View Top Shelf Todd Story

Julie Khanna

There I was, like a sitting duck, dreadfully awaiting my turn to introduce myself. I was pretty young. About 26 years old- an already retired nurse, stay-at-home mother of three, and the wife of a local doctor. Beyond that, I didn't have a lot else about who I was, nor did I have much experience beyond my home. Yet here I was, sitting around the boardroom table of a Boys and Girls Club meeting, helping to plan their annual dinner dance. I reached a point where I needed something bigger than my home to contribute to. Sitting there amongst professionals, I wondered how I would introduce myself. Do I say I'm the doctor's wife? A mom? Would they take me seriously as a stay-at-home parent? At that moment, the only thing I wanted to be was invisible. My time to speak was impending, but to my relief, was interrupted when the door flew open. In walked a man that everyone knew. He was like a Superstar! Commanded the room's attention before ever saying a word. Everyone smiled, quipped some good banter, and he took his seat, single-handedly changing the entire room's atmosphere! And me? I liked this guy already! He didn't know it, but he saved my day! No one cared about introductions anymore, and they certainly didn't care about me. Todd's arrival was the missing piece of the puzzle. He had all the answers, and I watched as he propelled the meeting forward with enthusiasm, giving one solution at a time. I was content, feeling tremendous relief at dodging the spotlight, and continued to observe everyone's dynamics while learning the landscape quietly. The meeting continued passionately, with ideas bouncing around, supported by lots of experience and history sitting at the table. I was almost a fly on the wall in a room of zealous people and just about to get away with flying under the radar when, to my absolute panic, Todd noticed my new face. He stopped mid-sentence to say a giant hello from all the way across the table and asked me who I was. Everyone seemed to follow his lead and it felt like they turned to hear my answer in slow motion, haha! Even though my world stopped for a second, that was also the moment I learned you would never get left behind in Todd's presence– even if you tried. To know him was to have his unwavering support, concern, and generosity, and he simply wouldn't let you be forgotten. He looked out for his people hard. From there, our friendship would spend many more years on dance floors, in committee meetings, with our families, events, galas, concerts, house parties, and eventually the chemo room. Over those years, I had some life changes, including a divorce, which led me to go part-time back to work a few days a week. One busy afternoon, I walked out to the waiting room to call my next patient. I felt a flash of concern grasp my body when I opened the door. My body came to a dead stop before automatically turning around to retreat to the storage closet– a place that nurses often visited when we needed to gather ourselves. They were out there. My dear friends Todd and Deb…in the waiting room of the oncology office. I spent a few moments reflecting on what I just saw. Usually, I could tell which one in a couple was the patient in a matter of seconds. After doing this for so many years, you come to learn the subconscious, nonverbal clues of where people are on their cancer journey and who was the patient. But this time, I couldn't tell. Their body language enmeshed, and I'll never forget how they were both turned in toward one another. Both of them looked equal parts worried, matched with brave face. Both seemed at peace in each other's company and ready for whatever must be done. I went out to speak to them that day— a day that would mark the very beginning of the most human, admirable, selfless, courageous paths of hope, love, and legacy I've ever had the honor of witnessing—a path where Todd and Deb equitably stayed committed to caring for one another by any means necessary. Todd lit up every room he ever walked into, including the chemo room. He was a pillar of strength and encouragement to others; and even in the chair, he always looked out for everyone else. I even remember him asking me if I was okay just before accessing his port because he knew it wasn’t easy for me to give chemo to my friend. Todd changed so many lives for the better including mine. He taught me life lessons I wouldn’t have learned anywhere else. From the boardroom to the chemo room, everywhere in between, and everywhere beyond, Todd’s influence, character, valiancy, kindness and legacy will continue to encourage me to be a better version of myself than the day before, and will challenge me not to let the weight of life compromise kindness. Live. Give. Love. There I was, like a sitting duck, dreadfully awaiting my turn to introduce myself.

I was pretty young. About 26 years old- an already retired nurse, stay-at-home mother of three, and the wife of a local doctor. Beyond that, I didn't have a lot else about who I was, nor did I have much experience beyond my home.

Yet here I was, sitting around the boardroom table of a Boys and Girls Club meeting, helping to plan their annual dinner dance. I reached a point where I needed something bigger than my home to contribute to. Sitting there amongst professionals, I wondered how I would introduce myself. Do I say I'm the doctor's wife? A mom? Would they take me seriously as a stay-at-home parent? At that moment, the only thing I wanted to be was invisible.

My time to speak was impending, but to my relief, was interrupted when the door flew open. In walked a man that everyone knew. He was like a Superstar! Commanded the room's attention before ever saying a word. Everyone smiled, quipped some good banter, and he took his seat, single-handedly changing the entire room's atmosphere!

And me? I liked this guy already! He didn't know it, but he saved my day! No one cared about introductions anymore, and they certainly didn't care about me.

Todd's arrival was the missing piece of the puzzle. He had all the answers, and I watched as he propelled the meeting forward with enthusiasm, giving one solution at a time.

I was content, feeling tremendous relief at dodging the spotlight, and continued to observe everyone's dynamics while learning the landscape quietly. The meeting continued passionately, with ideas bouncing around, supported by lots of experience and history sitting at the table.

I was almost a fly on the wall in a room of zealous people and just about to get away with flying under the radar when, to my absolute panic, Todd noticed my new face. He stopped mid-sentence to say a giant hello from all the way across the table and asked me who I was. Everyone seemed to follow his lead and it felt like they turned to hear my answer in slow motion, haha!

Even though my world stopped for a second, that was also the moment I learned you would never get left behind in Todd's presence– even if you tried. To know him was to have his unwavering support, concern, and generosity, and he simply wouldn't let you be forgotten. He looked out for his people hard.

From there, our friendship would spend many more years on dance floors, in committee meetings, with our families, events, galas, concerts, house parties, and eventually the chemo room.

Over those years, I had some life changes, including a divorce, which led me to go part-time back to work a few days a week.

One busy afternoon, I walked out to the waiting room to call my next patient. I felt a flash of concern grasp my body when I opened the door. My body came to a dead stop before automatically turning around to retreat to the storage closet– a place that nurses often visited when we needed to gather ourselves.

They were out there.

My dear friends Todd and Deb…in the waiting room of the oncology office.

I spent a few moments reflecting on what I just saw. Usually, I could tell which one in a couple was the patient in a matter of seconds. After doing this for so many years, you come to learn the subconscious, nonverbal clues of where people are on their cancer journey and who was the patient.

But this time, I couldn't tell.

Their body language enmeshed, and I'll never forget how they were both turned in toward one another. Both of them looked equal parts worried, matched with brave face. Both seemed at peace in each other's company and ready for whatever must be done.

I went out to speak to them that day— a day that would mark the very beginning of the most human, admirable, selfless, courageous paths of hope, love, and legacy I've ever had the honor of witnessing—a path where Todd and Deb equitably stayed committed to caring for one another by any means necessary.

Todd lit up every room he ever walked into, including the chemo room. He was a pillar of strength and encouragement to others; and even in the chair, he always looked out for everyone else. I even remember him asking me if I was okay just before accessing his port because he knew it wasn’t easy for me to give chemo to my friend.

Todd changed so many lives for the better including mine. He taught me life lessons I wouldn’t have learned anywhere else. From the boardroom to the chemo room, everywhere in between, and everywhere beyond, Todd’s influence, character, valiancy, kindness and legacy will continue to encourage me to be a better version of myself than the day before, and will challenge me not to let the weight of life compromise kindness.

Live. Give. Love.