My friend Natalie passed away last month following a brief battle with melanoma. Today is her funeral.

I met Natalie about 7 years ago under unusual circumstances. It was a year after my HIV diagnosis and I was having trouble coming to terms with it so I began seeing John, a psychologist with a private practice on the West Side. After 6-months of one-on-one sessions he suggested I attend his Tuesday evening group therapy sessions.

The first night I was nervous as hell. It was a warm September evening and I found myself pacing around outside the building before the session started, not wanting to be late but not wanting to be early either. Time passed very slowly but finally 6:15 came along and I trudged on up to John’s office. As I came into the room the first person I saw was Natalie, directly on my left, sitting on her “throne”, besweatered with a flowered dress, bubblegum earrings, white socks, running shoes. To my eyes she was the least threatening person in the room and when she smiled at me I instantly fell in love with her. After that night I saw Natalie almost every Tuesday for 4 years.

Group therapy is a strange experience and I think most people view it with a mixture of amusement and fear. Those who are old enough may recall Bob Newhart and his zany group sessions on TV. The real thing isn’t so different, although the comedy is somewhat subdued. “John’s group” is a gathering of 8 men and women who come together once a week to discuss issues related to their personal lives. It is considered a relatively safe environment to explore deeply personal problems and feelings, to practice relationship skills, to take risks, and to get feedback on these matters. John facilitates the group and moderates if necessary but the bulk of the group’s activity is governed by the members themselves, usually in a free-flowing manner where participation is voluntary. Like any social gathering things do not always go smoothly. There may be fights or tears, there may be sadness or hurt but there is always compassion and the opportunity for growth and healing.

To say that Natalie was an active participant in the therapy process is an understatement. She had spent a number of years suffering from low self-esteem and depression and it was clear that she was motivated to change her life. Shame and fear were her most critical issues yet she was never afraid to discuss the most intimate or awkward problems. She was also fearless when it came to challenging other group members or asking questions to clarify meaning if she did not understand or if she felt hurt by something that had been said. Many times this resulted in painful confrontations that went on for weeks but we all learned from it and I always admired her courage and determination. During the time I knew her Natalie grew from a defeated young woman to a confident lady with a ready smile and a comforting manner.

After I left group 2 years ago we promised to stay in touch but somehow the time slipped by and we lost contact. Last July just after receiving the news of my hepatitis John called to tell me of Natalie’s cancer. The news stunned me and after talking to her I realized her situation was much more dire than mine. What struck me most was how calm she was. While I raged over the unfairness of my situation she was quietly telling me of her latest treatment options and how she was “getting things ready”. This was not the fretting Natalie I knew in group. The change was moving, even startling.

The last time I saw Natalie was late in the summer when she called one evening to ask me out for an ice-cream. We walked along the sea wall talking about life, generally admiring one another. Then, as the sun set in the background, we hugged and she was gone.

I never knew a braver soul.

Once I made up my mind to move, things fell into place,
for a while at least. I gave my manager an ultimatum, and after some grumbling from HR, they are letting me work remotely from Vancouver. Assuming I get a work laptop and a Blackberry, I should still have time to do some web contracting on the side.

Telling my parents was is another battle. I haven’t told them about Rob, just my own reasons for moving. My mother is surprisingly ok with it and understands why I want to move to a bigger city, Vancouver in particular. My dad is upset. He can’t quite wrap his mind around the idea, mostly because he doesn’t really listen when we are talking to him about it. As a result he asks the same questions over and over. All this hassle from the man who moved us every three years, twice to a different country, once to the Northwest Territories.

Now come the logistics. Giving two months notice on my loft. Trying to decide what to pack (my snowboard tops the list), what to leave and what to throw away. I’d like to find a little place of my own to use as an office and whenever Robbie gets on my nerves My biggest worry, after my dad, is what to do with my Jetta. I’ve become rather fond of it, especially driving home late at night with the tunes blasting. It’s a lease, so I have to find someone willing to take it off my hands. In the meantime, I’m going for a nice fast drive through the country roads. Maybe a deer will solve my problem for me.