Goodbye, Princess: The Startling Loss of Christina
The first time I saw Christina, it was in a dance class on a fall Saturday afternoon a couple of years back. There were about a dozen of us in the class, most of us beginner-to-intermediate level, dressed casually and ready to learn some new moves.
We began by following our instructor Keri as she moved us through some warm-ups. Then as partner work on the new moves began, I noticed one of the female students.
To the best of my memory, she was about six feet--at least in heels. She had an athletic build, which was fitting because she moved with control, confidence, and grace--all of which were also worn on her face.
As partners rotated, Christina soon approached with her striking blue eyes and blonde waves pulled back. Myself somewhere between beginner and intermediate, this princess--who I was supposed to lead on this dance floor--intimidated me. So, I pulled my usual stunt to release some of the pressure, and I said something self-deprecating. She smiled and reassuredly offered some pointers.
Looking back, I honestly don't know why she was in the class. She could've been teaching her own. But I'm glad she was, because she added so much to this room, as she would each time I saw her out thereafter.
At an evening dance social some months later--at the same dance studio we had that lesson--Christina and I had a chance to sit and talk. It was small talk--about the evening, the music, and others out on the floor strutting their stuff. She looked dazzling as usual. Then, a favorite salsa of mine came on: Marc Anthony's Flor Pálida.
I took Christina's hand and said to her, "Let's dance!"
I did my best to move with the confidence and pizzazz she embodied.
I never forgot that dance perhaps 18 months ago.
Over the past year or so I haven't been as active in the local dance scene. I've seen friends' photos, though--some featuring Christina looking as vivacious as ever.
Then on Saturday I saw a friend's Facebook post about Christina.
Christina had died of cancer.
"Cancer?" I thought. "Christina?!"
How could this person, so radiant, have been stricken with this life-sapping disease?
Yet she had been--since 2014.
By 2016, the year we met at that dance class, Christina was improving after multiple surgeries and treatments.
"I began getting my life back," she wrote of this time this past September in her letter on a fundraising website.
There was no way for me to know any of this, of course, nor even have a hint of it given Christina’s shining nature. This clash reveals strikingly how there’s so much more to people than we realize.
This past year, Christina's cancer returned.
In December friends surprised her with a 40th birthday party.
Christina would survive into the new year, passing away January 3, 2019.
I only knew her in passing. Yet for someone like Christina, that's all it requires for an untimely death to startle, to feel such loss, to feel the tragedy of death and the preciousness of life.
I believe each moment we contain such realizations are moments better aligned with the priorities of our time on Earth. In this way, it would be our honor to Christina to live better. It would also appropriately honor our loved ones for their place in our lives, and it would have us better honor ourselves by living the life we deserve.
What a gift from a princess!
Thank you, Christina, for being you--so fully and beautifully, for having this dance with me, for kindly giving me pointers, for sharing yourself so radiantly with the world, that even in your health's decline your presence and inspiration would have us all live the wiser, the kinder.
Rest in Peace, Princess.
