Heritage Halls, 1977.
We gathered in a large circle in the lobby of our dorm, some of us
sitting on the hearth near the big old tube TV, some smashed hip to hip on the
sunken couches beneath the large plate-glass windows , some of us sitting cross
legged, our knees jittery with anticipation.
We had been called to a Candle Passing Ceremony, a few dozen girls, with
a few scattered boy-friends and friend-boys in tow. The lights were dimmed and
we sat in darkness as our dorm leader lit a candle which we passed around the
circle. Some girls teased, pretending to fill their cheeks and prepare to blow
out the flame, but generally the candle was passed from hand to hand, still
ablaze…until it came to the mystery girl…the woman of the hour… the one who had
just become engaged. This was the late
1970’s BYU method of announcing a marriage engagement.
I sat across from her and smiled as I watched her take the
candle, turn to pass it on, then bring it back, purse her lips, and blow it
out! Her name was Cyndy Hooley, and the fella sitting next to her was my
brother, George. We cheered, and
embraced, and congratulated, a circle of friends and roommates. I did not know
that this was the first of many circles I would share with Cyndy, my friend who
would become my sister.
My brother George, who happened to be roommates with my
fiancĂ©’ Dave, had a habit of visiting my dorm, first because there was likely to
be a pot of hot soup on the stove. But
it didn’t take long for the soup to move to the back burner because his hunger
was for that cute girl with the curly hair and the irresistible smile. The girl
who had just the right amount of sass to peak his interest, and the unmatched
strength that would eventually put reigns on the wild horse that is my brother.
Dave and I have joined George and Cyndy in many
circles. Some where a crackling fire
kept us warm and fed, our bellies full of trout, our hands filled with guitars
and flutes and such. We have stood in
sacred circles, dressed in white, raising our hands before each other. Other circles, where our babies were central.
First wrapped in white blankets, then roughly eight years hence, those children
were again in white, their hair wet and clean, their hearts ready and willing
and trusting, and the worthy hands of their father and uncle were once again
placed on their heads. We have encircled many a dinner table, have hammered
pots and pans on New Years Eve, have celebrated high school honors and college
degrees. And we have huddled in grief,
our shoulders slumped together, our hearts heavy, in ICU waiting rooms, in
family prayer, and around caskets where the scent of pine still wafts in our
memory. So many circles, with ripples still rolling out to eternity.
Today, the kind of day we fear as children and never outgrow
with age, we formed our circles again.
Layer on layer. And central to
all of it was that beautiful friend who became my sister more than three dozen
years ago. Her body was spent, worn out
by good works and, almost inconceivably, whipped to submissiveness by
cancer. I have never known a stronger
woman. And so I have never seen a more
unyielding disease. Demon cancer! Lauren, Bryan, Nate and George, directed by
what some people call fate and I call the Holy Ghost, had made the decision to
come together with impeccable timing.
They surrounded her, their hands touching her as if they were charging
their spirits with her good energy.
And we who loved her too, encircled them. Out into the halls of the Heber City hospital, and beyond. Out to distant places where prayers were all that could be sent, their paths interweaving like a web of faith, encircling all of us. We sang her to the gate, our hands and voices trying to fill her with sweet memory to take with her.
I sat behind Nate and Bryan, their arms holding each other up, their father and sister across the bridge of their mother. I imagined their brother, Clayton, whose body we had encircled on that mournful day 18 years ago…I imagined a tug of war between those crazy brothers; two of them pulling from this side to keep her here, and Clayton engaging the aid of his grandmothers, tugging from Heaven.
Cyndy walked into her Gethsemane with grace and dignity and complete trust; ever aware of the lessons she was teaching in her journey, and completely submissive to her God.
And we who loved her too, encircled them. Out into the halls of the Heber City hospital, and beyond. Out to distant places where prayers were all that could be sent, their paths interweaving like a web of faith, encircling all of us. We sang her to the gate, our hands and voices trying to fill her with sweet memory to take with her.
I sat behind Nate and Bryan, their arms holding each other up, their father and sister across the bridge of their mother. I imagined their brother, Clayton, whose body we had encircled on that mournful day 18 years ago…I imagined a tug of war between those crazy brothers; two of them pulling from this side to keep her here, and Clayton engaging the aid of his grandmothers, tugging from Heaven.
Cyndy walked into her Gethsemane with grace and dignity and complete trust; ever aware of the lessons she was teaching in her journey, and completely submissive to her God.
Today, in the waning hours of daylight, Heaven won.
We promise, Cyndy, to lock our arms, to lift our sorrowful
eyes heavenward, and support each other in love. One tight, little circle of
those who shared your body and your name, and layers of circles beyond
that. Rippling out to places our eyes
cannot see, carrying your influence out across the waters of time and space and
into the realm where you embrace your son and so many others who have loved you
long before we did.