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T was my second cousin - the daughter of my father's cousin - and born 11 days before me.
I wouldn't say we were really close. She had so many friends and family and people who she saw quite frequently, who loved her, and with whom she interacted with on a very regular basis, that I'd say I was rather less significant in her life than she was in mine.
T was the kind of woman that people remember - extroverted and boisterous, and yet also very loving and caring. The number of people who are grieving at her death will stand witness to that.
As children, I was the tomboy and the sporty girl, always wanting to run, to play sports, to climb trees, to swing on the monkeybars. But T was the acrobat - dancing, hanging by her knees, handstands, cartwheels. We got along well - she had energy and verve and I was more than happy to boost that, even if I couldn't generate that energy myself, I could bounce off her. My sister says we got on because we were both a little 'odd', although T was the extrovert and I was the introvert. Our nicknames for each other were 'Sel-Dear' and 'T-Dear'.
I remember her doing the splits at Youth Group - all the way down with the left leg in front, then turning through 180 degrees so she was doing the splits on the right leg. We went shopping together a few times - she had money and I had none, but it was fun to try things on, and her fashion sense was much more stylish than mine (jeans/t-shirt), but then her budget went quite a bit further.
I always wished I had her nerve, her ability to say the right thing, to be charming and delightful and the kind of person that people looked forward to having around.
T started coming to my school in Year 11 and we hung out together in 3-Unit English (Advanced English Lit). At that point, I remember the way she walked - with a jaunty bounce, like she was on a catwalk, even when we were jaywalking across a major road from the bus-stop to the school. We'd grown up in the same church, learning the same things, so our theology was similar, but she was always more outspoken about our faith than I was.
There was a new year's eve sleepover when we were sixteen with a bunch of friends from church; 15-20 adolescents running around at a houseparty on NYE? Actually, it was pretty mild. We went into the city for the 9pm fireworks, then caught the train back to T's house...and made it back just in time to see the midnight fireworks.
Then in the post-midnight celebrations, another of my cousins, N, (from my mother's side) got thrown in the pool, which was the signal for everyone to change into their cozzies and go swimming. N just stripped down to his underpants and went swimming in those, but when he came out after getting changed, he had his wet undies in hand, and was asking T for a plastic bag to put them in.
T: "But...what are you wearing under..."
N: "Under this?" *drops the towel*
T: *shrieks*
He was wearing his swimmers, but T's expression as he pulled off the towel was priceless.
N: "I'm not sure whether to be complimented or offended."
We did schoolies week together (post-final year holidays; it's a thing in Australia) with a group of friends, and I have memories reading through scads of romance novels in the library and poking mad fun at them, sprawling on the beach and swimming in the surf by turns, singing hymns in our suite while we cleaned up after dinner, and discussing love, life, and faith around the pool at 1am while we tried assorted alcoholic drinks. (We were legal: drinking age is 18 in Australia. And we were moderate; we were those kinds of kids.)
Once we went to uni, we drifted a little. She was in Sydney and heavily involved in her university Christian programs, I was in Wollongong and the bonds of friendship stretched thin. But email was becoming a thing, and she'd mail me about her life and I'd mail her back about mine.
When I chose my first internet moniker, the accepted advice was not to use your real name. So I picked T's nick for me - "SelDear" - and have used it for the last twenty years.
I remember her anger and grief when she found out her ex-boyfriend and her best friend liked each other - and the grace it took for her to step back and away to let them find each other. I remember her terror and excitement when she started to know and love her husband - and the email she sent to myself and other friends when they were discussing marriage and she was wondering if this was the right decision.
The unit and trying to grow things on the balcony, the Twilight novels (she liked that Bella and Edward didn't rush into bed), how to clean shower curtains (with a squeegee), and almond thins recipes (I'm making some for the wake). The house in the leafy neighbourhood, her pregnancy and the joy after many years of trying, and then the diagnosis of cancer.
Medical treatments and prayer. A very bright scarf to cover her head, post-radiation treatment. Visits and encouragements and the little things of life; I didn't catch up as often as I intended - my introversion and the desire not to be pushy because of her busy-ness and involvement in, well, everything.
In April 2014, they declared her clear of the cancer, and there was much rejoicing. We attended our 20 year high school reunion with many friends, sat and chatted with them until late, and encouraged each other. I was going to visit her and her husband, but I only had the chance once - a flying visit to pick something up or drop something off - I don't even remember. Six months after being cleared, she went back to the oncologist hoping to be given the okay to have a second child, and was told that the cancer had come back - had spread throughout her body.
More treatment - very aggressive, somewhat experimental. Requests for prayer - not just for healing, but for grace to face what was happening and how it would affect her family, for strength to keep going, for faith in the face of trouble and difficulty. Facebook updates were the norm, and occasional blog posts on how everything was going.
I started writing to her - the treatments were dicey on her immune system, and I figured she had so many friends and family around, she didn't want someone else barging in. We could message back and forth or email, but that was difficult, time-consuming when an answer is required or expected. So writing her letters - paper, envelopes, wax seals - were a way to encourage, to write, to tell her a little about what was happening in my life, and the things I was struggling with - personally, spiritually - and hope that she found a little joy and distraction in them.
I still have a letter on my desk, addressed, stamped, but never sent. I had reservations about posting it - I think that the encouragements in it were a little too twee, a bit too glib. So I didn't mail it out; I scribbled a quick notecard and sent that instead.
I hope it arrived before she died on Friday morning; it was just a few lines to let her know I was still praying for her and encouraged by her, and a quote from the book of Lamentations:
T's not in pain anymore: no more cancer, no more tears. She knows that her Redeemer lives, and sees Him face to face. Her death doesn't affect me directly - not the way it does her family, but somewhere, a light has dimmed, veiled by death, until we meet again in the presence of our God.
There'll be a cremation, a memorial, and a wake - the memorial is the public service, but the cremation and wake are for close friends. I'm honoured to be included in that listing, and hope to be able to support her family, her husband, and son.
In the meantime, T, I'll miss you until we see each other again.
♥ ♥ ♥
I wouldn't say we were really close. She had so many friends and family and people who she saw quite frequently, who loved her, and with whom she interacted with on a very regular basis, that I'd say I was rather less significant in her life than she was in mine.
T was the kind of woman that people remember - extroverted and boisterous, and yet also very loving and caring. The number of people who are grieving at her death will stand witness to that.
As children, I was the tomboy and the sporty girl, always wanting to run, to play sports, to climb trees, to swing on the monkeybars. But T was the acrobat - dancing, hanging by her knees, handstands, cartwheels. We got along well - she had energy and verve and I was more than happy to boost that, even if I couldn't generate that energy myself, I could bounce off her. My sister says we got on because we were both a little 'odd', although T was the extrovert and I was the introvert. Our nicknames for each other were 'Sel-Dear' and 'T-Dear'.
I remember her doing the splits at Youth Group - all the way down with the left leg in front, then turning through 180 degrees so she was doing the splits on the right leg. We went shopping together a few times - she had money and I had none, but it was fun to try things on, and her fashion sense was much more stylish than mine (jeans/t-shirt), but then her budget went quite a bit further.
I always wished I had her nerve, her ability to say the right thing, to be charming and delightful and the kind of person that people looked forward to having around.
T started coming to my school in Year 11 and we hung out together in 3-Unit English (Advanced English Lit). At that point, I remember the way she walked - with a jaunty bounce, like she was on a catwalk, even when we were jaywalking across a major road from the bus-stop to the school. We'd grown up in the same church, learning the same things, so our theology was similar, but she was always more outspoken about our faith than I was.
There was a new year's eve sleepover when we were sixteen with a bunch of friends from church; 15-20 adolescents running around at a houseparty on NYE? Actually, it was pretty mild. We went into the city for the 9pm fireworks, then caught the train back to T's house...and made it back just in time to see the midnight fireworks.
Then in the post-midnight celebrations, another of my cousins, N, (from my mother's side) got thrown in the pool, which was the signal for everyone to change into their cozzies and go swimming. N just stripped down to his underpants and went swimming in those, but when he came out after getting changed, he had his wet undies in hand, and was asking T for a plastic bag to put them in.
T: "But...what are you wearing under..."
N: "Under this?" *drops the towel*
T: *shrieks*
He was wearing his swimmers, but T's expression as he pulled off the towel was priceless.
N: "I'm not sure whether to be complimented or offended."
We did schoolies week together (post-final year holidays; it's a thing in Australia) with a group of friends, and I have memories reading through scads of romance novels in the library and poking mad fun at them, sprawling on the beach and swimming in the surf by turns, singing hymns in our suite while we cleaned up after dinner, and discussing love, life, and faith around the pool at 1am while we tried assorted alcoholic drinks. (We were legal: drinking age is 18 in Australia. And we were moderate; we were those kinds of kids.)
Once we went to uni, we drifted a little. She was in Sydney and heavily involved in her university Christian programs, I was in Wollongong and the bonds of friendship stretched thin. But email was becoming a thing, and she'd mail me about her life and I'd mail her back about mine.
When I chose my first internet moniker, the accepted advice was not to use your real name. So I picked T's nick for me - "SelDear" - and have used it for the last twenty years.
I remember her anger and grief when she found out her ex-boyfriend and her best friend liked each other - and the grace it took for her to step back and away to let them find each other. I remember her terror and excitement when she started to know and love her husband - and the email she sent to myself and other friends when they were discussing marriage and she was wondering if this was the right decision.
The unit and trying to grow things on the balcony, the Twilight novels (she liked that Bella and Edward didn't rush into bed), how to clean shower curtains (with a squeegee), and almond thins recipes (I'm making some for the wake). The house in the leafy neighbourhood, her pregnancy and the joy after many years of trying, and then the diagnosis of cancer.
Medical treatments and prayer. A very bright scarf to cover her head, post-radiation treatment. Visits and encouragements and the little things of life; I didn't catch up as often as I intended - my introversion and the desire not to be pushy because of her busy-ness and involvement in, well, everything.
In April 2014, they declared her clear of the cancer, and there was much rejoicing. We attended our 20 year high school reunion with many friends, sat and chatted with them until late, and encouraged each other. I was going to visit her and her husband, but I only had the chance once - a flying visit to pick something up or drop something off - I don't even remember. Six months after being cleared, she went back to the oncologist hoping to be given the okay to have a second child, and was told that the cancer had come back - had spread throughout her body.
More treatment - very aggressive, somewhat experimental. Requests for prayer - not just for healing, but for grace to face what was happening and how it would affect her family, for strength to keep going, for faith in the face of trouble and difficulty. Facebook updates were the norm, and occasional blog posts on how everything was going.
I started writing to her - the treatments were dicey on her immune system, and I figured she had so many friends and family around, she didn't want someone else barging in. We could message back and forth or email, but that was difficult, time-consuming when an answer is required or expected. So writing her letters - paper, envelopes, wax seals - were a way to encourage, to write, to tell her a little about what was happening in my life, and the things I was struggling with - personally, spiritually - and hope that she found a little joy and distraction in them.
I still have a letter on my desk, addressed, stamped, but never sent. I had reservations about posting it - I think that the encouragements in it were a little too twee, a bit too glib. So I didn't mail it out; I scribbled a quick notecard and sent that instead.
I hope it arrived before she died on Friday morning; it was just a few lines to let her know I was still praying for her and encouraged by her, and a quote from the book of Lamentations:
"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases.T's death is a challenging prospect - out of my childhood friends, I'd probably say she was my bright mirror: same age, same type of personality - bold and forthright, but she always had the confidence that I only gained in my late twenties, and her heart was always more generous than mine.
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning.
Great is His faithfulness."
T's not in pain anymore: no more cancer, no more tears. She knows that her Redeemer lives, and sees Him face to face. Her death doesn't affect me directly - not the way it does her family, but somewhere, a light has dimmed, veiled by death, until we meet again in the presence of our God.
There'll be a cremation, a memorial, and a wake - the memorial is the public service, but the cremation and wake are for close friends. I'm honoured to be included in that listing, and hope to be able to support her family, her husband, and son.
In the meantime, T, I'll miss you until we see each other again.
♥ ♥ ♥
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