fbpx

A little more than three years ago, I was sitting on my sofa in our little apartment in Irvine, California, having a conversation with my dear friend, Kimberly.  Kimberly was participating in a clinical trial for a genetic treatment for lung cancer and I had invited her to stay with us, as it was closer to Irvine than San Diego where she lived.  Kimberly had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer 11 years prior and had been in remission for over 5 years until a few months prior.  The cancer had returned and was everywhere in her body.  She was in pain, exhausted, and facing this latest treatment with all the courage and determination that she faced every challenge in her life.

I met Kimberly online in the late 1990s in a Friends of Bill W. chat room, then met her in person a few years later when I moved to San Diego where she lived.  We became friends, sisters, with the common bonds of sobriety and motherhood and a cheeky attitude toward life.  When I talked with Kimberly, I knew I would get her honest opinion, along with a humorous-yet-ego-crushing love smack to get me back on track.  She was real and raw and bold, and I always felt more myself when around her.

That evening on my sofa Kimberly opened up about her illness.  About how she had been fighting for so long and how tired she was. She knew my work with trauma and wondered out loud how you know when enough was enough.  It doesn’t get any more real than this.  Kimberly was in her early 50s, had two college-aged children.  At a time when most women are beginning to see some light at the end of the child-raising tunnel and may be making plans for their next chapter, Kimberly was trying to figure out how and when to let go.  When to stop fighting the fight.

I sat in awe of this woman.  My friend.  My hero.  And I said, “it’s enough when you say it’s enough.”

During that week I was running my Body to Soul Challenge online and I shared with Kimberly the aha moments these women were experiencing.  Many times, I was in tears as I voiced their excitement, or pain, or regret.  The moment was not lost on me that Kimberly was having her own awakening, coming to discover and accept that her life might actually be over soon.  We laughed.  We cried.  We shared from the heart and we irreverently spoke of death as the ultimate pulling up your big girl panties moment.

Kimberly let go of this life just a few weeks later, surrounded by her family.  True to her bold spirit and her never-ending sense of humor, she asked her family for a “Big fucking party with mariachis and drag queens!” as her celebration of life.

Her party was a true testament of the love and laughter and strength and courage, and no-filter raw honesty that she shared with everyone.  She was who she was, no matter what.

That was three years ago. Today, the day before my 60th birthday, I woke up with a sense of sadness and started to write about what it means to reach 60 years of age in this current world. I am filled with both frustration and gratitude, disappointment and love. And then, Facebook reminded me of Kimberly’s passing alongside memories of my sweet grandchildren, as my daughter and son-in-law were visiting at that time.

I am reminded of the cycles of life and death, of loss and celebration, of showing up and letting go.

And in this moment, I am in awe of the life I have lived so far, surviving challenges I thought would break me. Showing up and holding space for those who need me. I have not accomplished everything I want to. In some ways I feel as if I’m just getting started.

So, I’m going to pull up my big girl panties and keep going in the direction of my dreams.

If you’re struggling right now, please know you are not alone. If you’re stuck as to what to do next, let’s talk. Your one precious life is all you have. And we are not guaranteed tomorrow.

Carol Holguin is the founder of Body to Soul™, a process of aligning with the body’s innate wisdom for healing and personal growth. She is a Licensed Massage Therapist and Certified Trauma Touch Therapist™ with nearly thirty years in practice. Carol works and lives in Wimberley, Texas. Find her at carolholguin.com.