Disclaimer: My last post was definitely a precursor to this one - if you haven't read it, I would recommend giving it a read before you dive into this.
What would you do if you knew you were going to die tomorrow? What would you do if you knew you were going to die in a year? What would you do if your best friend died tomorrow?
I would consider myself to be incredibly lucky, not having lost anyone close to me during the last two years because of COVID. For some reason, I just had it in my mind that things would continue to go as they did, I would continue making mistakes, learning from them, moving on, setting new goals for myself, rinse, repeat.
Nope. Not at all. Change comes when you least expect it and and there's absolutely nothing you can do to prepare.
My best friend, Megan Gladbach, was killed in a car accident on April 29th, 2022, when she was hit by a drunk driver in Missouri. Her boyfriend was flown to a nearby hospital in Springfield, and as of this writing, is still there, although not in as critical condition as when he first arrived. (You can find the Go Fund Me page to support his medical expenses here)
Thanks to Kristy Howell, a good friend and colleague from Johnson County Community College, I was notified the following day. I was in shock, confused, and horrified. She's my age. And she's gone. I'm never going to see her again. We made plans to get our yoga teacher training together...
There were all kinds of thoughts. She's my age. She's not supposed to die before her parents. Wait. What if I died? How would my parents feel? But the biggest question of all I had was What do I do? Where do I go? Who do I call? I was nine and a half hours away. I knew that I needed to be in Kansas City as soon as possible, to support her family. To find a way to help, in any way that I could.
The following day I walked into Megan's parent's house, in the middle of a planning session for the funeral services. It felt unreal. And so real. I had cried on and off the entire drive down, and at that point I was out of tears. I felt that what was really needed in that moment was to be strong and proactive. To not let my fear or sadness guide my decisions.
Every day after for the rest of the week, I showed up at their house. I brought food, tea, tissues, eye drops. It didn't matter how much it cost. I wouldn't have any more trips with Megan, I wouldn't get to ask her to be my maid of honor...nothing. We worked into the late evening, hashing out details, designing elements of the services that we thought would make Megan proud. Every day I drove to and from Kansas City I fell apart. The tears blurred my vision. It felt like there was permanent pressure in my sinuses from all the crying. It still felt unreal.
And yet it also felt confusing that I wouldn't get to talk to Megan. There was something that was telling me that she was with me. That she didn't go anywhere, in fact, and that here spirit was very much alive. Holding us all together. Moving people to share the same space. To hug. To rethink their priorities.
Everything in my life that I was worried about suddenly became so insignificant. And in many ways, still does. If it's not a life or death matter, it really isn't a big deal.
The first day of the services came around on Thursday, and it still felt like I was living in a dream. I watched as Megan's band members sat on the ground crying, trying to hold themselves together before playing a song in her honor. I read a speech and introduced folks with the help of a now friend, Peter. Friends and colleagues held me, and I allowed myself to mourn. We told stories around a fire of the ways that Megan had positively impacted us. I knew Megan was an amazing human, but those stories made me think even more about how I show up for those around me, my level of generosity, my spirit, my invitations to strangers, the gratitude for what I have, my commitment to sustainability. I witnessed vulnerability that I've never seen before in grown adults, and I felt that I was having a meta-experience, both immersed in the storytelling and at the same time observing people's behavior from outside of my body. We cleaned up, and I made it to bed by midnight, with plans to carpool to Salina in the morning.
Friday came, and I gave myself permission to feel. To stop being so strong for everyone around me. I read my speech again, and I had to stop halfway to take a deep breath, allowing my vision to clear from the tears. I allowed Megan to support me to read the rest without breaking down, even though my voice shook with emotion. I read a poem. And I had a lot of people come up afterwards and thank me for my words. We put leaves on her grave, sang songs, had lunch together afterwards, hugged each other even harder.
I've only told this to one person, but I feel that it is worth sharing with others who knew Megan.
When I was asked to help officiate Megan's services, I said yes without hesitation because I knew it was the right thing to do, that it would be an honor, and that was it. No questions asked. Yet what I'm realizing now is that the constant encouragement Megan always had for me to pursue my dreams, including writing, was something she wanted me to share with others. I have always had a fear of using my voice. Of standing up for myself and what I believe in, and what it would mean if others saw me.
And yet, I don't think I ever had a choice. I think Megan knew that I was going to show up, and that I would be asked to speak. I think she wanted me to find the courage to use my voice in the most difficult circumstance imaginable. She wanted others to hear my voice.
Sometimes the lessons we learn in life are those that came from the biggest mistakes, or the most challenging situations. Sometimes we're shocked into action and we snap out of the blur and the numbness that we're in. Our human bodies are gifts. They are the only ones we have in this lifetime. Yet we so easily create excuses not to listen to their intelligence or find distractions to keep us from doing what we're really meant to do.
Megan's departure from our physical world is nothing we could have anticipated. And I know that the ripple effect it's creating - and has created - is only the beginning.
I had made some tough decisions regarding my employment prior to Megan's death. I was planning on sharing the news with my employer the day I ended up driving to Kansas. I have known that I'm meant to serve the agricultural community and future farmers for a long time, but I didn't have a strategy for how I could do it until recently. As odd as it sounds, not having Megan around strengthened my resolve that I was on the right path, and I realized that the 'risk' of choosing to do something different wasn't in fact a risk at all - I was just choosing to follow my life's purpose.
There was a boy that stood up at the lunch after the burial who spoke to the group and shared that while he had only met Megan once, it was enough for him to want to shift his priorities in life and address issues that he was facing with depression. It's incredible to me to think that a single instance of meeting someone can have that profound of an impact - yet that's exactly what I'm going to strive for, because having known Megan, I know it's possible. I hope you will do the same.
For those who may not have been at Megan's services, I wanted to conclude this post with a copy of what I wrote, and shared with her friends, family, and colleagues, in the hopes that it will inspire you to think about your own eulogy.
What do you want to be known for when you die? How do you want to be remembered?
In Memory of Miss Gladbach
Not a day goes by that Megan doesn’t brighten my day. Her artwork fills my apartment and a photo of us in front of the High-Lo Diner in Minneapolis is posted at my desk, reminding me of our epic trip to the Boundary Waters in Minnesota. Thanks to Megan’s gift of the 5-Minute Journal, I have a daily gratitude practice that I’ve stuck with for over three years. Megan is my best friend. She’s always inspired me with her ‘badassery’ - by playing in a band, dying her hair red, displaying her Transformers tattoo, and traveling around the country and world having wild adventures. Many of those we shared together - Russia, Mexico, Texas, Arizona, Arkansas…I love how every time I come away from a conversation with Megan, I always feel more grounded. She has this way of processing what she’s saying as she’s saying it that that always forced me to slow down my own thoughts and frantic manner of life. She has always been my go-to for when times were tough at home or with work and I needed a shoulder to lean on or comforting words of advice. Megan is one of those people who balances me out energetically. We can spend hours and entire days in each other’s company and never feel drained.
Megan and I would often talk about future plans, career goals, saving up for a yoga teacher training, personal growth and development, family, and of course - boys. Our many adventures over the years taught me that no one really has it ‘figured out’ - that we’re all just bumbling around on this earth as spirits in these strange bodies we call humans. If there’s one I know, it’s that everything has a reason and a purpose, often beyond which we can imagine or understand in the moment it’s happening. I have a feeling Megan is one of those people whose voice and impact grows louder with every body that she inhabits - that her patient nature comes from a wise soul, and that her physical absence in our lifetime will push those who knew her - and those who have yet to be born - to be better humans, to invest in caring for the physical world around them, and to similarly invite others in, as she always did. I know that in moments when we are struggling, Megan will be there with us, giving us gentle words of encouragement, a rad high-five, and even a few musical notes to keep pushing us forward. In Megan’s last audio message to me she lamented that my herbs I wanted to bring to the farmers market had frozen in the fridge, and she said “I know you’re capable of overcoming hard things and I believe in you”.
I don’t imagine that her presence or positive spirit will likely ever go away for me, that she’ll continue to be my inspiration for new initiatives, scholarships, books, and projects in my own life. I hope you feel the same way, and instead of wallowing in sorrow, you use this moment to overcome hard things.
Megan - we love you. We always have, and we always will."
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