He wrote to tell me his wife died in his arms on Christmas Day. I told him “I’ve got your back.” We met last March at Miraval, doing the Quantum Leap. There were three of us: me, Sammy, and Kenny. I went first. I get scared a lot, and I wanted to be brave. But as I started up the 25 foot pole, I didn’t feel very brave. “I’ve got your back, Susie,” Kenny yelled, holding onto one of the ropes attached to my harness. “I won’t let you fall.” Then he’d tug tightly on the rope so that I could feel him on the other end. And I did. Every few feet up the pole I’d stop and he’d shout, “I’ve got you, Susie. I won’t let you fall.” And I believed him. I didn’t even know him, but I trusted him, and I believed him, and his strength gave me courage. I got to the top of the pole, even managed to get up onto the swiveling teeny round top, and stand up. I noticed a lone woman standing at the edge of the cliff, watching us. I turned around, bent my knees, and leapt out into the air, trusting that Kenny would pull on the rope at the right time and prevent me from falling the 25 feet to the ground. To tell the truth, I had no doubt that he would catch me.
When we were all done, the woman came down to join us. It was Karen, Kenny’s wife. Kenny explained that they had been through a rough last year with Karen’s illness, and whenever he missed work, one of his coworkers always told him, “Don’t worry, Kenny. I’ve got your back.” It meant so much to him that he vowed he would give that same unconditional support whenever possible. He gave that to me. He e-mailed me later and said that I had been an inspiration to Karen. She had just gotten off a bad round of chemo, and they were taking the opportunity to travel a little, but she was timid, scared to try anything for fear of getting worn out, maybe for fear that she wouldn’t be able to do the challenges. She had been a fitness instructor, top healthy, always ate well, so when she started having digestive problems, the doctors told her she was fine. After all, she was young and healthy. Six months later she went to another doctor who told her the same thing. Finally the third doctor called for tests. By that time the cancer had spread. It didn’t look very good for them, but they vowed to do everything they could, and to live the fullest life possible. They had come to Miraval to start their adventures, but so far Kenny had been the only one to do the challenges. But he told me later that after Karen saw how scared I was, and how I had faced my fears and just done it, that that gave her the courage to be brave and try the challenges. They spent the rest of the week doing one things after another - ropes, log walking, I don’t know what else. I sent her my meditation CDs and did a long distance reading for her, did healings every night for a few weeks. Anything to help those two amazing people.
We’ve kept up, Kenny and I, over the months, mostly through e-mail. He’d send an e-mail asking for some energy, and I’d send it right away to them, or just asking for my prayers. Done and done. A week ago I got a message that they really needed help right now, so I kept them in my permanent prayer chain. I felt icky inside when I thought about Karen, but just kept sending them love. It’s all we can do. When his message came that she had died, I started crying. It’s just not fair, this death thing, especially not to someone as sweet and loving and fabulous as Karen. I think of Kenny, his big smile as he confidently yells out to me, “Don’t worry, Susie. I’ve got your back, I won’t let you fall,” and I think of Karen standing at the edge of that cliff, watching us as we walked through our challenges, just as she walked through all of her challenges these last couple of years. I leaped, knowing I was safe and protected and supported, as I know that we ALL must leap at different times in our lives. We’re scared as hell, and we’re afraid we might die, or maybe we’re just afraid to fail, maybe we don’t think we’re strong enough to do what we are faced with doing, but in the end, we know we must leap.
I think death is like that. I think we walk up that ladder our whole lives, not really knowing when we’ll get to the top, scared at times, wondering if we’ll fall before we get to the top, wondering if anyone’s out there helping us, not seeing the ropes or the harnesses, not hearing the voice that’s always calling to us, “Don’t worry, Susie. I won’t let you fall - I’ve got your back.” Well, I’ve got your back now, Kenny, and I certainly won’t let go of that rope, not for a long time. Here, feel me tugging on it - can you feel me? I’m right here. I won’t let you fall. When you’re done with your climb, Karen will be waiting at the edge of that cliff right over there, her arms outstretched to celebrate with you. That I know for sure. But for now, just keep climbing. It’s all we can do. But remember this, my friend: you are NEVER alone. Ever.