It’s been kind of a rough week.

I don’t know how to say it without sounding overly clichéd, but the world lost one of its larger contributors of peace on earth/goodwill towards men last Wednesday. And that sudden loss has made a whole lot of people feeling indescribably bereft.

This is what happens when the people serving as our Life Supports suddenly leave before we are anywhere near ready to let them go.

Did you know Yvonne? It’s quite possible that you did (especially if you ran races on the eastern seaboard). She was, after all, the person who would flash a toothy grin and brown eyes that let you know you had her full and genuine attention. It was easy to get pulled in by her inertia. To put it more simply: she really cared about people. Everyone.

I spent this morning walking the rows of Arlington Cemetery with a friend of mine—a girl in my running social circle who was good friends with Yvonne. We’ve all had a couple of days to process what her absence has done, and in talking through our feelings, we reflected on what Yvonne gave to the world.

“She never said anything bad about anyone,” said Katie as we carried wreaths on a cool but sunny morning. “She would be willing to listen to you complain, but she never piled on.”

That’s kind of a rare thing—having someone in your life who is grounded enough to serve as a trusted confidante, but at the same time can retain the bigger picture and give everyone a fair shake (I can’t do that—I’m pretty sure I yelled at three Maryland drivers on my way home last night).

Yvonne was light. Yvonne was buoyant energy. And actually, now that I’m writing this all down, I’d argue that she still is both of these things. While she was on this earth for way too short of a time (45 years), she really did a number on this place—and I mean that in a really good way.

Yvonne with one tiny sliver of her crew.

Tomorrow, a group of our running friends will get together for a holiday party. Yvonne was going to miss it because she had plans to go on a cruise with her two beautiful girls and Coastie husband. She didn’t live to see the ship leave the pier—even though she was planning on going, right up until the very end. That’s kind of how Yvonne rolled: she had a list of plans for what she was going to do with this world, and in a way I feel as though the world let her down by allowing cancer to take her away so early. She had so much ass kicking, race running, and selfie taking (always surrounded by her people) still left to do. It hurts my heart to know that she is no longer around to keep on doing her thing.

Some of us, “the running friends”, have quietly observed that we hardly feel up to having a party under these sudden and somber circumstances. What is there to celebrate if misfortune is always kneeling in the background, just waiting to randomly pull the carpet out from under our feet?

But then I reflect a bit on Yvonne’s spirit. She left us with an assignment to complete, and it’s a big one. As her friends and family, it is incumbent upon all of us to live our lives like the celebration that Yvonne made it, and to treat those of us in our personal warrens as she would have done.

I can’t be sure, but I think this is the reason why Yvonne’s husband and girls still left to go on that Disney cruise. Life should be celebrated.

I’m not writing this to mine for comments of condolence. I’ll be the first to tell you that the times I spent with Yvonne did not involve hours of deep discussion on life or my own lame problems (see previous blog entries). Rather, I know Yvonne best from 5AM track runs or when we would intersect post-workout and she’d be all smiles while teeing up the next task in her jam-packed day.   To me, she was one of those people you would see and simply know that they were awesome.

So tomorrow we runners are going to get together. I have no doubt that we’ll laugh and we’ll cry. We’ll miss Yvonne dearly and probably take a few selfies in her honor along the way. We can’t not get together simply because we’re too broken up over our friend’s passing. Yvonne, of all people, would have kicked our asses if didn’t take this moment to honor life and each other.

Even if the world doesn’t always make sense (and believe you me, I am still not understanding this one), life is a celebration. Yvonne taught me that through the way she chose to live her life.   No matter what we’ve got going on, or how good or bad we feel, we’ve got to get out there and live. Do a half marathon with Stage 4 cancer, or just do one because your fool friends convinced you that it was a good idea one night while you all were drinking. Whatever it is, just get on with it.

None of us know how long we’ve got, so get your head and heart in gear and do what means most. Do it with boundless love, and do it with a great smile. And whether you’re at our party or not tomorrow, go about your day knowing that you’ve received a bit of Yvonne’s gift to us all. And we are truly lucky people.