May 17th, Sunday night, we received the news that one of our dearest, most wonderful friends, Carmen Martinez, succumbed to cancer. Carmen was diagnosed in September with stage IV colon cancer. She was 46 years old, healthy, active, vibrant, with no family history. By the time the cancer was detected the tumor was the size of a grapefruit. Despite the chemotherapy and radiation, in the end all that could be done was to just make sure Carmen was comfortable and pain-free.
When we first learned of the cancer back in October and Carmen's grand plan to host a "Pre-Chemo Party" at one of the swankiest hotel ballrooms in Portland we didn't believe it for a second. Leave it to Carmen to come up with ANY excuse to throw a party. And once we arrived, upon seeing her, we were absolutely convinced it was all a big joke. The woman was stunning, as always.
I think when someone dies, his/her friends think back on all the wonderful times they shared, all the flattering adjectives that could be used to describe him/her, all the funny stories about him/her... Well, you could truly write a book with all the amazing things Carmen's friends, family and students would want people to know about her. As breathtaking as Carmen's physical beauty was, multiply that by a gazillion and you might get close to the beauty of her soul.
I first met Carmen many moons ago when I just started teaching kickboxing Saturday mornings at Bally's (2003, I believe. 6 weeks after Gabe was born). I don't remember ever meeting anyone who so enjoyed punching and kicking a bag more than Carmen did. She came with her boyfriend du jour, Paul, but once she quickly realized he couldn't hang with the big girls, he was out. As a matter of fact, in all the time I was blessed to know Carmen, she was never in a serious relationship. It seemed as if she was always looking for that one perfect guy who could match her depth, intellect, physicality, humor, sense of adventure and athleticism. Although, she was on that never-ending quest for her Prince Charming, he never came.
Carmen was a girl's girl. Always up for happy hour, sushi, dancing, or just hanging out at home hosting a (wink, wink) "Naughty Girls" party. Soon after she became a student in my kickboxing class, she decided she was ready for some one-on-one butt kicking, and thus began our journey into personal training/counseling sessions/gut-busting laughter/weird looks from people across the gym because we were way too crazy for 2pm on a weekday/sometimes doubling up with Chuck for "two-trainers-for-the-price-of-one" sessions (really just because we both wanted to be with her and couldn't decide who would get to train her that day). Once, as a gag gift, we got Carmen this funky bib/towel thingy because the girl could sweat like nothing I've ever seen. Picture a hand towel with a big hole in the middle to put your head through. Man, that was funny. Good times.
Through the years, even after we stopped the personal training, our relationship continued to grow. You know those friends you may have that, even if you go months, or even years without seeing them, once you reunite, everything falls back into place as if no time had passed? That's how our relationship was. She would call up to invite us to a party and we were always there. Once she was hosting a bbq at her apartment in Lake Oswego with 25 or so of her closest friends. It was on the lake, middle of summer, lots of food and drinks. Carmen was tromping around in her verrrrry low cut bathing suit for quite a while before she realized the clip that was holding it together across her chest had broken. (Picture Hally Berry at the Oscars-down to the belly button v-cut). She had had a few drinks at that point and probably couldn't care less, but I wasn't about to have any of it. I took my big silver hoop earring from my ear and hooked her suit back together. I wanted to tell this story at her memorial service, because I think it just epitomized who Carmen was- a carefree woman who didn't care what others thought of her, a natural beauty who was comfortable in her own skin, who just wanted to have a good time.
Anytime I think of Carmen, the image I get is of her throwing her head back, laughing with her entire face and body. Her warm, consuming hugs. Her thick, beautiful Puerto Rican accent.
Carmen's one true love was science. She was a chemistry instructor at Portland Community College. Although I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, she was so passionate about it that I just loved to listen. She made atoms and molecules sound so fascinating. She so richly related science to life and spirituality. She taught me that we all are really one body that is connected through energy.
Carmen was raised Catholic. Just recently, in the past few years, she converted to Buddhism. I didn't know anything about it, so one day, after a workout, we spent about an hour in the sauna at the gym while she explained to me everything she had been learning. From what I gathered, basically it seemed as though she was simply practicing 'love'.
When Chuck and I had left Bally's and began working on opening PPT we ran into her one day when we went back into Bally's for some reason or another. Carmen was, unequivocally, THE most excited for us above even our parents! Like, squealing and jumping up and down clapping, excited. We got back in the car to leave and Chuck and I looked at each other and were like, "Whoa! No one has been THAT excited for us about this." Less than a month later we received the diagnosis.
After we attended her "Celebration of Life" party, I spoke with her on the phone for quite a while and although I tried my hardest to not cry, that didn't last for very long. I was concerned that by my sobbing I was saying to Carmen, "I think you're going to die." I felt that I would be sending her the message that I didn't have faith in her treatment plan and that I was afraid to lose her. She said it was okay to cry and that my crying allowed her to show her true emotions, too. That neither of us should feel we have to put up a front for each other. That we could show that we were scared if we were. To hear her describe her plan of attack and sheer determination to kick cancer's ass, I was convinced she would beat this. I felt sooooo much better after talking to her. She told me that her doctor said her cancer cells looked very angry. She decided she would talk to them (cancer cells) and ask why they were so mad and tell them that it would all be okay and that she loved them. She would tell them that she wasn't angry with them.
Buddhists believe that after a person dies, they go through a "transition" period and then become "reborn". I've heard that the transitional period is anywhere from 7 days to 2 weeks. So, needless to say, I've been keeping my eyes open for signs of Carmen. I don't really know what to look for, but I have a feeling that I should not be actively searching for her. So far, the closest I've come is shopping with Breanna for her graduation outfit last weekend and coming across a pair of shoes named "Carmen". While it did bring out a chuckle in me, I stopped for a moment to think about the deeper meaning behind those shoes. My conclusion was that I don't think it was the actual shoes that meant anything, but rather a reminder to just stay aware and be open to any possibility.
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