How has it been four years without you? Time is supposed to make this easier, but it feels like you died yesterday. I want to call you and make fun of Trump and hear your funny work stories. You are so missed, sister. My birthday is coming up and I will be 51, the age you were when you died. You were supposed to become an old lady. You are woven into the fabric of who I am, who your boys are. I’m  so lucky to have had such a great big sister. Keep sending the soda cans, Lynard. It tells me you’re with me. 

The past week, I have been deep in my grief. Lynn and my father were two incredible forces in character and the ability to help and heal others. They both had an altruistic nature not found a lot these days. They both were on the ready when disaster struck, or when help was needed. So many thousands of people looked up from a bed, exam table, or school desk and saw the kind eyes that my dad and Lynn shared. They would squint when smiling or when offering a kindness of one type or another. There is one striking difference between these two people that I adored. Dad lived a rich life, full of adventure, career, grandchildren, etc. Lynn's life was snipped short, leaving so much left to do.

When I think of my sister, her generosity is her callsign. She was always the first to take cookies or a casserole to someone who needed a hand. She took each patient to heart, and more often than not, got their contact info before they went home, creating bonds. There is a barrier that exists between patients and healthcare workers. Without this wall, it is too difficult to bear the consistent loss that is one of the realities of working in medicine. Physicians and RNs are taught to distance themselves emotionally lest they become attached. Well Lynn must have missed that day of nursing school because she welcomed each and every patient with arms so big, they seemed that they fit around the world.

Last night, Leslie and I were talking about Lynn's particular brand of generosity. Leslie and I both have run the 26.2 miles more than once to earn the coveted badge of being a marathoner. Leslie has done tri's and many more races than I have. But Lynn would WIN races regularly. Often, she would donate the prize back to the race committee. She didn't do it for the medals or shirts. She just ran. 🙂 Truth be told, I just ran my sad marathons to be a Gibson. We are like little tiny Forrest Gumps. We effing run everywhere. I don't think I'll be running another distance race. My race hero died last Tuesday.

Leslie reminded me of a particular kindness that Lynn showed during her Peace Corps days in Namibia, Africa. One of Lynn's students needed glasses, and his family was unable to afford them. Lynn used that month's stipend (intended for food, etc.) to buy that little boy a pair of glasses. I hope that on the other side of the world, that boy who is now a man, occasionally thinks about Lynn when he puts on his glasses.

Occasionally, I would call Lynn to unload a problem. No matter if the situation called for money, she would dig out whatever cash she had in her wallet and stuff it into an envelope. And she would always text me and ask my address. I share this habit with Lynn. Leslie is probably wondering why I haven't written her address down in all these years. It's because we always knew the three sisters would pick up the phone to text. Because we were all alive. I still have the last paper that Lynn wrapped money in last spring when I was sick. "I love you" scribbled on a blank page.

Memories of my oldest sister are falling like rain into my shredded heart. Best Buddies. Tree forts with a basket on a pully and a "second floor" that could only be reached by climbing precarious boards nailed to the tree trunk to a platform that was so enticing and cool to my young eyes, but impossible to get to.

Lynn could make up stories on the spot. Good ones, too. When I was distraught, Lynn would always have some tale ready to roll off her tongue to calm me.

Her Chewbacca roar was amazing, and Santa was her special friend for many years.

"Dumb Duy" Always and forever.

Running to our rooms to put on our Star Trek shirts for proper viewing of the show. Yours was Spock-blue, mine was Scottie-red.

Smokey-Bandit-Lone Ranger-Tonto-Gibson-Aroooooo!

Moon boots on snowy days in the 80s.

Catcalling yardsales and swinging our skis to make the entire lift line bounce so high, it looked as if the line was joing to leap from the track. We got in so much trouble for that from the lift operators.

"I'm the Mt. Hood Ski Patrol and you're really not as cool as you'd like to be. I'm gonna rip your ticket apart. If you don't ski smart."

Making sandwiches, assembly line style, at Snow Bunny Lodge during ski camp. Damn, I loved being your little sister at camp.

She would call me "JJ", and I felt like I was sitting on her shoulders when she casually threw out the nickname in public.

Lynn, until last week, I never took one single breath of air without you in my world. Your death has taken the breath out of me, and I am grasping for purchase on the reality that you and Dad are gone. I miss you guys so much.

I found these messages about Lynn on the Mount Hood Summer Ski Camps website. When I think of all the wonderful things my sister was to become, did become, and was meant to become, all signs point to Mt. Hood. Summer on the glacier was an escape from things that hurt, and that space was jam-packed with love and good times. Not many people in Lynn's life knew the entirety of what made her so great, all the facets of her character that I was lucky enough to experience as her sister. But Snow Bunny Lodge and the people who were on staff at MHSSC got the full shebang that was Lynn Gibson. You guys are part of our small club. Membership dues are the grief of her absence.

Memories of Lynn, from some of her friends at Mt Hood Summer Ski Camps, where she had worked in the late 80s.

.So sad & 💔! The world has lost a modern day super hero & far too soon! Our times at MHSSC were the most amazing & memorable times.

~Nancy Schmeler

I regret that I had lost touch with Lynn. She was an amazing light of positive energy. I remember her writing Dr. Seuss style poetry on paper plates and giving them out to a few of us, one late night at snow bunny. I remember her unplugging toilets with a plumber snake, laughing the whole time! I remember her singing. I remember that she made all of us laugh day after day and that she was kind to everyone. I looked at old photo albums last night and found many pictures of her and all of you. This was an important time in my life as I'm sure it was for many of you. What I realize, is that it never occurred to me that I would not see Lynn again, even though it has been about 25 years. Time has gone way too quickly in life.

~Lori Biddulph-Deisroth

Such a tragic loss. Thank you Lori for reminding me of some of the quirky awesome things about Lynn. I remember this one time a couple of guys were trying to talk to us through the car window and had their hands on the window as we tried to close it. She would always make a joke about “fingers“ and say it in a creepy voice that made me laugh every time. She will be missed.

~Jen Annett-Bard

So, I wish I had a singular story. What I can remember is that impish smile and her laughter… those incredible guffaws without prompt at the most unexpected moments. The times in late August when I’d roll in late to the Bun, beat shit tired from an afternoon activity, be it a bus drive back from the river or wrangling the East Coast kids at Timothy Lake, a busted or one time sunken ski boat at Pine Lake, she was there with that human care and wit, covered in the daily grease of prep for dinner and still with more than enough gas in the tank to help make me feel great about my day and get through a video session with the last humans I wanted to see. At the Trillium Lake all camps gatherings she attended her voice ringing through the forest was priceless. God she was such a crack up at the most delirious and hardest of moments when I needed a lift and rise to the next task. How do you do that, there has to be a lesson in this eh? Perhaps this is what Lynn leaves us with… unbelievable and unwavering perseverance in the joy with we are best at and even the stuff we don’t do so well with. Okay, I guess I do have my story of Lynn Gibson, my heart is broken however, I believe now after thought of how powerful her spirit sits with me, I have again what she gave me those dog days in August a renewed energy in what I do and love in the air when I have to fight for love of the game.

~Jack Suierveld

I remember her big smile and being short. But then again, pretty much everyone is short. It’s a tall thing. (*He's about 6' 7")

~Ray Dicius

I’m so saddened to hear this news. I have so many amazing memories of my adventures with Lynn way back in the late 80s and 90s. My MHSSC janitor mentor, who taught me how best to smuggle out extra cookies from the Snowbunny pantry. One of my first climbing partners and all our epic adventures- including us throwing our rope (not tied into anything) off the top of a tower in Smith and having to wait for some strangers to wander by to climb it back up to us. Topping out countless problems in the dark and speed walking back to the parking lot up and over Misery Ridge. Lynn resorting to taking off her sports bra to loosen a stuck locking biner on Frenches Dome. Her clapping continuously as we walked in the dark through J-Tree to scare away snakes because she had just read all about the black mambas she was going to encounter in Namibia. Climbing slabs in J-Tree in our bikini tops. So many letters (complete with her amazing cartoons and creative song lyrics) exchanged while she was in the Peace Corps and I was away at college. We never got around to our tube top ascent of Monkey Face. We had lost touch the last many years but I always thought we’d cross paths again for at least one more adventure. Thank you for all the amazing times, my friend. I wish I had the best mix tape ever made with me that you gave me during our time at Smith - I’m playing all the songs I can remember from it on repeat today. You made the world a brighter place for all that you met and you are so missed."

~Julie Janus

Such sad news. I have such found memories of my time at camp with her.

~Karen Brazier

Such a beautiful smile and spirit! My heart shall always carry wonderful memories of Snowbunny Lodge and Lynn... her laughter , her zest for life...ski racing...

~Ridgley Reece

She was bigger than life and a talented ski racer. It was such a pleasure to reconnect on Facebook and share some memories and laughs. She always had a smile, and was always game for whatever adventure we all had planned for our weekends off. I was hoping to reconnect this August at Mt Hood Summer Ski Camp. My sincere condolences to her entire family.

~Paul Richardson

I remember the day after the last day of ski camp in 1986, our first summer working at camp. Mike sent me and Lynn back on the hill to look for and retrieve broken gates, parts, anything of value. After finding a broken stubby or two in the rocks, we started poaching some other ski camps' GS course as if we owned the place (her idea). I remember her working the drive-thru window at the McDonalds in Portland on West Burnside street and her trying to give me a hug thru the drive-thru window. I remember her talking me running in Forest Park. She let me set the pace because I'm slow and she's fast. I remember the parties in Wenatchee and Bend when her U of Oregon ski team were in town for races. But mostly I remember all the great times with Lynn and the rest of the 80's crew at snowbunny. Miss you, love you.

~Robin Cressy

I can not believe it. This is heartbreaking. There just isn’t the words...

~Kathy Bonner

This is so sad. Lynn was always smiling and made me laugh every day. We all had so much fun together. Nothing will ever compare to those Snowbunny days.

~Kim Soloski

What a sad shock to hear of Lynn's passing. Such an awesome person....Man, things like this are when you really realize how many years have passed since the MHSSC days. It seems like yesterday when Lynn and I were at a Tracy Chapman concert in Portland.

~Bob Geyer

Don't even know what to say. How is this even possible?! We've only been in touch via FB but I was sure I'd be seeing her again in person at some point. She was the awesomest and it just ain't right.

~Steve Heuer

My clearest memory of Lynn is looking at the back of her as I'd chase her on the run from Snow Bunny to Govie. She was truly a good soul, what a sad time for her family.

~Susan Gauss

So very sorry. She was so nice.

~Vance Lemley

I remember her well. Very cool and lots of fun.

~Chris Cota

Lynn Gibson I am so very saddened to hear of your passing. I miss you. I can't stop thinking about you and I have been having some vivid dreams. Maybe it's because you were such a big part of my 'formative years.' Maybe it's because I knew you when I was 15-22 and my kids are now in that age range. Maybe it's because you were such a larger-than-life personality. Whatever the case, I find myself reminiscing about the days when I knew you, which was in HS and college. We skied on the ski team, UO, with Teresa Kemink, and several others who are not on FB, like Amy, and Jeanne. I can think of the van rides to ski races where you would keep us laughing for hours while perfectly reciting the lyrics to Milli Vanilli. Your positive energy and zest for life, competition and adventure will forever shape who I am today. Julie Keenan, Maria Eckholt-Hendergart and I shared a dormitory at University of Oregon with Lynn. We may have strategically 'borrowed' some food and beverages from the catering department, stored them in our ceilings, and lived a more fulfilling Freshman year due to Lynn's ingenuity. Robin Cressy, Nancy Schmeler, Kim Soloski, Karen Brazier, Lori Deisroth, Steven F Heuer, RidgleyElisabeth Eastman, Jennifer Otten and more had the pleasure of spending several summers with Lynn Gibson skiing, cooking, driving decrepit green vans to/from picnics, riding bikes down the Mt. Hood access road helmet-less, and white-water rafting the Deschutes river asking for beer hand-outs. Thank you Mt. Hood Summer Ski Camps for introducing me to Lynn. I hope my own kids are able to find a friend to push their limits, make them laugh and challenge them athletically and academically like Lynn did for me. Rest in Peace my friend.

~Amy (McNees) Van Valkenburg

So many years have passed since my sister, Lynn, and I spent an entire summer together at Mt. Hood. So much happened before and after. But that summer remains the sweet spot for my big sister and me. Lynn was 5 years older than me, and in childhood, that may as well be decades. But one summer, I was desperate to not just make varsity women's ski team, but to come close to the bar Lynn had set. So off to MHSSC I went. For the entire summer. Lynn was camp staff, and I idolized her while basking in the light cast by my big sister's glow. Lynn was such a good racer, she would get sponsorships and forget to mention them. It just came along with being the force that she was. I LOVED being her little sis at camp. From riding the "blue bus" from the lodge so I could salt the courses along with the staff to slow down the afternoon melt, to pulling gates and helping store them for the following day's training, I was hungry for it all and Lynn made room in the circle for me. She would tell me fireside tales of nights at the Ratskeller, and holy shit did I think I was rad just for knowing it happened. So many years have passed, and life takes us down paths we never would have dreamed. (I distinctly remember the gorge in my throat at the thought of dating a guy who wasn't a ski racer). One day, we wake up and so much has changed. One day, I woke up and my sister was gone from this human experience. But oh what a legacy she left behind. I'm pretty sure she "let" me do a huge chunk of her staff tasks... and I would do them again just to have campers walk by and ask what I was up to. "Making all your sandwiches for lunch tomorrow." Feeling cool as nails. My sister wasn't perfect, and not one of us can claim to be that. But that summer... she let me salt, she would stop by my group for long enough to make sure I ate enough, but not long enough to embarrass me. I was allowed to tune my skis with the other staff. Amy Van Valkenburg, you made me feel safe on nights when demons would invade my sleep. Robin Cressy, you all made me feel like part of the family. The unilateral agreement among all staff that Peekaboo Street was a bitchy liftline-cutter was shared with me while all of the other campers had their jaws stuck in a groupie-hang of the Olympic skier who blessed us with a few training weeks on our glacier. On days when it would rain on the glacier, we would do "semi-dryland", essentially jumping our bodies and soaked equipment in criss-cross marks across the slush. Over and over. One of the coaches... a guy whose name escapes me, but who had a full beard and could pound down a slalom course with waist-high ruts... made me feel like a good racer. And the time that there was a super-g course set right under the lift. Watching Lynn absorb the bumps with no perceptible lift, keeping her low tuck. That was a beautiful thing to watch. And you, sister, are a beautiful thing to remember.

~Julie Gibson (Lynn's sister)

Hello. 

You don't know me but I found you just by browsing. It was meant to be. May you rest in peace and thank you so much for teaching us earthlings how to be more compassionate. 

I still miss seeing and hearing from Lynn.  She was a special person, who gave so much of herself, much more than just her job.  I know she worked hard for her boys, and loved her family deeply, as she talked of them often.   She will be forever missed.  Gone way too early.   My baby sister passed recently out of the blue unexpectedly, so I do know the loss of a sibbling. 

I just remember her bubbly personality, generous and patient heart with her time and knowledge. Her goodness and kindness was immediately apparent. 

Lynn, picking me up from the Portland Airport:

_Phone call "What airline Julzie?"

_Phone call "Shit! I have to go around again"

_Phone call "Where ARE you? Oh and I'm driving Dad's car so look for me"

Finally in the car, "Julie! OMG so good to see you! You are so beautiful! I think you're staying with me and the boys but I just got off a shift so I don't know where everybody is but we're going to Mom and Dad's first then we have to go buy some food because all I have is Diet Pepsi Do you need any money? Here (shoves two twenties in my fist) So let me tell you about this crazy patient I had last night..."

Her flurry of disorganization was like home to me.

Happy birthday, Sister. You and Dad live in my heart.

After a year, I am finally able to wear your jacket, Sis. It smells like you. :)

Rookie Surfers

Three Gibson Girls

Three sets of toes, three pairs of lungs

Three spirits wild and free

Three hearts, three minds

Our worlds afire

Three Gibson girls, us three.

Three pairs of boots, three sets of gloves

One of them afraid of bees

Three tilts of laughter, three pairs of legs

Three Gibson girls, us three.

Three sets of talents, three sets of dreams

Three wishes for what’s to be.

Three bright horizons, three untold tales

Three Gibson girls, us three.

Three different schools, three different states

Three roads for each to see

Three girls on horses, three huddled heads

Three Gibson girls, us three.

Three sets of children, their lives unfold

So much was meant to be

Three households, three names

Three busy lives

Three Gibson girls, us three.

Darkness folds upon one life

Robbing days to be

A pair of heads

Missing the third

Two Gibson girls, once three.

My husband was one of Lynn’s patients and we just heard about her passing. He just saw her in April and had an appointment scheduled for July. I can’t express how terrible we feel for your loss, she was always so nice, so very kind and caring my husband came out crying from his treatment. We lost a son a few years ago, he also left a wife and three young girls. Our hearts go out to all of you, it’s so very sad, We are so very sorry. Take care

Dad and Lynn-
You guys think you’re funny, huh? I ask you two to help me land a job, and I end up working at a hospital as an IT consultant. You guys got me into a hospital after all.
Lynn, I wonder if they know that scrubs make me look like a prison inmate? No matter how much I try to add that healthcare worker flair of colored long sleeves and clogs, I still look like an escaped convict. Only Lynn Gibson and the cast of Grey’s Anatomy make scrubs look sexy. Good thing I’ll be wearing business attire.
Dad, remember how I would pick out your tie in the morning when I was little? I loved being a part of your morning routine; you would lather up my face along with yours and I “shaved” with a capped razor while you did the real thing. Our trips downtown to Marios where I would do my best to outfit you in the latest 80’s fashion... You were such a good sport, wearing those pink and purple paisley ties with more Bill Cosby sweaters than any man should have owned.
There is undoubtedly going to be so much at the hospital that will bring memories of you both flooding into my heart. I am determined to open a valve in the part of my heart where you guys live. A valve that accepts not only the wonderful, proud times from the past, but also allows the sadness to settle. I must come to terms with the fact that my dad and sister are dead or I will forever be spinning around in this whirlpool of grief and pain.
I want to walk the halls of the hospital and remember going on rounds with Dad, feeling proud and important. From the switchboard exchange women to the staff at Columbia Cardiology, every single person had a kind word. I vividly remember Dr. Garrison walking out of a procedure room with a bit of blood on his scrub top. It was probably tiny, but to my 10-year-old mind, he might as well have been holding dripping brains in his hands. I remember sitting cross-legged on the floor of the echo lab or watching Dad pore over ribbons of EKG strips, using calipers to measure heart rhythm. I would often go to the office with Dad when I was sick, setting up camp in the stress-test room. I would spend the day laying down if I was really sick, or reading my horse book and eating red hots if I wasn’t too bad off. I would occasionally take the treadmill for a spin if I was bored. Lunch in the hospital cafeteria was always a treat. Dad seemed to know everyone’s name, and had a joke or a wink for them all.
Dad used to be at the “hotstiple” and used his “etstescope” to listen to hearts. Patients would go through mysterious “stets tests”. Many nights, Dad would sit at the dining room table dictating notes. “Today is ummmmmmmm March 16, 1985 and ummmmmmmm Patient Joe Blow presents with a ummmmmmmmmm irregular heartbeat ummmmmmmm… preferred course of action ummmmmmmmmmm is…”
I was both enamored and totally grossed out by the model heart on Dad’s desk. The rubber model disengaged so my father could show patients the area of the heart where their problem resided, or to demonstrate how a catheter would be threaded to remove a block during an angioplasty. It had red and blue rubber veins and arteries all over, and I would play with it with horrified respect.
Most of all, I remain amazed and proud of both Lynn and Dad for their endless care of others. They never left their patients at the hospital. They brought them home in their hearts. (Ok, sometimes Dad would bring one home for real) I could tell in an instant of his arrival home if Dad had lost a patient that day. It tore him up. Lynn was the same way. Both had huge hearts.
It reminds me of something my Mom said to me when I was pregnant with Johanna. Robert was barely one, and I worked up the courage to ask her the question that had been gnawing at me since discovering that our second child was on the way. I loved Robert so much it felt as if my heart would burst. HOW could I love another baby that much? She smiled and said, “Your heart grows to fit. You can’t imagine it, but another miracle is put in your arms and all of a sudden your heart expands to accommodate all the love.”
So now my heart must grow to hold the memories and love I have for my sister and father, along with the sadness of their absence. I hope that in time, the happy memories with overcome the sadness.

Met her at kaiser as a patient in footcare we hit off when i wore something with Oregon on it and said worked meets at Hayward field and was hoping to find a way to take her down to Pre. My one thing was no! Electroal drill to help file.

I'm sorry for your loss. I so looked forward to my visits with Lynn, she was a bright spot in my life. My prayers are with her family

I only just learned of Lynn's passing today. She was one of those very special people that was a light for everyone she knew and touched. I met her at Kaiser Permanente and feel very honored and privileged to have known her. My heart goes out to her family in this time... I will keep you in my prayers.

I worked with Lynn for years at Legacy Emanuel Hospital in Trauma. I would come home from work and always had a fun Lynn story when I worked with her. I think my husband was a little hurt when I once proclaimed that Lynn Gibson made me laugh more than anyone I know. Lynn’s humor was always the best because it was always the most loving humor, never unkind. And she was a great nurse. I will miss her. My condolences to her family and friends.