I'm sorry you never had the opportunity to meet my friend, Cindy. Cindy was the kind of person who brought 'good things' to everyone who crossed her path. It was a privilege knowing Cindy. It was an honor. She was a blessing in my life and in the lives of everyone she knew.
I just wish I knew she wasn't going to be here forever.
I wish I had called her more often. I wish I had set aside time to frequent the women's gatherings she put together. I wish we had had more in depth conversations about life, dreams, growing and struggling.
Cindy was an amazing woman. She was several years younger than me but she was one of those wise, old souls. Cindy approached every aspect of life with a desire to make it better, to better herself and to overcome any obstacle that stood before her. She was able to see the Divine residing in everyone. It is a gift many of us have not mastered.
Cindy was always looking up and around. Nothing was easy - because it had to be known thoroughly and embraced fully. Everywhere there was room for improvement. She worked so hard - at everything.
You still don't know her, do you?
She had a head of boing-boing brown curls and eyes that twinkled and a sense of humor to make anyone laugh. She analyzed, contemplated and tried to make sense of the world and all the things it presented her with. She was at home wherever she went and she went many places. She was outdoorsy; she didn't care what other people thought; she dressed the way she wanted to and not the way the magazines told her to.
I loved her because she was real and she was comfortable being real. Her insights could change your world, and they changed mine. Cindy was one of my friends who participated in a trial group of - then Mommymorphosis - now SWAK (sanity with a kid), a life coaching program designed to assist moms as they redefine and recreate themselves throughout the journey of motherhood.
We were talking about daily hiccups one day - those little, annoying things in your day that you cannot get rid of - and, somehow, a talk about sweeping the floor led to a discussion on negative self-talk. The entire program transformed before my eyes. Every conversation with Cindy was a MINDFUL CONVERSATION and that's the name of the book I wanted to write with Cindy. Now, I guess, I'll have to write it for her.
Cindy passed away from a heart condition - hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It was diagnosed during her third trimester of pregnancy, and she died a few weeks after giving birth to her second daughter - Ziva. She thought she would be on medicine the rest of her life. Perhaps she would need a heart transplant. She was feeling better when I spoke with her about a week after Ziva was born. She was in great spirits. She said "you should have seen me a few weeks ago". She was watching her daughter, Bella, swim with her husband, Peter and she was holding Ziva. "She's so precious". And then she had to go - motherly duties called - Bella and Peter were getting out of the pool. I made a note, then, to call her again soon - to be a better friend - to be a friend whose actions represented her feelings. She was such an important part of my life - even though our conversations were infrequent and our visits seemed to happen only when "one of us" got married.
Cindy passed away in Peter's arms. She was lying down because she did not feel well.
Cindy had a zest for life that anyone might envy. She had adventures all over the world. She was out of the box. She was Cindy.
I'm sorry you never had the opportunity to meet her. I hope, though, that you can learn from her.
I think my friend, Alisa, said it even better:
Dear Chevre, It is with deep sadness that I write to tell you about the death of Cindy Feldman Garaj, T47 and madricha for
I can still see Cindy with her wild head of curls, sitting on her bed in Tzvat when I walked in the door to what would be our home for the next three months. I had no idea that wild and wonderful woman would become a beloved friend, a confidante, and a constant reminder that life is meant to be lived with creativity and passion. Cindy found freedom in nature. She cared deeply about the people in her life, about living her life authentically and on her own terms. Everything she did had the creative stamp of Cindy-ness on it. I still have a hand-bound book she made and sent as a surprise. It was meant for us to write our dreams and wishes and we’d send it back and forth to each other. “Dear Alisa,” she writes, “Sometimes I wish for an easier life, but then I try to remember that there are lessons to learn…I guess the biggest struggle I am having is understanding how my attitude/personality effect those around me.” That’s so Cindy. She was driven not just by learning but by striving to always understand – to understand the true nature and needs of her family, of her friends, of her health and wellness (as a yoga instructor and massage therapist) and most often, Cindy in her own words struggled to understand how her life effected those around her and vice versa.
“May her memory be for a blessing.” One of the rabbis at Cindy’s funeral had never met Cindy, but in hearing stories from her family and friends, he understood that Cindy was a sparkling being. When she couldn’t find a mikvah in Aspen, CO, before her wedding, Cindy ‘made’ one in an ice-cold mountain stream in the parking lot of her hotel. When she traveled the world, she sincerely offered, “There’s always room in my backpack for you!” When she met her husband Peter, she found her best friend, mate and future. When she organized a womens’ weekend, the food was abundant, the paints and crayons everywhere to create when the spirit struck you and she was the first to start a spontaneous dance of joy to celebrate the beautiful surroundings. Cindy had a soul that could not be contained or bound by the physical. The rabbi at her funeral said for people who knew and loved her to share their memories about Cindy, and in telling stories from her brief yet full life, in giving her daughters a sense of who their mother was and how very special and unique she was and how very much she loved them – in sharing memories of Cindy, in taking a kind action and dedicating it to Cindy’s memory, in doing that – we would make her memory become a blessing.
At the same time that I, along with all who knew her, grieve a tragic loss, I know I am a better person for having had Cindy Feldman Garaj in my life and the very best way to honor her memory is to practice kindness, give and receive love, and squeeze every juicy moment out of life with creative fervor and zest! The best way to honor Cindy’s life is to make her memory a blessing.
