Missing Barbara

Barbara was a force to be reckoned with in the office. With her perfectly coifed white hair and sturdy build, her walk was more of a determined march. Feisty and fearless, she began her conversations with an emphatic “WELL”, throwing out her open palms as if she was presenting a gift to you that was wrapped her in opinion.

Like it or not, you knew where you stood with Barbara. She was too seasoned to deal with what she considered ‘foolishness’ and had no qualms telling me what she would do differently if she were the manager, which was pretty much everything. Age did not slow Barbara down, as the stories of her weekend escapades alone would wear me out. She loved her family, her friends and her life. 

Nothing could stop Barbara. Except Cancer.

She told me about her diagnosis the same way she talked about everything, “WELL... they say I only have a few months to live”, then she moved on to more mundane office issues as I struggled to comprehend the immensity of what she had just told me.

Barbara had Cancer, and she was pissed.

She had family to love and trips to take, and Cancer was not going to mess with her. So she tried to ignore it, which lasted about a week, as she lost weight and became noticeably jaundiced and fatigued.

The last time I saw Barbara was the day she realized that as much as she wanted to ignore Cancer, it wasn’t going away. I was on the phone, and glanced up in time to see her walk by with a look I’ve never seen in her eyes before: fear. As she hesitantly waved to me, I knew she wouldn’t be coming back.

Not long after, we received an email from her daughter that ‘our Barbara’, feisty and full of life, was resting comfortably in a hospice and not receiving visitors.

I was instantly reminded of a phrase I’ve heard before: In those times when there is nothing you can do, do something anyhow.

So we did. We made a goodbye movie.

The idea struck fear into the heart of our HR Department, as well the staff who weren’t sure if a goodbye movie was the best idea ever, or the worst idea ever. But with the blessing of Barbara’s daughter and her mother who ‘couldn’t wait for the premiere’, production began. 

In the three days it took us to make our video homage, we learned more about Barbara than we had for the seven years we worked with her. We learned that it was easier to make a list of things that annoyed her than things she liked. We learned that she had a strong opinion about everything, and a comical story for everyone. And we learned that at the end of the day, we are family. And when one of us is missing, we all feel the loss.

I would outline our step-by-step movie making process, but in the end it speaks for itself.

It speaks of friendship.

It speaks of love.

But most importantly, it speaks of life.

If making the movie kept Barbara alive, wrapping it up was heartbreaking. We sent it off in an email link to her family with a prayer that it would make it in time, and after two agonizingly silent days we got word that Barbara had not only watched it, but gave it two big thumbs up.

Just a few months after her diagnosis, and a week after we delivered our movie, Barbara died.

I still have a hard time writing those words, because when I watch our movie it feels like she is still here, so much so I can almost hear her telling me how everything I do is wrong.

Except for making our goodbye movie, the one thing I’m certain she would agree I did right.

http://youtu.be/F2Lrzz1MXwY.