Mrs. Spicer

“She not only saw a light at the end of the tunnel, she became that light for others…celebrate her compassion.”

-       Kobi Yamada

This is what courage, strength, and beauty looks like. This is my dear friend, Beth Spicer. She is a breast cancer warrior. Today we are celebrating her 33^rd and FINAL radiation treatment.  This marks the end of a year that was unlike any other for her.  I won’t pretend to know all that she as endured during the last year, but I do know this, the way that she handled her battle taught me more about the kind of person I want to be.  She stared her cancer down. She sized it up. She made some of the most difficult decisions of her life. She fought.  She showed up to work after rounds of chemotherapy.  She fought harder. She loved her family through their suffering and through their fear.  She reassured her young students that she would be fine, even when I know her heart was heavy and unsure. She battled daily.  Her armor was her faith, her optimism, and the infectious smile that you see in this picture above.

It was almost a year ago when she called to tell me the results of her mammogram.  She was so “matter of fact” about it that I wasn’t sure exactly how to react.  We talked for a while about cancer, about treatments, about logistics.  I found it astonishing that her biggest worries were about how other people would handle the news.  From the beginning it was clear that she had not only agreed to battle breast cancer, but that she intended to do so without inconveniencing anyone and while running a small Catholic school. I am sure her family can speak to the battle with far more clarity than I can, yet I am compelled to share her story as I saw it unfold in so many poignant moments over the past year.

One of those moments was when she shared her diagnosis with her staff and students. This was early on in the school year. Just as she calculated the time that she would need to allocate for treatments, she carefully plotted out how she would deliver the news so that business would go on as usual.  She used that disarming smile to reassure her staff and her students that it would be a great year even when she knew it would be one of her toughest. She hated to draw any kind of attention to herself and opted to fight her battles quietly.  She rarely ever asked for help, but rather spent time offering her help to others. She chaperoned junior high dances, attended sporting events, celebrated student accomplishments. She demanded that parents let her be a part of a carpool to basketball practice despite the facts that a part of her day was spent in Columbus at chemotherapy.  In fact, at a meeting in April as her chemotherapy was coming to an end and before her radiation began her nose started bleeding as she was talking.  Worried and alarmed I handed her a tissue and she retorted with that same smile “I keep telling people I don’t have time for cancer. I am the principal of a Catholic school.” Then she winked and said “I’m fine, this just happens sometimes.” That sort of comment is about the closest she ever came to actually addressing the fact that she was in a battle.

Her humility and perseverance, her humor and compassion for others, her unrelenting faith that God would see her through- these are the things that I will remember about the past year. The year that this remarkable woman battled breast cancer and became a warrior. The year that she taught a school full of young children and their parents what living your faith looks like. The year she showed me the kind of woman I want to be.

She not only saw the light at the end of the tunnel, she became that light for others, and today I celebrate her.  

“Your friends were once strangers.

Somehow at a particular time, they came from the distance toward your life.

Their arrival seemed so accidental and contingent.

Now your life is unimaginable without them.”

― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

It is funny how God puts people in your path to remind you that He is never too far away.  I have known Kara Burgel since high school. It is hard to believe that I am two years older than her, but it is, in fact, true (ha ha).  A two year age difference in high school was enough to keep our paths from crossing too often. We went to different colleges. Our paths ran parallel to one another but never really converged until we both moved back to Sidney as young mothers. We started talking as we were waiting to pick up our kids from Bible School. We started talking that day, and according to our husbands, the conversation has never really stopped.

We share recipes, parenting ideas, and secrets. We have weathered health scares, potty training, and hangovers. We celebrate our children’s achievements, however big or small. We have diagnosed food allergies, bad attitudes, and good teachers. We have survived the first day of kindergarten and the first year of junior high- keeping watch fretfully as these little people we love so much learn to navigate the world.  We have borrowed Wilton Ware, soccer uniforms, and homework information. We talk about all things, from to do lists, to kids’ being over  scheduled, to whether or not Nick Newman should shave. We solve each other’s problems over a cup of coffee or a glass of red wine, depending on the time of day. We pray for our families, for those who are suffering, and the promise of heaven someday. We give thanks for quiet moments, healthy kids, and time spent at Sollmann Bar. We worry about our parents, our housework, and what our children will remember about us. We protect each other- fiercely.

Last year, for my birthday. Kara gave me a necklace with the phrase “Anam Cara” engraved on it. The phrase means “soul friends.”  That is exactly what we are. Happy Birthday, Kara.