Remembering Barbara Zimmerman

In her own words...

Following is a letter composed by Barbara Zimmerman and read by her step-daughter Judith Willison at Zimmerman's funeral services on September 1, 2008:

 “I have sat endlessly wondering how to start out a letter that would be read at my funeral. The best I can come up with is…'I’m sorry for your loss.'

Those of you who knew me know that I just could not leave an opportunity for one more captive audience. So get yourselves comfortable, this may take a while. I can, however, assure you that neither copies of this letter nor any copies of my books will be sold in the lobby after the service.

Let me begin with my illness. When someone becomes very ill, particularly at a relatively young age the tendency is to ask 'Why?'. This to me has always been a futile and frustrating question. I always had solace knowing that there was a reason for everything and everything had its reason. Sometimes we know the answers to difficult questions and sometimes we don’t.

 My good buddy Stewart asked me once if I knew why I got sick. To my amazement, I quickly answered 'yes'. I told him that I was obviously on a path that wasn’t the right one for me and something had to happen to change that path.

When he pressed me to explain, this is what I told him: I had always been a frenetic ball of movement and activity. Those of you who knew me before my illness will no doubt remember this. As an adult I always had goals and plans. Judith, my step-daughter always referred to this phenomenon as my ten-year plans. I had worked hard. I got my doctorate, wrote my first book and was just beginning to get national attention. My plan was to travel and lecture in as many places as possible. I would be speaking about something I was passionate about and seeing the world. What could be a better plan for me? The only thing that would divert me from this plan was a brick wall. And, a brick wall I did hit.

I was in the middle of completing my second book when my breathing and heart problems began to surface. I was diagnosed a short time after. I truly believe that it was necessary for me to take a different path, but one I needed assistance in taking, so divine intervention had to take place. I would never have stopped the frenetic life I led without becoming sick. I needed this time in my life to stop and become more self-reflective and my illness forced me to do so.

When I first got sick a colleague told me it was a shame I had worked so hard to get to my goal and then couldn’t fulfill it. In actuality, I realized that the journey to reach my goals was very rewarding and enjoyable in and of itself. This was the first of many 'gifts' I received from becoming ill.

As I reviewed the other 'gifts' my illness brought me, I realized why my path had to change. I had to stay home and appreciate what was there. My relationships with my friends and family, which were always important to me, became much richer and much deeper.

It was difficult, at first; to accept all the help my friends so willingly offered. It was a gift to begin to accept the help. So many helped emotionally, and physically. I became a better listener and I became more understanding of the suffering of others. My relationship with myself became much simpler and filled with less turmoil. I was able to live in the moment, finally realizing that’s all we ever really have.

 Living in the moment had been something I had tried to achieve for 25 years. It became so easy once I got sick. I started to enjoy the simple pleasures in life that I never had time for: sitting in the backyard in our beautiful garden, reading good novels, holding Esther’s hand, and discovering beauty in places that were all around me. I know this all sounds hokey, but it is all true.

 I suppose the most important gift I gained, and maybe the most important reason for getting sick, was the regaining of my spiritual nature.

Throughout my illness many people told me how courageous and inspirational I was. The reality for me was that I discovered how courageous and inspirational others were. If I appeared courageous it was the reflection of the courage of those around me…Spenser, Joy, Stewart, Adam. Janie, Esther, Andrea, Judith, Jackie, just to name a few.

Esther, my delightfully playful companion, was the voice of calm reason in my life. She grounded me and made life so worth living, even in the sickest days of my illness. It is because of her that I lasted as long as I did. She took care of me compassionately. She deserved better. Perhaps next time she will seek an older companion.

Who knows what I’m doing right now? Perhaps I am with my Dad drinking scotch, smoking cigars and watching the NY Giants win the Superbowl. Or, maybe I am in my Grandma Mollie and Grandpa Paul’s kitchen eating my Grandma’s chocolate chip cookies with milk. As a bonus maybe my wonderful Aunt Yetta will stop by. I, of course, will be telling stories that will make my Grandma laugh and laugh. I’ll be spending some time with Spenser. It would be great if we could be running, both of us unfettered by our previously failing bodies, in some field, stopping briefly to discuss life in burp language.

Then again, there are all those people I never got to meet on this planet who I would love to meet: my father’s mother and my grandmother Henrietta, my Uncle Irving, Esther’s Dad Al, and Diana’s Dad Dave.

I have had the privilege of having many lives and many identities, from, disruptive child to Behavior Specialist.

I had many opportunities. I got to play varsity tennis in college, I had the chance to go to school, I went to London and Paris, I got to work in a prison, I was able to have 4 books published, and lecture to a national audience.

Whether I was teaching or doing consulting work I got up every morning joyful to be going to work. I had a job I loved and I had a job that I was passionate about. I also lived long enough to see seven of my eight jewels, (Mollie, Dana, Rivka, Pini, Laura, Elise, and Adam), grow up to be beautiful young adults. I am proud of them all and grateful for the extreme joy they added to my life.

I have few regrets about how things turned out for me. You can’t ask for much more than that.

Do I have some sage advice? Of course I do:

Love yourself.

Stay in the moment.

Love others and allow them to love you.

Remember, I am not really gone, just gone from this planet and gone from this body that kept me trapped the last years of my life. I will be with all of you, helping in whatever way I can.

One last request: If you can all just take a moment now and think of a time when I made you laugh. If I had the choice, this is how I would like you to remember me.

Peace, light and love to you all. I’ll be seeing you on the other side.”

Barbara

This letter is published with the permission of Zimmerman's family. All rights for re-use and distribution are reserved.