Remembering Sandy

Following is the eulogy I delivered for my friend, Sandy, who died of breast cancer on July 16, 2006.  There are no words to describe the grief I am feeling right now. I will miss her dearly.

It’s been said if you have five true friends in your lifetime—you’re lucky.  If that’s true, I must be fortunate because I had Sandy Wilkins.  From the first moment I met Sandy, I was touched by her big smile and an even bigger heart.  Whether I was sad, needed a laugh, or wanted to celebrate a success….Sandy was there, with open arms and a fresh perspective.

I met Sandy three years ago while attending a communication course with Landmark Education.  Within our first five minutes of meeting, she simultaneously laughed, cried, and thanked me for making a difference in the world—all without ever taking a breath. 

Although I didn’t understand “why” at the moment, I instantly wanted to know her and be a part of her world.  Looking back now, I realize it was partly selfish.  In her presence, I felt bigger, loved myself more, and knew myself to be someone who could tackle anything—with or without evidence to back it up. 

Sandy was more than a friend to me…she was a teacher.  And every day she taught me something new…about life, love, and what it means to be an extraordinary human being. Her kindness taught me the value of friendship.  Her creativity taught me the freedom of self expression.  And her selflessness taught me the beauty of generosity.

When I think of Sandy, I think of a woman in action. Whether she was selling fudge, going on a mission trip, making casseroles, or coordinating a walk for breast cancer...She never played small.  In some weird way, even her death was a tribute to the way she lived her life:  Dramatic, Brave, and Impactful.

Although there are many things I will miss about Sandy, perhaps the greatest is her zest for life.  Far too few people believe in Magic these days, but despite hard knocks or tough times…Sandy did. 

She believed in creating a better world for our children. She believed in families being united around the dinner table. She believed in the power of dreams and taking action to help to make those dreams come true. 

She also believed in laughing—all along the way.

Through it all, it became clear that Sandy had one true passion in this world – people.  Even on her worst days, it was not dying that concerned her, but rather how to express her love and gratitude to those she would leave behind.  Whether you were a doctor that showed her kindness, a former teammate with Landmark, a lifetime friend, a church member, or simply a part of her family…she wanted nothing more than to give you her love, respect, and gratitude. 

Sandy’s final thoughts are captured in the above pictured thank you card.  Inside, you'll also find a small token of her appreciation—tomato seeds. 

When I asked Sandy “why tomatoes?” she told me two things.  1)  She loved them.  2) They reminded her of the carefree days in her childhood. With a smile, Sandy told me about the joyful times with her brother when she used to run and throw the seeds over the fence—rather than plant them in the garden.

In the end, Sandy’s final lesson was also her greatest gift.  Sandy taught us that we have a lot to be thankful for in life. She taught us that life is precious and that we take too much for granted. She also taught us to make the most of each and every day.

If we can do this, we will honor Sandy. And we can honor her in other ways too. 

We can care for each other more. We can reach out in love to those who are in need. We can have more fun. 

If we do these things in Sandy's honor, then we have held her memory well.

Even the tomato seeds—which seemed to be so random—contain a valuable message.  To my surprise, tomatoes are considered the love fruit…so it’s perfectly appropriate she would leave them to you.  So from Sandy I say to you:  love each other, throw your seeds, and enjoy your life.  It all goes by in a blink.

One Thing I Know for Sure:  You don't realize how strong a person is until you see them at their weakest.