I flew 3,000 miles across the country to become a freshman in a school of 30,000. We had no family nearby and I knew no one. The dorms were full so I stayed with friends of my parents those first few weeks. But one day near the end of September, I got a call that a room had opened on campus.

The next morning I went to check it out. I meandered through the covered walkways searching for the right building when I saw a couple of girls, a tall blond and a friendly brunette, walking in front of me. They looked nice and so I asked, “which way to T-Hall?” “That’s where we live,” they said. “You can come with us.” As it turned out, they lived on the same floor where the open room was located.

Catie, the brunette, became one of my first friends at BYU. She was happy and easy going with friendly eyes and a quick smile. She was from Tennessee so we immediately had Southern rapport and I loved to listen to her play the fiddle (though she didn’t do it often enough if you ask me). She and about eight other girls happily welcomed me into their group and our first year of college was filled with races in the laundry carts (and on my roomate’s motorized wheelchair), “white trash registration nights” where we dressed up like white trash (I don’t know who picked the theme) and stayed up to call in right at midnight to register for classes (this was back before online registration), football games, bus trips to Spanish Fork to watch movies in what amounted to a projector in a barn, tumbling on the extra mattresses in my room, strip spelling bees, and about a gagillion more pointless but SO fun activities.

The following year, our large group split into three smaller branches as we all moved to off-campus housing. Over the next few years some of us lost touch (luckily refinding each other recently through blogs and Facebook), but Catie and I always remained friends. We both enjoyed going to late night dollar movies in our pajamas. And oh, good golly miss molly, was she ever a movie talker! “Why are they doing that?” “What is going to happen?!” “How is she going to get out of that?” And I’d have to say, “Catie I’ve never seen this either and I’m not a movie talker, so let’s not talk.” It makes me smile to remember.

She left on her mission a few months before I left on mine and when she got back she found a wonderful man “who didn’t bug her” to marry. They had two beautiful children and then a couple years ago when she was pregnant with her third she was diagnosed with cancer. I cried myself to sleep the night I found out. They took the baby pre-maturely so Catie could continue her chemo/radiation treatments. And soon enough the baby (Sarah Grace) and Catie were well and whole and healthy.

But after a year in the clear, we found out this past Spring that the cancer had returned, this time in her lungs, and that it is inoperable. As soon as I heard, I called Mandy, another friend from freshman year and together we cried for our Catie.

While I was home last month I drove up to North Carolina to see Catie and her home and her family. We didn’t have much time, less than an hour, but we sat and we talked and we laughed and we cried. Even now, I cry. Not because of hopelessness (because it’s never hopeless) but because of love–love for my friend, and all of her strength. Love for who she is and who she was. Love for who she is becoming.

And though she’s tired, oh is she ever tired, she still fights. And though there are no answers to the why’s, she still believes. And though this part of her life is not something she’d choose, she knows what she’s living for.

Catie, we love you and pray for you and believe for you. And we’re here. For you.