QUING of the World: HONOR

First voices, then laughter.

I glanced out my window this noon and discovered cars lining the circular driveway and street.

A dozen-plus girlfriends had arrived for their Weekly Wednesday Rendezvous next door. Today's agenda? Put lounge chairs away and say a final goodbye to the pool, patio, rose bush and oak tree that held their secrets and laughter, worries and joys - from spring to fall - for decades.

Girlfriends had gathered to say a final goodbye to their fearless leader, Irreplaceable Woman.

On March 12, in a blog titled Landscape, I introduced you to Jane, writing: She is Pioneer. Educator. Wife. Cyclist. Warrior. Mom. Builder. Activist. Friend. Grandmother. Humorist. Tribal Elder.

Unique. Extraordinary. Irreplaceable.

I forgot to write Teacher.

Because I didn't yet know.

That in the six fleeting months after she rolled down her car window on a striking spring morning and uttered the words, "Pet. Scan. Stage. Four," Jane would become a Mentor for Mortality; a woman whose life - and death - inspired a family, a neighborhood, a community.

I didn't yet know that this extraordinary woman - whose vision and effort helped build a community library, church, and school board (not to mention a loving family and countless friendships) would become a Guru of Grace; a woman who endured the unspeakable decline of her strong, healthy body with a joyful, determined spirit, and gratitude for the gift of each new day.

Car doors soon began closing, ignitions starting.

I finished my phone call, grabbed my camera, and hurried across our back yards.

The driveway was empty, the pool gate closed.

Friends - too solemn to linger - had taken care of business and departed.

So I trespassed.

Into a yard.

A cabana.

A life.

I shouldn't have intruded, but I was seeking closure.

Seeking Irreplaceable Woman.

She was there.

In photographs

and bicycles,

in straw hats,

noodles,

and silly signs.

In a salmon rose, broken on its vine, but achingly beautiful.

She was there.

In the breeze and sunlight, and the words of her beloved daughter's eulogy that echoed in my thoughts as I closed the iron gate and headed home.

"As you all know, my mom loved this town and community... In the months before she died, many people approached my sisters and me, asking what might be the best way for our town to honor her. Mom said she would rather not have her name on a street or building. Instead, she'd be most honored if we all continued to ask ourselves, "Have I done something today that makes me feel proud and productive? Have I moved my body to stay fit? Did I scatter some kindness? Have I shown up in people's lives when they needed support? Was I able to ease someone's else's pain or suffering?"

A profound mantra from my Mentor for Mortality and Guru of Grace.

Jane would have laughed, blushed, and immediately dismissed me from her company had I dared to bestow upon her such pretentious titles. She would not have approved.

But she deserves them. Just a few short weeks ago, I visited Jane moments after her girlfriends left their Weekly Wednesday Rendezvous. She tried to sit up and smile brightly as I walked to her bedside. Taking hold of my hand and squeezing with great effort, Jane asked, "Do you know the best part of accepting that you're going to die?"

Long pause. I could not think of a single response.

So Jane answered for me. "You get to say thank you. You get to say I love you. You get to say goodbye. "

I didn't get to say goodbye to Jane.

But I got to say I love you. A whole bunch of times.

And I will honor my dear neighbor and friend by challenging myself each day to do something that makes me feel proud and productive, to move my body and stay fit, to scatter kindness, to show up in people's lives when they need support, and to work to ease others' pain or suffering.

A challenge, dear Reader, that I share with you.