Olivia's Thoughts at the Funeral

I first remember Shannon as the intimidating, opinionated, oldest sister of the man I wanted to marry. It didn’t take long until I was filled with admiration for her sheer force of will. Shannon was like a tornado when she got an idea into her head.

Last November, I remember going to the doctor with Shannon when the concerning esophageal mass that was causing her swallowing difficulties was first discovered.

Ironically, he and I both assured her that her chances of having cancer were next to nothing.

We all know what happened in the ensuing months. Shannon—not one to be intimidated by limited chances—faced her treatments with an iron resolve.

Only the people closest to her know intimately about the battles Shannon had to face this past year--battles that are so hard to talk about--like chemo, surgery, radiation, vomiting, and depression.

The last few months were the hardest, I think. It was like watching a wild and beautiful animal get penned into a shrinking cage. We had invested so much hope into fighting cancer, and hadn’t thought about what would happen when the fight was done. Shannon had outsmarted death, but needed to learn how to live again. Our fierce and determined older sister struggled with the simplest of decisions. The God she knew so well was silent. She had even lost the desire to return to her beloved Russia.

As we watched her life ebb quickly away a few days ago, we joked that Shannon would have gotten a kick out of stumping the world’s best Neurologists with her case. But I had to wonder…

Snatched away from Russia, did Shannon die like a Siberian husky would die if taken away from the snow and ice? Like a wild and untamable animal thrust into the zoo?

Matthew tells me of his pet songbird that he left at home for three months when he backpacked through Kazakhstan with Shannon. Unable to tolerate its master’s absence, the bird died.

Over the past few months, was Shannon unable to tolerate the silence of the God that she had communed so deeply with in previous years?

Did she know, and was she afraid to tell the rest of us?

We have so many questions, but I am reminded today of the beauty of an untamed and free life. I am reminded of the privilege of belonging to a family. I am blessed by the memories of a sister, aunt, and friend. Thank you, Shannon, for the gifts you gave us with your life and now, your death.