HIGH FIVE, MARLENE YATES

It’s a sacred irony that when an old friend dies part of you is born again. From the deep end of the brain-pool, bubbles of memory start rising; some big round  pockets of shared experience gurgle up, and others rise like tiny sparkly trails that follow each other to the surface. They are strangely pristine even in murky waters of an aging brain. Life relived.

Marlene Yates and a couple of her finest treasures.

I have been, for the last few days, jumping into the figurative pool with my old friend, Marlene. I’ll be grinding away at my daily chores when all of a sudden I am with Marlene, and we are both young with babies on our hips watching sack races at the Somerset Park. Then an hour later, when I am washing the dishes, we are mothers of missionaries having a heart-to-heart over the phone about how to reconcile our faith with our doubts. I look at the red milk box on my front porch and remember the four pounds of fudge she ordered for my grandson’s fundraiser. Marlene and I have been reconnecting for three days now.

Sunday morning, I was standing at my kitchen sink when I noticed flashing lights through the window. Down the road, in front of the Yates’ house, police cars and an ambulance clustered in the street. I could see the kid who used to be Trey walking back and forth. He’s a full-grown man now, with a Yates kid of his own. I called Marlene to see what was up.

No answer.

I texted another neighbor, who is president of our church women’s group. Minutes later the bishop called me back. 

“Cori, it’s Dave Cowley. I’m with Susan at the Yates’. Marlene passed this morning.”

Condensing such a monumental thing into one simple sentence: “Marlene passed this morning” feels… I don’t know… kind of irreverent. Kind of sterile. And completely accurate. I mean, what else do you say? The boiled down, condensed truth is that Marlene passed this morning.

The wholeness of it, though, starts opening up, like the Chinese birthday candle I bought once. It came in what looked like a closed rose bud with a firecracker wick poking out the top. When we lit it, the thing opened up like a flower, each petal holding a candle that burst one by one into flame. Underneath all of it Happy Birthday to You played endlessly from an electronic chip. I am recognizing the depth and brilliance of a long-lived friendship.

The Marlene and Kevin
we first met.

I’ve known Marlene since before she had kids, and before my last two were born. We’ve both cursed our blasted weight, and celebrated our semi-rebellious spirits. We served together for 5 years in our church’s Stake Young Women’s presidency. She taught Primary kids and I led them in music time. I know her laughter. I would know she was in the gym, among a crowd of people, because I could recognize her laughter. Real friends know each other this way.

Marlene was a seeker of light. She understood the power of light, as well as the power of darkness. She sought light. Because of some things that had happened in her past, she needed light, the kind that Jesus gives, to make her feel safe. In the last number of years she immersed herself in scripture, even engaging a group of people on social media specifically gathered to discuss scripture, especially the Book of Mormon.  She was a true disciple in her heart and her actions. She was not necessarily typical, and that in itself is refreshing to me. And so beautifully honest.

Marlene's prized posession- her great-grandmother's scriptures. 

I told Marlene once about my friend Sarah, who came in late to church one day. As she squeezed past the people already seated in the pew, they each raised their hand in front of her. She slapped each hand, thinking they were giving her a friendly high-five. When she sat down, the man at the pulpit asked “Any opposed?” It seems Sarah had perceived the hands raised in support of people being called to specific jobs in our church were an invitation for a high-five slap. Truth is, I think that’s exactly how we should sustain each other. “You’re willing to teach the three-year old’s every Sunday? High five to you! I will totally support you in that!” Marlene loved that thought. We told each other we would always support each other in our discipleship with Christ. From then on, every time Marlene and I saw each other, we gave each other a big high-five. If one of us drove past the other, we raised the palm of our hand to the other. In comments on social media we left the high-five emoji. I knew 100% that she supported me. She supported my kids, and my sisters, and Dave. And I did the same for her. I adore her boys, and love Kevin. I raise my hand to Kevin’s amazing artwork, and his friendly and sometimes quiet demeanor, and his stellar sense of humor. I recognize that we all get to pick the road we are taking Home. So did Marlene. And no doubt she still does. She allows people to be who they are.

We are not sure, at this point, what it was that took her from us so unexpectedly.She had had a cough, but had tested negative for Covid twice and was fully vaccinated.But the danged cough persisted, until Sunday morning when she told Kevin she really was not feeling well and maybe they should call 911. Minutes later she collapsed.Trey did chest compressions. Riley tried to breathe life back into her.In the end, she died in the arms of her son. A hundred years from now, when we are all dead and this stuff doesn't do us in like it does now, we will smile and remark how lovely it was that Marlene died in her beloved child's arms, with her firstborn's lips against hers.

Right now, though, this still stings. Our mortality still owns us. We've nurtured fight or flight for so long that the thought of surrender is hard to process.But I am fairly confident that, because she studied her God with such intent, Marlene is pretty content with how it rolled out for her. And, frankly, we should be, too.

You did it, Marlene! You did the thing that scares all of us. You jumped off the highest diving board and took the eternal plunge.

High-five, old friend

Funeral services will be held Friday, September 24, 2021, at 2:00 p.m. at Lindquist Layton Mortuary, 1867 No. Fairfield Rd., Layton Utah. Friends may visit with family Thursday from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. and Friday 12:30 to 1:30 p.m. at the mortuary.

View her obituary HERE.