But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

For Zienia, Our Summer's Day

We were at a Thai restaurant on an unseasonably warm winter night when she told me she had breast cancer. Neither of us cried because we were both still so unsure of what exactly that meant. At that point, we didn’t know it was Stage IV, we didn’t know how many rounds of chemotherapy she would go through, and we didn’t realize just how limited her time was. It wasn’t long after that night, though, that all of those things became devastatingly clear. But life continued. She and her husband built a house together, she vacationed with her family in places like New York and New Orleans, and she watched her children grow, all the while knowing that the cancer was spreading. As I look back, these past few years seem to have gone by like the summers we spent together as teenagers – brilliantly vivid, overly emotional, and tragically fleeting.

About three and a half years after we shared a bowl of soup that night at the Thai restaurant, as I was getting ready for work, I heard my phone. The tears came before I was even able to make across the room. Zienia died in her sleep on a Tuesday morning.

Her health had been declining rapidly for a few weeks, and we all took some solace in knowing that the pain she had felt no longer existed. We also found some peace in knowing that her family and her best friend were able to see her and bring her great comfort in those last few moments. In the days after her death, there was an incredible outpouring of sympathy and remembrance. Silly pictures and heartwarming stories were shared by friends and family from across the globe, as flight and hotel arrangements were made for those near and far who planned to attend her Celebration of Life – she never wanted us to call it a funeral. It seemed as though everyone who knew Zin (and even some who didn’t) rallied together to preserve her memory and comfort her family.

We gathered at a Catholic church on a Saturday, just days before what would have been her 35^th birthday, to say our farewells. The church filled with family, her dragon boat team members, and her friends from all the different stages of her life. The service opened with Air Force soldiers presenting Zin’s family with an American flag. Even for those who are relatively stoic, there are moments in life when emotions are uncontrollable. Hearing Taps play at the funeral of a loved one is one of those moments.

After the service, we all gathered in one of the fellowship halls and shared stories about not only Zienia’s life, but also our own lives. Some of us hadn’t seen each other since high school, and our lives had taken us in all different directions. We sipped on sweet tea and listened to soulful music, while we stayed focused on upbeat stories about college, and children, and jobs. Every once in a while, there would be a break in the conversation, and we’d be silently reminded of why we were all together.

For a few minutes, I excused myself from my friends and began looking at the photos on the entryway table that were so carefully chosen to represent Zienia’s life. In every picture, she took my breath away. There were photos of her with her family and her children, photos of her with me on my wedding day, and photos of her surrounded by the love of her best friend over their decades-long friendship. I found myself smiling at the pictures, recalling the smiles we’d shared over the years. As I stared at a photo of her in uniform, I wanted to ask her a question about a friend of ours. And for the first time, I realized I couldn’t. 

I had worked tirelessly over the past few years to remain present, something Zin and I had talked about on those nights when she was feeling especially defeated. We’d repeat mantras like, “The future does not exist. All that exists is here and now.” And we would remind each other that tomorrow is never guaranteed, so we must be present and embrace the moment. Most of the time, those ideas are reassuring and filled with hope.  But on that day, I was made painfully aware of the overwhelming feelings of sadness I felt in that very moment.

A few weeks have passed since that Saturday, and so many people have talked about the lessons Zin taught them. And I, too, am tempted to reflect on her death and be grateful for the lessons she taught us. I wish I could say that her death reminded people to love freely, to never give up, and to always live with enthusiasm. But, for some reason, I can’t, even though I know all those things are true. On some strange level, I feel like that would be cheating her memory. I don’t believe that she was trying to show us all how to be noble and brave; I believe that’s just who she was.

The qualities we loved about her as she battled cancer were no different than the qualities she had all along. She was always a fighter, a lover, and a bit of a firecracker. Perhaps what was so powerful about Zienia was that she lived in the face of death, just as she had in the spring of life. The passion and fire in her soul burned so brightly, even in her last days, that when she passed, we were all left in the dark. And for now, it’s okay for us to stumble a little. We don’t need to find a purpose; we just need to remember how lucky we were to have been touched by such a brilliant light.

Shakespeare's Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

                         So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

                         So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.