Four Feet More

5 years ago, my friend Val, who had never smoked a day in her life, passed away from lung cancer.

I met Val a few years earlier, when she began working at the American Musical Theater of San Jose. I was a dresser there at the time, and was happy to have her join the ranks of the "chicks in black." To this day, I still picture her happily ironing costumes outside the men's dressing room. She got along with everyone, and was always a great resource for single dressers who were trying to determine which members of the male cast were straight (not very many, I'm afraid).

Val is such a small name for such a big personality. She was always smiling and laughing. Even when she was sick from chemo, had lost all her hair, and was planning her memorial service, she still approached life with such a wonderfully positive attitude. I really don't know how she did it. She was just an amazing person.

After Val passed away, there were two memorials for her. The first was held in a Catholic church, and performed by a priest who may or may not have known her personally. There we sat, chicks in black for an entirely different reason, listening to the priest drone on and on about "Valerie" (we never called her that). I kept thinking, "this service is so not Val!" It did not in any way capture the vitality and joy that was such a huge part of Val's spirit. As I sat there, quietly becoming depressed by the service, this little bird entered the church. It was a tiny, spry little thing, and it flew straight to the window to the left of the priest and began chirping happily. It fluttered around there, bouncing and singing away, for the rest of the service. I could not tear my eyes away from that bird. I looked up at it and thought, "Val!" Glancing over to my theater friends sitting next to me, I could see they were all focusing on the bird too. The priest could have been beamed away by aliens at that point, and none of us would have noticed, so completely had that bird held our attention.

As we shuffled out of the church, we all talked about the bird, and how it felt so much like Val, visiting in spirit, to help lighten up the mood of her funeral. That was just something she would do.

The second memorial service was much better. Val had arranged all the details herself, from the photo collages and books that were displayed in the entryway, to the music that would be played to commemorate her life.

The song on the playlist that I will never forget: "The Bitch is Back," by Elton John.

Yeah, Val was like that. A sense of humor, right up to the very end.

I miss you Val. Backstage of the theater became a much darker place once you left us.