In Living Memory
By Isabel Gallegos
I took some deep breaths as I sat next to my college roommate, Crystal. We looked at each other and knew it was only a matter of seconds before the dam’s release, allowing the flood of tears to come. We were sitting in a medium-sized church building with six-foot-high illuminated purple capital letters spelling out ‘JESUS’ across the back of the stage. The drum set sat empty. There was a podium and colorful flowers posed next to it. One man on the guitar sang about coming to the end of life and living again. We watched the big screen above the Jesus letters on the back wall of the stage. Pictures of Helen from when she was a baby to the end of her life, her hair short, her body small and hunched over, displayed across the screen. Helen was only 41 years old when she died of stage 4 lung cancer.
There must have been over 200 people seated in the sanctuary. Crystal handed me some neatly folded tissue as the Pastor approached the stage and stood behind the podium. He said “Helen isn’t dead. She’s very much alive in this place.” He repeated this several times in different ways throughout the ‘Celebration of Life’ service. Helen’s sister and best friend crew came to the stage next and shared a eulogy. They talked about all the whimsical memories they had of Helen and how ethereal she’d always been. She was an actress, model, production assistant, the queen at Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament, a villain at Disneyland, a server at an Irish pub, and finally a successful real estate agent. She was a very talented artist. She could draw what she visualized in her mind and make it come to life, whether it was an additional room in her house or award-winning artwork. She traveled. She fell in love. She got married and had a daughter about two years before being diagnosed.
Crystal and I lived with Helen during college. She would sing and dance across the room, keeping us entertained. She was the star of college plays, often reciting lines in our living room. One night we went out for dinner and each of us dressed up as a celebrity. Helen came up with all of our celebrity look-a-likes and assigned me as Audrey Hepburn, Crystal as Marilyn Monroe, and herself as Molly Ringwald from The Breakfast Club movie. She did our hair and makeup, and off we went into the streets of Los Angeles, California. We enjoyed the attention that night on Hollywood Boulevard. Tourists gawked and snapped photos of us as we walked over the stars on the sidewalk.
We knew all sides of Helen. She went through a dark depression during our last year in college. She couldn’t find the motivation to get out of bed. She was overwhelmed with classes, with life, and an unknown future coming soon after graduation. I lay next to her in the small room we shared in our college apartment and told her I had similar fears and anxiety as well. It was scary not knowing. It was scary to have to reinvent ourselves during this next phase of our life. It was heavy for Helen. She struggled with the rebirth of herself during that next season. But she kept going, knowing that the only way out was getting through it.
“We’ve registered a star in Helen’s name so we have a place to see her when we look up into the sky. It’s located at the elbow of the constellation Orion. She won’t be in a grave. The plan is to spread her ashes in Ireland one day, just as she wanted,” Helen’s sister informed everyone who was seated, as she handed the registration form of the star to Helen’s husband and 8-year-old daughter on stage. I took a deep breath and then another, hoping the cycle of breaths would help me control the tears from turning into sobs.
Breathe, release, renew. Breathing deep is a way for the body to receive oxygen, which travels to the lungs, into tiny air sacs, and then releases into the bloodstream. The heart pumps the blood to every body part, delivering oxygen to every cell. Each cell then uses the oxygen to produce life-renewing energy and switches the brain from an aroused to a calm state. With each deep breath I took, my nervous system calmed, grounding me. I focused on one of the last pictures taken of Helen, with an oxygen tank and tubes coming out of her nose. At that point, her lungs had failed her, riddled with tumors making her breath ragged. Her family described her last days as full of jokes and coughs until the end. With one last short strained breath, Helen died peacefully in her sleep.
The pastor mentioned again, “Helen is here,” as the musician came up to sing the last song, Amazing Grace. I looked around and realized what Helen’s celebration of life was teaching me. We’re not too fond of death, we’d rather keep people alive. Through death, we bring people to life again - celebrating their legacy and their impact. We make their memory come alive, and use it to inspire us to reinvent ourselves by changing our perspective to live well - not taking life for granted, but instead seeing how unpredictable life can be. As the musician sang the last lyrics of Amazing Grace, “And grace will lead us home,” the pastor concluded with a closing prayer.
The crowd then gathered outside in the courtyard around Helen’s family. It was time for the dove release. One white dove broke free from the white basket, and then three more. We all watched as they met up with each other in the gray sky, forming a group in the shape of a V. They flew fast and far until we couldn’t see them anymore, ready to enjoy a second chance at a free life.
The biggest gift Helen gave me was a sense of urgency. She once came over to bring me a housewarming basket full of goodies. We were catching up on all the hard things that we had recently gone through. I had just moved into my own place after ending my marriage. She had just been diagnosed. Our daughters played together and laughed, as Helen and I encouraged each other. I mentioned how exhausted I had been with the move, a new job, and the huge life transition. I mentioned I had felt an uncomfortable lump under my armpit and it had been bothering me. I’d never felt a stinging sensation like that before. She looked at me and very lovingly and directly said “Isabel, book a doctor’s appointment and get it checked out.” I wanted to ignore it and hoped it would go away. I already had so much going on and felt emotionally flooded. But Helen urged me to book that appointment. In the coming weeks, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, stage 2.
I have Helen to thank for pushing me and scaring me that day. She played a big role in helping me catch the cancer early enough to survive it. Because of Helen, I was able to rediscover my life and live again. Each day, I breathe deep into my lungs, release, and renew every cell in my body.
In Living Memory of Helen H. April 12, 1983 - January 4, 2025
Isabel Gallegos resides in the Pacific Northwest with her 11-year-old daughter. She is grateful to be a cancer survivor. She enjoys reading, writing, and traveling to places she’s never been before. Isabel also leads a book club at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, in hopes to help the women transcend their time while incarcerated.