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For whatever reason, I have never forgotten it.  It was such a simple moment.  

A daily ritual took place for the 5 or 6 months that we spent working together in the maze of cubicles that was the Joint Operations Group - the post physical training presto chang-o that followed a morning run or group soccer game and preceded the routine monotony of headquarters work.  

It was one of Michelle’s first days at the unit, fresh in as an on the job trainee in between serials of her Basic Intelligence Officer Course.  I had long hair then.  I quickly scooped it back in a ponytail.  Wrapped a scrunchy around it.  Gracefully spread my hair around the scrunchy and secured the donut shaped beauty to my head with another elastic.

“Waiiiiit a minute.  Did you really just make that bun without a bobby pin?” she asked.  Fascinated, she followed with a “You must show me how you did that?” 

She was cute and fit … and young.  As a Mom fresh back from maternity leave, I felt threatened, insecure, and dated around her energy and spunkiness.  There really was no jockeying to be done, but I still felt jockeyed by her mere presence.  Suddenly acutely aware that I was no longer the young one.  Despite the fact that her hair had been freshly lobbed off and streaked in a mode characteristic of her spunk, she studied that bun technique like an astute apprentice.  It struck me hard in that moment that she was hungry to learn in every facet of life with every fiber of her being.  She was a total Martha.

Her intense drive to master all things domestic and professional reminded me of someone I knew well.  Someone taking her own early steps on a path of self-destruction - addicted to proving through doing, completely ignorant of the costs and consequences of striving for perfection. I did not know where I was headed then, but on the other side of it all I recognize how the only direction off that path was to “get real” - a humbling experience that required taking down the mask of perfection and exposing some open wounds to the cold harsh air of judgement … and a lot of therapy and counseling ensued.  My marriage didn’t make it.  My career setback slightly.  There was suffering, but thankfully, I survived and life gradually got better and more manageable.  Truthfully, I did not know her well enough - perhaps the straps of her mask were secured too tightly, reinforced by worry.

Anxiety.

Pressure.

Fear.

Solitude.

Exhaustion …

mental illness …

life.   

I could not and would not have predicted that Michelle’s struggles would lead her to the choices made in those final moments of her life when she might have realized she was closer to the end than the beginning.  And while deeply saddened and struck, I cannot say that I am surprised.  From the time of the first notice of her death through to the decisive reports on the cause, I absolutely wanted to believe there was some other explanation.  An accident.  Misfortune.  A bizarre undetectable medical condition.  In late 2007 we exchanged phone calls and emails.  I had heard she had had a blood clot - a condition more common to the elderly and one that I assumed we had shared as I experienced a blood clot during my pregnancy.  “The doctors couldn’t figure out what went wrong” … “inconclusive” she said … “a bunch of things went wrong all at once” … “Just one of those crazy things.”  Too private and guarded, she did not share the real deal of what actually happened during her inaugural overseas tour in 2006.  Hindsight leaves me too biased to judge whether something was detectably amiss in her gracious warm and compassionate responses throughout that exchange - I am left with what is surely a common theme among those who knew her - “I wish I had paid closer attention.”

There was an intensity about Michelle.  It was softened by her warmth, grace, and generous spirit.  She seemingly engineered her death with the same dogged determination with which she ran her life.  Perhaps it is her spunky intensity that resulted in this strong imprint on my memory, but I think of her often and wonder how she could have known she was done.  

I wish her peace and resolve to pay closer attention.

Update on Thursday, September 10, 2009 at 11:35PM by Norma Jean Barrett

On September 20th, a group will gather to run the Army Run in her memory.  Each member of the group has pledged to raise $50.00 for the Major Michelle Mendes Memorial Fund administered through the RMC Foundation.  If you would like to contribute, please let me know and I will send you the details.

A final note: thanks goes to the mustached friend who gave me the line “closer to the end than the beginning.”  Thanks for paying attention and for being a friend.