Eulogy: Julie L. Hise
By James Murray
Click Here for Juilie's In Loving Remembrance ->
We are gathered here today, brought together from many disparate places, united in one purpose: to celebrate the force of nature that was Julie Hise, who enriched and intertwined our lives, and the lives of so many others, through her many passions. Her untimely passing has only brought those bonds to the forefront.
Julie brought an incredible energy and intensity to everything she did, and her interests were many and varied. From horses to dogs to fine food (Bob described her as “the skinniest gourmand ever”) to science fiction and fantasy, she never did anything in half measures. When she moved to Kansas City and joined the local science fiction club, she threw herself headlong into the organization. She and Bob co-chaired ConQuesT, our local convention, in 1992, and despite a variety of unusual problems that came up prior to the con, she kept everyone focused on the main goal: putting on a great con. And that she did. As part of the Fubari Faux Maidens, she was always ready and willing to don strange and silly costumes and get up on stage for the annual Vaudeville Show.
And then there was her hair. The pictures on her memorial site show that even as a child, she had long, luxurious tresses. When she first came to Kansas City, it was a brown waterfall of curls cascading over her shoulders. Over the years, it became her trademark, growing longer and longer, always looking perfect. It seemed inevitable that at some point the sheer weight of it would pull her over backwards and leave her flailing like a turtle on the floor, but somehow it never happened. Hell yes I was jealous, and so was everyone else, whether they admitted it or not. In a typically selfless gesture, she had her hair cut two days before her death, and 4 braids 1½” in diameter and almost 40” long were donated to Locks of Love to make wigs for others undergoing treatment for cancer.
Julie graduated in 1995 with a bachelor’s degree in psychology from the University of Missouri-Kansas City, where she also worked. Local fan and work-study student Chris-Rachel Oseland recommended Julie for the “assistant to Rick” position at Communiversity, where she took what was a secretarial/office manager job and turned it into something much more. For many conveners, she was the go-to person in the office, the one who would make sure their concerns were addressed and problems solved. She also was a tireless booster for Communiversity, constantly nudging people about teaching classes.
The last time I spoke with Julie was Memorial Day weekend, at our local science fiction convention. I walked up to her in the con suite, not sure what to say, and the first thing she said to me was “I want you to do my eulogy.” She then insisted I try some wine she had discovered on the trip she'd just taken back east. I could no more refuse one than the other. I watched her hold court in our room for several hours, chatting with friends, and was just amazed by her relentlessly upbeat attitude. She didn't try to deny or hide her condition, but put everyone else at ease with a constant stream of jokes and snarky comments. In other words, she was herself.
This attitude extended to the very end. One of Bob's updates discussed part of her treatment:
We had the oxygen systems brought in and hooked her up. . . . It’s pretty clear Julie doesn’t like it. In a fleeting moment of clarity, she asked if anyone was benefiting from the oxygen treatment. Told her it made me feel better and she seemed content with that. Even this close to the end, she’s still trying to put my needs ahead of her own. I continue to be humbled by her compassion and bravery
(memories)
[The tune played at this point was “When I Go,” by Dave Carter with Tracy Grammar, from the album of the same name. Here is a link to a video of a live performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Imf2GYV0xNo]
We have come here today to celebrate, with tears and laughter, the life of Julie Hise, to share with friends and family our memories of her and the joy she brought to our lives. The sorrow and pain we feel will slowly subside. But as long as we keep the memory of Julie a part of our hearts and minds, she will be with us. I hope that her family can take some comfort in knowing how important Julie was to us, and in seeing how many lives she touched. If we can all strive to take some of that energy and compassion that Julie had, and apply it to how we live our lives, and affect the lives of others, that will be the greatest tribute of all.
From Chris-Rachel Oseland
Julie was always ready to tell me to pull the stick out of my ass and enjoy a good fart joke. That’s a very big deal when you’re a 20-something struggling to prove you’re a real grown up.
She and Bob taught me to eat vegetables. I spent some time in tears last night staring at a bag of green beans in my fridge. I remember them inviting me over for dinner one night. It wasn’t a big deal - just the three of us hanging out. At that point, I was a strict meat and grainatarian, but I didn’t want to be rude. I forced myself to put a single green bean in my mouth. To my utter shock, it was great. I tried another, just in case the first was a trick. Just as good. I gushed that these were the best damn vegetables I’d ever had in my life. Seriously, I couldn’t shut up about it. It was like some kind of bizarre food alchemy I’d never thought possible. After some funny looks between Bob and Julie, she finally asked if I’d ever had a vegetable that wasn’t canned. Um...no. They chuckled and told me the next time I was in a grocery store, I should check out this “Produce” section they have. You can compare the picture on the can to the real thing if you don’t know what they look like. Today, I don’t have a single canned vegetable in the house. I have people over for dinner pretty regularly. Whenever I see someone politely pick at the veggies then widen their eyes in surprise, I think of that dinner with Bob and Julie. It’s amazing the things that are no big deal in someone else’s life that have a huge impact on your own.
I wish I had something more poignant to say. I keep tearing up just thinking about Julie, and the fact I’ll never talk to her again. Despite all my moves, she made a constant effort to try to keep in touch with me. It meant the world.