Words from Michel Beaudry

“Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”

- Wendy Ladner-Beaudry

 

She’s gone. The best part of me – the strongest, happiest, most confident part of me – is no more. Wendy Ladner-Beaudry is dead; violently ripped from our lives at a time when she had so much more to give the world. Seems like such a senseless way to go…

Especially for such a positive, life-affirming person. Violence was abhorrent to Wendy – she could never understand people who used their fists to win an argument, who used their size to dominate a situation. She was the most calm, reasoned person I ever knew. And she could make just about anybody smile. Just about anybody…

I sit here at my desk, struggling to stem the tears and find the words to celebrate the love and respect and friendship she offered me over the 28 years we were together. I was so fortunate to have her as my friend. She was a rock. Didn’t matter the kind of trouble I got into (and I got into all kinds). Didn’t matter how often I screwed up (and I screwed up more than my share). She was always there. Sometimes rolling her eyes in exasperation at my antics. Sometimes smiling knowingly at my excuses. Sometimes even wagging her finger at me in frustration. But always with unconditional love in her gaze. I was part of her team. Part of her family. And that was good enough for her.

I’ll miss her so much.

Did I mention how wise she was? Along with our daughters, Maya and Jenna, I benefited tremendously from that wisdom. In Wendy, it was organic. Doing the right thing was hard-wired. Fair play wasn’t just a concept. It was everything to her. A lifelong athlete – and an extremely talented one at that – she was always bemused by those who would cheat or bend the rules just to “win” at sports. “How much satisfaction do you think they get from that?” she would ask. It just didn’t make sense to her…

Her death doesn’t make sense to me either.

Wendy’s story is interwoven with that of Whistler’s. Her father, Tom, was a close friend of the ski area’s founder, Franz Wilhelmsen. He was also one of its earliest investors. “I remember those early Whistler drives so well,” she would tell me of the car ride up from Vancouver with her parents and five siblings. “It was the classic Friday night dash: in all sorts of weather, in all kinds of conditions. As a kid, the trip seemed endless.” And then she’d laugh. “Chris (her younger brother) would puke at least once a trip. Can you imagine – all six of us kids standing on the side of the road while mom cleaned out the car and cleaned up Chris.”

Yes, I can imagine…

But can you imagine six kids wearing bulky hand-knit sweaters with the Garibaldi Lifts logo making up most of the design? That was Wendy’s mum’s doing. The sweaters were her 1967 centennial project. And there’s even a family photo to commemorate the moment. Ten-year-old Wendy looked great…

Alas, time moves on. Wendy grew up. But her love affair with the mountains never wavered. As for her connections to Whistler, they were more entwined than ever.

There weren’t many young women at Whistler in those years – and even fewer who were keen on skiing – so Wendy and her sister Jinny and the rest of their hard-charging teen gal pals were hugely popular. “She was a fantastic skier,” remembers her lifelong friend Mike Ryan. “As far as doing stuff on the mountain and stuff, she was as good as the guys.” He pauses for a moment. Wipes a tear away. “You know, everyone was in love with Wendy. She had so much spirit; she was so much fun to be with. What a loss…”

What a loss. Indeed – a meaningless violent act has snuffed out the life of the best among us. How to put meaning in this? How to find the positive? Yet Wendy would be the first to look for a silver lining in this very sombre cloud. She’d be the first to organize her women friends and head back into the park. I can even hear the words she’d use: “We can’t let this scare us off. The park is ours too. As long as we stick together, we’ll all be okay.”

And that’s what Wendy was all about. A facilitator, a connector, a navigator, a guide: she was all these things. She made it easy for people to work together, to find common ground and move forward in a positive way.  She challenged the caustic. She encouraged the recalcitrant. And it was never just about words. Whether in her volunteer work or in her professional life, whether as a mum raising her children or as a mature athlete mentoring her teammates, Wendy led by example. Everything was about the group.  Community was a sacred word for her.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again. Seduced by the new burgeoning Whistler lifestyle, Wendy eventually moved up here full-time. It was the early 1970s, and the mountain-hippy thing was in full swing. Wendy, not surprisingly, was at the forefront of it. She lived in a squatter’s cabin at Parkhurst, the abandoned logging village on the other side of Green Lake. And her stories of that time were hilarious. And slightly scary, too.

Think about it. You’re a 17-year-old girl walking across a frozen Green Lake late at night in springtime after your serving shift at the Keg is over. You’re pushing a canoe across the lake – “just in case the ice breaks,” she’d tell me, “so you have something to jump into” – and when you get to your cabin you have to bang two frying pans together before going inside because that pesky black bear who broke in last week might be there again investigating what’s in your pantry.

Every day was an adventure, she’d tell me. Every night posed a new challenge.

“As soon as I got home, I had to get the wood stove going again,” she’d recount with a sigh. “And sometimes I was just too tired to do a good job of it. I’d sit there shivering in my big blanket coat praying for the cabin to warm up fast.” And I can’t help but smile at the memory. Anyone who knew Wendy understands how miserable she must have been. Wendy hated being cold.

But she loved skiing. She loved swooping down Black Bear (what they now call Franz’s Run) early in the morning when the powder was still fresh and the tracks were still few. She loved hitting Chunky’s in springtime before the sun hit it and the bumps got too big; or sneaking into Dad’s Run on a burly storm day and making bottomless turns all the way to the lift. She loved it all. But she loved the city of her birth too. And that tension between her mountain and city lives would be played out for the rest of her years.

By the time I met Wendy in 1981, she was back in Vancouver, tending her garden, windsurfing at Jericho and playing field hockey for the B.C. Team. I fell in love the moment I set eyes on her. It’s true! I’ve been saying it for years. Sure, I had a tendency to fall in love pretty fast in those days. But this was different. I can’t really explain it. But I knew right then and there that this was the woman I was destined to live with for the rest of my life.

And it only took five years to convince Wendy that I was serious… Did I already say she was a wee bit stubborn?

Frankly, she was a lot stubborn. Once she had her mind made up – about a person, a place, an event, whatever – it was virtually impossible to shift her position. But it was a good thing too. Because once she decided you were on her team, she was the most loyal of allies. And the greatest of cheerleaders.

I know what you’re thinking. Bereaved spouse beatifying his dearly departed one. Sure. I understand: you’ve heard it all before. But listen up: that’s not the case this time, Wendy was unique. She was a force of nature. A gentle, calming force, mind you. But a force nonetheless. She touched people in profound and life-changing ways. And the world is a sadder, less civilized place without her.

Just listen to what VANOC CEO John Furlong had to say about Wendy. “Like almost every resident of our city I am in complete disbelief and shock over Wendy’s tragic death,” he wrote to me earlier this week. “I considered her to be a dear friend and among the most likable, principled persons I know. I knew her as thoughtful, generous and inspired with a giving heart. Working with her was a joy and today I feel lucky to have been able to call her my friend.”

His words were echoed this week by people from all over the world. But it’s in the next paragraph that Wendy’s spirit really manifests itself. A woman who lived the Olympic dictum “healthy mind in healthy body” with every breath she took, my wife (Damn! How hard that is to write) was a huge Games supporter. The pride she held for her city, the love she had for her mountain – her belief in sport as a social tool even – this was what the Olympic celebration was all about for her. And Furlong knew that.

“At a time like this it is so difficult to know what to say or do but I wanted to do something that might reflect her warm spirit and sparkle,” Furlong wrote. “So in Wendy’s honor I am setting aside a spot in the 2010 Winter Games Olympic torch relay for you or a family member to run a leg of the relay with the torch in her honor – next February. She was a passionate runner and I’m sure she would love to have personally carried the flame especially when it reaches Vancouver… I hope this gesture will have some special meaning. We will all miss Wendy and I know I will never forget her.”

I don’t think anybody who knew her will ever forget her. Goodbye my love…