Tiffany Zellin 08/08/80 - 02/09/11

Three years ago this past Sunday, February 9 2011, my friend Tiffany passed away after a very short battle – less than two months - with a terminal brain tumor.  Adding to the pain of losing her is that Tiffany was pregnant with her first child when she was admitted. Sadly due to the trauma her body was going through the doctor’s weren’t able to save the baby and so her husband lost his wife and his unborn daughter at the same time. It was one of the most surreal experiences of my entire life.

Tiffany and I had a rocky friendship. We met in 2007 on TheKnot.com while we were both planning our weddings. Tiffany was very outspoken, and didn’t care one way or another if you liked her. She was a straight shooter that called it like she saw it. She was opinionated but solid in her beliefs. And boy did she love a good debate. When we met for the first time I was intimidated by this larger than life personality. In the course of one conversation she could make you laugh until your sides hurt and angrier than you’d ever been in your life. But damn was she loyal. Once she called you a friend, you were a friend for life. She would defend you to the ends of the earth whether you were wrong or not. And she’d “cut a bitch” if anyone looked at you sideways. More times than not our personalities clashed and ultimately those frequent head butts put us at odds with each other. And yet, every moment during our rift I missed her. I wanted nothing more than to bounce an idea off her or ask her opinion. So, when at the urging of Jami, I reached back out to Tiffany to repair our friendship I was thrilled when she responded in kind.

A small group of us went to dinner at the Border Café and it was literally like nothing had happened. We picked up right where we left off and it felt great to have her back in my life.

Sadly it wasn’t for long. Just as we’d reconnected she got sick. Initially we all thought it was because she’d stopped taking her medication because of her pregnancy. We joked that she was “really losing it” because while she’d always been sort of brash, now she could be just downright mean. None of us were really sure how to take the things she was saying or the way she was acting, and eventually she distanced herself from us completely. It was an odd time for our group of seven who’d become so close in just a few years and none us could reconcile this new Tiff with the old.

So when the news came of her collapse and admittance to the hospital we were all shocked to say the least. And when the diagnosis came, we felt guilty for the way we’d been feeling. As the days dragged on we held onto every amount of hope we could that she’d come back to us. There were moments where the doctors thought she was – she’d move a finger or squeeze a hand – but ultimately we never saw our beautiful Tiffany laugh or smile again.

We visited her bedside just a few days before we lost her forever and it was so difficult to see her like that. She was helpless and lifeless, not at all the woman we knew and loved so dearly. But we sat there and told stories and laughed and talked to her, praying that just maybe she could hear us. We never could possibly have known that when we left that day, it would be the last time we ever saw her face.

I woke up the morning of her service, thinking that it couldn’t possibly be real. I don’t really remember getting ready or driving to the church. I do however, remember arriving and seeing how jam packed the church was. It was a testament to how many people truly loved and cared about Tiffany. Her husband said a brief eulogy that of course left everyone in tears, but the service was beautiful and I felt a little peace knowing she was no longer in pain.

I still think of her often, especially in regards to all that’s transpired over these last three years. There have been births, divorces, home purchases, moves, hospital stays, fights, makes ups… the list goes on. And for each event I can just see (and hear) her reactions. Everything would have been so different if she’d been a part of them. There are still days when it’s hard to believe she’s gone. Sometimes it feels like ages and other times the pain hits you when you least expect it. “They” say (ugh I hate them) that “time heals all wounds” … it doesn’t. It might make it easier to bear but you’re still left with the scar, the constant reminder of what you had and lost.

I will forever remember her face, her smile, her friendship. I could never forget the first person who told me to “put on your big  girl panties and shut the f up!”

I miss you lady and your roaring laughter! I’d promise to have a ‘rita for you, but you know I hate tequila, so instead I raise my glass o’ wine in your honor and say “Cheers Biatch!”

Tiffany Zellin

08/08/1980 - 02/09/2011