Friend's death provides a valuable lesson in life

Resslin' Around

Sometimes, in the darkest hours of life, you find things that get you through. And sometimes, those moments have a profound effect on the rest of your life.

On June 1, a very close friend of mine passed away. Cyndi Sandoval was a coworker to many here at the Frontiersman, but to my wife and me, she was so much more than just someone we saw at work every day. She was a very dear friend — and a part of our family.

She was the person who set my wife and me up in the first place, and she was the first person we told when we were engaged. After our parents and family, she was the first person we told when my wife was pregnant. And she was the first non-relative to visit and hold our newborn daughter, Madison, last November. The smile on her face that day nearly brought my wife and me to tears.

Cyndi had friends from every walk of life, and she wore the title of "friend" very seriously to each and every one. Her loyalty as a friend was unquestionable, and she would give you anything you wanted if you asked her — and sometimes when you didn't. She was a busy woman, but she always had a minute to talk about anything that was on your mind.

She also made a killer salsa, which counts for a lot in my book, as well as hers.

And now she's gone. In a matter of six months, she was diagnosed with cancer and died shortly thereafter.

It was very painful to watch as a close friend battled hard against the disease, without beating it. Cyndi was a fighter, but this was the one thing she couldn't beat, no matter how hard she tried.

Cyndi left Alaska in May to be near a cancer research facility in Denver, and more importantly, to be with her family in the same city. I told her I thought it was nothing but a cheap ploy to get closer to the Denver Broncos, a team we both worshiped in what is really an unhealthy manner. But she promised she was returning to the Valley in the fall, and so plans were made for that time.

Three weeks later, however, we got the phone call we hoped we would never get.

My editor, knowing I was close with Cyndi, asked me if I was going to write a column about her. At the time, I couldn't, to be honest. It was the first time I had to deal with the death of a very close friend or family member, thank God, and writing a column was the last thing on my mind.

Cyndi shaped me as a person, and so it would figure she would continue to do that even after her death. She was just hard-headed enough to keep having an impact on my life, long after she was gone. And I'm thankful for it, too.

I have seen life through different eyes since Sandoval died. Since then, I have embraced every day — good or bad — like I never had before, because I realize just how precious life really is.

Cyndi lived every day to the fullest, and she had no regrets about how she lived her life. Now, I'm trying to take the same approach, and it makes me feel better as a person.

Someday, when my daughter is old enough to realize what I'm talking about, I'll pull out the pictures we took of her and Cyndi three weeks before Cyndi passed away. I'll tell Madison how important Cyndi was in the lives of her mommy and daddy, and how she affected us in numerous ways. I'll explain to her that packed inside that diminutive body, Cyndi had the biggest heart I've ever seen.

I'll probably tell her about what a great example Cyndi always set for how to be a friend, and I'll ask Madison to be as good a friend to others as Cyndi was to me.

We miss Cyndi terribly, but she will live on in our hearts and minds.

Casey Ressler (ressler@alaska.net) is the Frontiersman Valley Life editor.