I used to live near the entrance of one of California’s most beloved and scenic State Parks, a spot blessed by the Bay Area’s remarkable climate and an open space bursting with unrivaled beauty. Within the park, there is a peak, a mountain 3,849 feet at it’s zenith… with a remarkably similar to my friend T. We were neighbors tucked into the foothills, both busy moms with preschoolers and my youngest still an infant, when I realized my friend T was the kind of woman who should be noted in the legend of any map of the area . While we both juggled running fun-loving homes and our childrens’ full schedules, my friend T also managed more than $650 million of assets, give or take, at her day job. She was one of the Top 25 Bay Area Women Financial Advisors and recognized nationally by Barron’s as one of the Top 100 Women Financial Advisors in the country. She taught investing courses, networked for friends and always took an opportunity to lift up other women in business. T reached heights that our foremothers could only dream of, yet kept two feet on the ground in sensible, not fancy, shoes. And I loved her for it . T took her role as friend very seriously. She was a rock to her loyal people, and no exposure to the elements could budge her allegiances or the majority of her opinions. I thank her mother Kate for raising this kind of daughter. Credit must be given to Kate, because like the mountain, T was beautiful. All enormous green eyes and long lashes, her features were as elegant as the live oaks, her cheeks always flush like a winter sunset. She was as feminine as a lupine in March and always as cheerful as the California poppies in May. She was a sweetly freckled Irish beauty. Like the mountain, T was both quiet and simultaneously larger than life. Like an understated 20,000 acre State Park in your own back yard. T was a woman so solid in character, steady in her convictions, clever with her wit and powerful in her faith and grace, that it hardly seems possible that I will attend her rosary tonight. Last summer, I had to move away from my mountain. A mountain I see more clearly now that I am no longer tucked in it’s foothills. Maybe when we pull away and observe a mountain or a person in all her loveliness (in her dynamic daughter’s determined expression, in her tender son’s laugh, in her husband’s easy-going smile), only then can we see the whole picture. T’s life--- her ethical, principled, selfless life--- suddenly provides some orientation during this fog of grief, like the radio tower lights on the top of the peak. The beacon at the Summit suddenly seems a call to challenge ourselves to reach greater heights, a call to elevate others, a call to be a rock for our family, a call to inspire people, a call to live a life of substance the way T did. No bone marrow illness can ever erode these truths about T. Like the outline of the peak, maybe I can only appreciate my friend away from the foothills, down in the valley, where I can see the extraordinary scale of her, appreciate the heights she reached, and the many communities she touched. It is in the valley, the darkest valley, where we will gather for her funeral Mass tomorrow. From the valley we can lift our gaze to the heavens, and then due East to Mount Diablo, and confirm she is still clearly here.
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 18:49:25 +0000
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