BettyDee
I initially posted this in Davide's thread, but I just didn't think it was appropriate there.
Whenever someone with any sort of "fame" (for lack of a better word) that has touched a lot of people dies, it becomes weird, in my opinion. There is a picture on Liz's facebook wall of her face glittering in the stars over what looks like the Northern lights. In one sense, it's totally beautiful, and it's certainly a beautiful sentiment, but on the other hand, it's weird. The guy who made it is not someone I know personally, and I don't object to it, but part of me wants to say that I think Liz would look at it and say something funny about it like, "OMG! It's the Lion King! So pretty!!!" People grieve in weird ways. The last few days I've felt anger at Liz for dying (which is just retarded), regret for any things unsaid, deep sadness, and a sense of thankfulness and joy that she came into my life. Sometimes all at once. I'm sure everyone she touched is experiencing something similarly weird, including Mr. Lion King, so I'm not judging. It's just weird to me to see her face on the TGR home page.
Whoever said that Liz was "one of us" could not have been more spot-on, IMO. If there was anything about Liz that stood out to me, it was how disarmingly inclusive she was.
The first time we went touring together, it was before she was well known, maybe 08 or 09. I had met her the night before in Fremont (Seattle). We had mutual friends from Crystal and Baker, but over relishy hot dogs at 1 a.m., I had said something like, "man, it's cold out, I really wanna skiii...." (kinda whiny, actually) It was this time of year– early fall. She was like, "Yeah girl, me too. Wanna go to Heliotrope tomorrow?" I had been touring a total of maybe twice or something and was coming off a broken femur, and told her so. She didn't care. She was all, "Do you love snow!? I love snow! Let's go!" A couple of hours later we were headed up to the trail-head, and then skinning in the gorgeous sunlight over squeaky, low-density snow. After we transitioned (her entire party of super-dialed people waited for me, much to my embarrassment), and people started dropping, I remember thinking, "wow, that guy's a really good skier....hmmm. a really good skier." It was Drew Tabke. Liz never thought twice about bringing someone totally new out on a trip with people who were world class (provided it was low consequence, of course).
She was just down to get out, and genuinely LOVED sharing that with people. My boyfriend (auvgeek) only met her once– at her birthday party last year (she chided him for not holding a beer in his broken hand), but in 2010 he had read one of her trip reports on TGR and said something like, "I wanna climb this; I think you'd like it." She had replied, "looks rad, let's do it," or something (I know, I should search for the exact quote), and what's funny is at the time, he thought she was just being nice and didn't take her seriously at all (they hadn't ever met). But that was the thing about Liz, usually, when she said something like that, she totally meant it. "OMG! Sounds rad!" actually meant, "I'll see you at the park and ride tomorrow at 5 a.m., I'll have at least most of my gear, and I'll be stoked." Anyone who has toured with a zilion different partners in the PNW knows that sort of authenticity and inclusiveness is special, and should be less rare. We've all done it-- we've all bailed on someone we didn't want to have to babysit all day, but not Liz. It makes total sense to me that she found her passion (partly) in guiding. She was so down to share the love and joy with everyone and anyone, she had been guiding, in some sense, for years already.
Besides being an incredibly inclusive person, Liz was an incredibly loyal and supportive friend. I blew up my ankle at the climbing gym in Seattle with her one time, and I was devastated because ski season was right around the corner (it was early fall–October 1, actually– and we had skied random September powder the week before on Baker), and she seriously dragged me to the gym nearly every day for a couple of weeks where we did abs and pull-ups and she encouraged me, saying things like, "we're gonna be SO JACKED! When you can walk again, you'll be SO strong!!!! Get it girl!!!" The regulars at the bouldering gym looked at us like we were nuts–me carting my crutches around, and her screaming bro-speak in the otherwise quiet weight room. We told ourselves they were jealous and went for cheap tacos after. It didn't even matter. When you were with her, what ever crazy idea she had, it didn't matter– it sounded like a brilliant plan. She's kind of the only person I have ever met who I could describe as a "bull in a china cabinet" and mean it as nothing but the highest compliment. Another time, even though she was across the ocean in Europe, after a breakup I changed my facebook status to "single," and got a text and email from her maybe a few minutes later asking how I was, wanting to talk, etc. Or, one time I didn't get a job I wanted, and she was all, "Dude whatever, they'd be lucky to have you. You deserve so much more, etc. etc." She was just a really truly loyal, supportive friend to SO MANY people. So many people, in fact, that there is an absolute outpouring of people who, like me, considered Liz to be one of their "besties," but are probably realizing in the wake of this tragedy that she touched SO MANY people's lives on that level. She was just a very truly caring, thoughtful, kind, honest, loyal friend– and it's amazing to me that she was able to do that for so, so many people.
Before I ramble endlessly with stupid-sounding Liz stories, I just want to reiterate what Dave said:

Originally Posted by
powdherb
Liz would want us to cherish one another, follow our hearts, and pursue our passions to the ends of the earth.
This is so true. I got an email from a girlfriend recently who was wondering what could be done to possibly commemorate her appropriately, and I think Dave said it all. All we can do to remember her is to live, every day, the best things about her. We can't all be that magnetic, one-in-a-million smile. But we can all live our lives with joy, humility, enthusiasm, inclusiveness, supportiveness, true friendship, and above all, so much laughter.
Last edited by jesski; 10-02-2014 at 04:28 PM.
"In the end, these things matter most: how well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go?" - Buddha
"Come back alive, come back as friends, get to the top-in that order." -Mark Twight
Bookmarks