Small Miracle

by Anna Huckabee Tull

Each month, for the first twelve months after Marie Pechet’s passing, I will carry her Blog forward, sharing about Marie in ways that I hope you will find meaningful, connective, and honoring of our shared friend.

The other day, something happened to me that was just exactly the kind of small miracle Marie was always pointing out to those of us who lovingly followed her blog. The serendipity of it was amazing. And the really incredible part is, I believe, in its own unique way, that this little bit of wonderment came through Marie. Or at least, most certainly, directly because of her.

The story, like all good stories, has three parts: something wonderful, something hard and overwhelming, and then something wonderful, just in the nick of time!

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Unfinished Business

by Anna Huckabee Tull

Each month, for the first twelve months after Marie Pechet’s passing, I will carry her Blog forward, sharing about Marie in ways that I hope you will find meaningful, connective, and honoring of our shared friend.

Not too long before she died, Marie and I sat on her couch and talked about a hunger she had to explain something to her boys. I listened carefully, and tried to make room for her to fret and stew a little, not because I like to leave people twisting in the wind, but because I believe all of us have within us our own answers, when we are given a loving ear and enough space to feel our way through that which is challenging.

What was challenging that day for Marie was that she was aware she was not always able to present the version of herself she most wanted to, for her family in general, and for her kids in particular. “The truth is, I am in a lot of pain, a lot of the time,” she had said. “It has this strange effect of leaving me feeling distracted, short, rushed. I want so badly to present this calm, centered, very focused version of myself to my kids. But sometimes the way things come out of me is not like that at all. Sometimes, despite my efforts, I show up as someone I’m not proud to be. My tone comes out all wrong. Words fly out of me and they aren’t anything close to the words I wanted to say.”

I know Marie had pain in her body, but sometimes I think the pain in her heart, about discrepancies like this, was the more challenging burden. We brainstormed together and eventually came up with a “script” for what she wanted to say to her boys, when the moment presented itself. She was so excited about the script she asked me if I would write it up and email it to her, which I did.

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My final hours with Marie

by Anna Huckabee Tull

Each month, for the first twelve months after Marie Pechet’s passing, I will carry her Blog forward, sharing about Marie in ways that I hope you will find meaningful, connective, and honoring of our shared friend.

I was lucky enough to be with Marie on what I consider to be her “last good day.” I wasn’t anticipating that it would be the last time I would see her. And I wasn’t in any way anticipating the thing that happened that day when we were together.

I had visited her just a few days earlier, on a Thursday afternoon. She was thin but seemed pretty similar to how she had seemed on my other recent visits. However, on Saturday she summoned me back with no explanation and some urgency – unusual for her.

At her house was her close friend Julie, and Mickey, the cantor she had carefully chosen years before, for singing the Requiem songs for the funeral she knew would one day occur.

She had gathered us together to finalize the plans for it right now. Gulp. Continue reading

Marie’s Funeral (Part 2)


by Anna Huckabee Tull

Each month, for the first twelve months after Marie Pechet’s passing, I will carry her Blog forward, sharing about Marie in ways that I hope you will find meaningful, connective, and honoring of our shared friend.

Here we are, two months after Marie’s passing, and I find myself looking out at the snow outside my window this evening and remembering what turned out to be my favorite part of her memorial service this past December: the way it ended. So I want to tell you about that.

I shared last month that eight years ago, when she first got her diagnosis, Marie had worked with me to write two songs. The first was From the Inside. It came out as a deep and soulful journey of a song, tracking Marie’s shift from feeling “all alone” to feeling “all one” as she grappled with her diagnosis and, on an even deeper level, her fundamental wellness.

But there was also a second song. It didn’t “show up from out of nowhere” like From the Inside did. It was rather specifically conjured and requested by Marie. “I want something that sounds like me, feels like me, but helps me feel more alive right now,” she had said.

The song The Days of Your Opening practically wrote itself. I came flying over to Marie’s house when it was “hot off the press” to play it for her on my guitar. Her face lit up. She didn’t want to change a word of it. Neither did I.

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Marie’s Funeral


by Anna Huckabee Tull

Each month, for the first twelve months after Marie Pechet’s passing, I will carry her Blog forward, sharing about Marie in ways that I hope you will find meaningful, connective, and honoring of our shared friend.

On the morning of Marie’s funeral, snow fell and fell. The world was covered with a reverent, white sheen. It seemed fitting, somehow. Marie was constantly reminding all of us that it is possible to see more beauty on the branches and footpaths—both literal and metaphorical, on the trail-ways of our lives—whenever we remember to look.

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Final post

For any who have not yet heard, I am saddened to share the news that Marie Colantoni Pechet passed away on December 7. She died at home, with her family, after breaking all kinds of standards by living not just eighteen months, as her doctors predicted, but nine years after her diagnosis of cancer.

My name is Anna Huckabee Tull. Several years ago, Marie brought up this incredible question: Would I be willing to write her Final Blog Post? I had never heard of such an idea, but I knew in the moment she said it that this is exactly what I would do.

On Thanksgiving–that holiday where we pause to consider all the good that surrounds us and all that we are thankful for–I received the following note from Marie. I was hustling through the London airport, but the whole world seemed to come to a halt when I got it. Something in me ripped and then rippled. I could feel, just as Marie could, that the time for some kind of transformation was drawing near.

Hi Anna,

I hope you are having a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. This message is to read AFTER the holiday! I’m just writing it today because I have a chance to.

These past couple months and in particular the past week has been really difficult. It’s prompted good conversation between Tiron and me and forced me to think through a lot of things in more detail than I could before.

So, I wanted to circle back to you about an offer you made long ago, and see if it still holds and if you are up for this.

Should something happen to me, I would love for you to write out a final blog post. It can be ANYTHING YOU WANT TO WRITE. I know that I won’t write a final post but I do feel that things should come to close in some way.

It can be short, long, about me, about you, a poem, an announcement….really, anything is fine by me. It can even be more than one. I trust you with this if you are up for it.

I sat down with tears brimming–with my whole being brimming. I wrote her to tell her how incredible it felt to be able to do this for her, for myself, and for all of you, the community that has carried and been carried by her through these challenging and also uniquely beautiful years of her life.

Back in the states, I went to see Marie at her house. She was very thin. She was struggling with the side effects of some of the pain medications, and struggling too with the news that her body was considered too weak at the moment for chemo. But all that aside, there she was! Up and about, looking right into my eyes, coordinating dinner plans with her visiting parents, inviting her son Aiden (13) to show me a gift he had given her a few years ago that had absolutely blown her away. “I really nailed it with this gift,” he said, triumphantly. “He really did,” she said.

It reminded me of my previous visit, a few months earlier. I had showed up, guitar in hand, and played a few songs for Marie, her visiting parents and her other son Julian (10). He had listened so attentively while I strummed and sang, wrapped in his mother’s arms. And then he couldn’t resist showing me his shiny new electric guitar. I watched him beaming away, strumming these fabulous power chords: ryawwww! ryawww! ryawww! He was standing right in the exact same space that a year before had held an absolutely GIGANTIC set of gymnastics bars–taking over just about the whole entire family room, because that was his passion at the time. That was Marie–ever oriented toward the light in her boys’ eyes. What makes them feel alive and free? Whatever it is let’s follow it, and see where it leads us!

Now she is gone. How can this be? I want to hear the next thing she has to say. I want to read her next blog post. I want to shoot off an email and marvel at the way she answers back, so quickly, in a manner that leaves me feeling connected.

Now I have to dig deeper within myself to find and feel that connection. But every time I close my eyes, there it is. Just right there, in the exact same spot my love for her resides, taking over just about my whole entire heart!

Marie said that things should “come to close in some way.” Which, I think, was very “Marie” of her. She was all about options, avenues, and possibilities. “Thanks for the offer,” she had said to me, in closing her Thanksgiving note. “And if it no longer feels right in your gut, know that I appreciate it all the same.”

I will most certainly do this for her, and for all of us. But Marie was not about closing. Marie was about opening.

Marie was about opening so much that one of the songs she asked me to play at her memorial service this past weekend was one she and I had composed together specifically for that occasion–her message to herself and everyone else going forth. Its name? “The Days of Your Opening.”

So, in one of our final get-togethers, I told Marie my idea. “What if I didn’t write just one blog post?” I asked her. “What if I wrote one each month, in that first year we are all moving forward without you? What if each month I chose a different topic–something about you that I think is precious, or sacred, or hilarious, or poignant–and shared it with everyone who wants to come along for the ride?”

Marie liked the idea. She gave me her blessing to do exactly that. It was not until today, as I was piecing together this blog post–not a FINAL blog post after all, but a Phoenix of a One-Year Blog Series–that I realized this great idea I had was possibly not entirely my own idea after all. I looked closer at that Thanksgiving email an there it was. About the Final Blog Post she had said: “It can even be more than one. I trust you with this.”

So today I invite you on a journey with me–a monthly post, for one year, to honor a woman, mother, sister, daughter, wife, spiritualist, norm-exceeder, memorial-service-church-packer, a bright light, and an amazing, unique friend who touched so many of us so deeply, in so many ways.

I have so much more I want to tell you. I want to show you and explain about the final Facebook post I did for her last week, that went viral and got re-posted by our local NPR station, along with a retrospective of all her writings for the Common Health Blog. I want to share her eulogy and the highlights of her incredibly moving funeral mass. I want to send you the two songs–and the story of the two songs–that she and I created together specifically for her journey and her funeral. I want to tell you what I know in my heart, and remember from my eight years of loving and being loved by Marie. I want to recognize that “Adventures in Spiritual Living” is an idea that doesn’t have to die. As Marie would say, “Whatever it is, let’s follow it and see where it leads us!”

So: will you meet me here, next month? I want to spend a year honoring our shared friend. Marie was teaching us to keep looking for the quirky little signs, everywhere: that life is calling to us, that goodness is right here, and that the adventure is within and around us all.

I can’t believe she is gone. I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything is going to be okay, keep following your heart, keep speaking your truth. But it seems that now she is the one who is saying this to me.

Perhaps I can’t believe she is gone because, in a way, she isn’t. She is alive in each one of us. She’s right here, offering a trail for us to follow. And I, for one, am hungry to see where it leads us. Perhaps you would like to come along. I think Marie and I both would love it if you did.

Anna Huckabee Tull
December, 2016

PS:  To receive notifications of future Adventures in Spiritual Living Blogs posted in honor of Marie from Anna, please be sure to add to your “accepted email senders” list or mark it as “not junk.”

Starting new chemo on Tuesday

Well, last week was a little draining. A trip to the ER on Sunday, a day surgery on Thursday, and in between, the election.

But wait, there’s more! I start a new chemo on Tuesday (FOLFOX, for those familiar). Not my favorite chemo cocktail but here’s hoping that it works. I’ve had four weeks off chemo, which usually would be refreshing but this time was filled with hospital visits, so didn’t feel so much like a holiday. We begin again!

Thank you so much for your prayers and positive thoughts last week. I know it pulled me through. And thank you for your continued support.

Love and blessings,