And she became one with The Force...

I got a call this morning from Gina's sister, Debbie. I walked to the sanctuary of the Synagogue where I work as she told me in tears that Gina's health was in severe decline and that they made a decision to pull her off life support this afternoon. I'm not Jewish, but it didn't matter that I was not in my own house of worship. I feel like spirituality is bigger than a definition of what it means to a specific religion and I felt surrounded by a light and by comfort and I was able to cry a little bit as I took the information in. 

The reality of Gina's passing will eventually hit me in a profound way. I might be reduced to unconsolable tears the minute I hit "publish" on this blog entry. It might be tomorrow morning or it might come tomorrow afternoon when I see The Last Jedi for the third time, this time with my father. In Star Wars, the departed becomes one with The Force. It doesn't matter in what you believe or how your belief states the passage of a beloved soul, at 1:01pm she was once here and now she is no longer. 

SPOILER ALERT: 

I recall a scene in  The Last Jedi where Luke and Leia are sitting together. Leia is saddened that her son, Ben Solo, has been lost to the dark side of The Force. It moves Luke to say "No one's ever really gone..." He hands Leia Han's dice from the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon and that sentiment of no one ever really being gone extends to the loss of Han Solo in The Force Awakens. That scene moves me every time as it brings to the surface my feelings of loss for Carrie Fisher and how it seemed to be prescient of her death, which occurred shortly after filming wrapped. I believe that this moment will carry with it much more weight tomorrow in light of my own Leia's passing. SPOILER END.

No one's ever really gone. Though I knew Gina for a very brief time in my life, her birth carried much significance to me. I have beautiful memories of the safety and comfort she brought me. I can delight in the laughter and camaraderie we shared during a difficult time in our lives. I have stories. I have good stories. Maybe they mean more to mean than they mean to you as I recall them. 

We were like war buddies--we shared an experience that cannot be fully understood by really anyone else in my life. That means a lot. 

One last story I'd like to share with you all before I close, was one that Gina told me when we were enjoying a little breakfast in the Cleveland Clinic cafeteria one morning, before our first apheresis in "Camp Frigiwanda":

Gina told me that there was a group of close friends and family enjoying a meal together. It would make sense that this was Thanksgiving, by context, but my chemobrain won't allow me to access that detail. Anyhow, everyone around the table was asked to say what they were thankful for (See? Sounds like Thanksgiving.) and so they did. Around the table they went until they got to a little boy who couldn't get his mouth to wrap around the name, "Gina Beauregard". So, he piped up with gleeful conviction and proudly proclaimed, "I'm thankful for Junior Boyer!"

I "met" in the last couple days the former little boy; now a lovely man with a young family of his own. He came forward to identify himself as that little boy and I was thrilled to make that connection--even in this time of sadness. I felt such joy knowing the face and a little bit of the life of the one whose story is one I have loved for the last three years. It's unlikely that I will have the occasion to tell the story again as its significance will fade in terms of relatable stories as we move farther away from today. So, thank you for letting me tell it one more time. 

Thank you most of all for letting me tell you a little about a person whose life was well spent. Her kindness, selflessness, acts of charity and the beautiful smile with which all these things were delivered meant so much to so many. Through these things, her essence will carry on. I am glad she was born and no, she's never really gone.

Gina, modeling her fabulous wig (2015)