This year I’ve lost two people close to me. Both died of cancer. Their deaths have hit me in different ways. Both were linked to each other and to me through caving.

I obliquely referred to the first in a post earlier this year. Don Paquette was a friend, colleague and mentor. His intensity could easily fill a room. As an instructor, he was quick to let you know where you stood. I know some thought he might be overly harsh or strict or that he might have unreasonable standards. But the truth is, he simply wanted everyone to try their best. He didn’t necessarily expect everyone to be perfect in the skills taught. But if he thought you could do better, he’d push you to do so. And deep down, he cared.

Don was known for judging how well students would lay out the gear cache during training. He felt strongly that a well laid out gear cache was a key part of a well-run and organized rescue. In the last few years of his life, when he couldn’t make it to training, I’d text him a photo of a cache and wait for his grade so I could report back to students.

He also was an advocate of what some might call a “Command Voice”. A command voice was more than simply being louder than the rest, it was a tone that caught your attention, made you listen, and moreover, want to to do what was asked.

And that’s where Cordelia Ross enters the picture, or Cordie as we all knew her. I first recall meeting Cordie at the NCRC weeklong in Indiana in 2009. I was helping to teach the Level 2 class, along with Don, while Cordie was taking it. During much of the week, Don kept encouraging Cordie to be a bit louder and more commanding. This wasn’t exactly Cordie’s style however.

We were doing an exercise in Sullivan Cave. The students weren’t quite as organized as they could have been, but as one of the goals of Level 2 is to teach leadership, we as instructors were sitting back letting things unfold to see how the students would cope and if they’d organize themselves.

And then it happened. From the top of the breakdown pile we heard a loud and commanding voice: “Stop!” Everyone, and I mean everyone, including the instructors, stopped what they were doing and waited for instructions to come forth. I recall looking up at Cordie who then, in a much quieter but forceful tone started to direct her fellow students on what to do next. It took us instructors a second to realize that she wasn’t giving us commands. But her voice had been so commanding for an instant, had she given us instructions, we would have no doubt followed them. We liked to joke that Cordie had found her command voice. But she made it clear, she hadn’t found it, she simply had used the one she had had all along, but held in reserve until the right time. I tend to think she was right. After that Don never again gave her any flack about her lack of command voice.

That episode with Cordie really personified her to me. She was a petite woman, often surrounded by firefighters and cavers twice her size. But she was the mouse that could roar. Many might describe her as quiet, but that wasn’t true. When she did speak, it was with authenticity and power. Many might underestimate her, but never more than once.

In my final visit with Don, we talked about many things, including our times instructing fellow cavers. He reminded me of a time where we played a prank on a set of students on a haul team. He had a deep sense of humor. His death was tough and I grieved and still grieve for him, but also know that having lived into his 70s he had lived a good life. He had seen his kids grown and even watched his grandkids grow up. We often talked about his travels with his family on Amtrak. While I know he would have loved to live longer and had more to do, he expressed no regrets to me. He led a good life.

Cordie’s death though strikes a deeper chord. Her family was just starting. Just over a year ago she had given birth to her daughter, Viola. Her cancer diagnosis was a surprise and sadly didn’t give her enough time in this world. Her husband Wayne now has the unenviable task of being what some might call a “single father”. Technically that may be true, but I know there is a whole community out there that will help him. And much of that community will help Viola know the woman who was her mother. Whereas Don had much to look back on, Cordie had so much to look forward to. Cordie looked forward to being a mother and I suspect far down the road, a grandmother. She had so much she wished to teach Viola. And Viola, sadly will never grow up truly knowing her mother. The world is a smaller place because of Cordie’s untimely death.

Whereas Don and I talked Amtrak and travels, Cordie and I discussed New England (because she had gone to school at Dartmouth) and literature. Both were people to whom I had a connection far more than simply caving or cave rescue. Both are people that I dearly wish I could sit down with at least one more time and talk to.

Both I will miss but in different ways.

And for both, I say fuck cancer.