Remembering Ellen

The chapel was filled with Ellen's family and friends and colleagues. They shared stories and memories of a woman who was involved with her community, warm and friendly and generous and kind, a strong and accomplished athlete.

Monks chanted and sounded bells in a Buddhist ceremony before leading a procession to say our last farewells, each of us tucking a white rose beside her.

Ellen's broad smile radiated from every photo on display. Another cyclist pointed out details I would have missed in a large poster that we'd seen at Sunday's memorial ride: The photographer reflected in her sunglasses. The lacy pink shoes on her feet. She would often forget her cycling shoes but do the ride nonetheless, he explained. [Note for non-cyclists: that's quite challenging, our pedals are not designed for that.]

A dozen or so of us cyclists assembled at the rear of the funeral procession. Our spirits were lifted when one remarked “Ellen would have loved this, that we were sending her off on our bikes.”

I regret that I'd never met her; I nearly turned out for a ride she led a few weeks ago, but the group was doing a long training ride and realistically I wouldn't be able to ride at their pace.

In the final ceremony before Ellen's cremation, the bells seemed to fall into the rhythm of a heartbeat. A beat that grew slower, and slower, and then ... silence.

This line from a poem by Mary Oliver echoes in my head:

Tell me, what is it that you plan to do with your one and precious life?

While we have the chance, let's (all of us) do more.