A tribute to my friend

Today an incredible man was laid to rest and the world is all the poorer for the loss of such a wonderful human being.

Ross Chernin was the clinical psychologist who first introduced me to ACT. He also wrote the ACT course I currently teach and I had the pleasure of teaching alongside him over 2 years.

He was a great proponent of ACT - not only using it in his work, teaching it to other professionals and bringing it to The Recovery College but also using it in his own life. He very much embodied the ACT philosophy in his everyday life and swore by how much it helped him personally.

Though I can never say for sure and as melodramatic though it may sound, the way my life was going before I met him, I suspect he may well have saved my life. I hate the irony of that - someone who so very much deserved a rich, fulfilling and long life saving the life of someone who desperately wanted to lose her own.

He was such a patient teacher - he spent hours going over every detail of the slides and exercises I was going to present in ACT on Life until I felt confident with the material and he always welcomed any ideas for changes and improvements. He saw in me an aptitude for ACT and helped me to make it flourish. He always believed in me even when I was so full of doubts. He gently encouraged me to push my boundaries but assured me he was always there to support me if I got stuck. He was always full of praise for my efforts even when I felt I had done poorly.

There was a wonderful cadence to his voice when he guided a mindfulness exercise, so much so that he would frequently warn the class about his soporific voice before starting. Every time he acted out the tug-of-war metaphor with a volunteer from the class it was so powerful that it never failed to bring a tear to my eye. But when I told him how good the metaphor was he would always be surprised and downplay it. I don't think he truly knew how great he was at what he did. His skill at using and teaching ACT was superb but he was far too modest and humble to ever realise it.

His enthusiasm for ACT and for life were infectious and I couldn't help feeling more positive in my outlook after each time I taught alongside him. He truly lead by example, using all the techniques he taught in his own life. I had a huge amount of respect for him and his profession.

When someone passes away it is natural for us to try and deify them, focusing on all the good they did and ignoring any bad, but even before his death I idolised him - he did so much to help others while being so open about his own struggles. He was so human, with the various faults and weaknesses that come from being human but he acknowledged them and was open about them and was always striving to improve himself.

I saw first hand how he helped so many people with a variety of mental health conditions, but these were just a handful of the lives he must have touched in his work. He had so much more to give to the world and it is so tragic and unfair that his life has ended at such a young age. Even in his final weeks he was planning to come back to work for short periods because his vocation was clearly a very important value to him and despite all the horrible symptoms he must have been experiencing he still wanted to carry on helping others. Many lesser people would have shut down and given up under those circumstances but through all that he still held on to his values and fully embraced the ACT ethos.

Ross, I hope you knew what a profound effect you had on my life and how dearly I will miss you. I was so very lucky to have known you and will never forget you. Rest in peace my friend.

If you would like to make a donation to The Brain Tumour Charity on Ross' behalf and for all those still battling this terrible illness then please follow this link to the JustGiving page set up in his memory. Make a donation.

Holly - 17 Oct 2016 - https://keepinguptheact.blogspot.com/2016/10/a-tribute-to-my-friend.html

A year on.....

It is now a year later since we lost dear Ross, and it really doesn't get any easier. If anything the loss just gets more apparent so I wanted to share another memory.

Ross had an amazing throwing arm from a little kid. It meant he was a great cricketer growing up and I have some good memories going back to South Africa before we emigrated to the UK. One of those was on holiday in SA (after we left) staying across the house across the street from where we used to live and playing in this extremely long back garden. Ross would be at the furthest point at the bottom of the garden and throw tennis balls (I think they were) as far as he could up the garden. They would fly a long way and I remember as a kid being amazed that they were so much further than anything I could throw, almost like a super-kid had thrown them. I would usually be competitive and not like losing but this was a rare time I just was amazed and realized this was pure talent, and appreciated it.

Unfortunately I don't have any footage of his throwing so have included Ross' mad footy skills:

Cocktails, Radiohead and a funny kind of marriage: Remembering Ross Chernin

Blimey it's taken me a long time to write this post. But that's the way of grieving I suppose. It's four months since Ross left our lives, and so time for me to write this, I think. And let me explain right now that the marriage title is not a slight on his wonderful life with Gemma. I'll explain properly later. 

"Wow, see that gorgeous guy at the end of the dinner queue? He lives in our block!". I can't remember which of my friends coined this phrase on the first day of our second year at Leicester uni (and certainly wouldn't embarrass them here), but that was the first time I saw Ross. I saw a guy who looked a little bit lost, but even so was making a real effort to properly listen to who his new flat mates. A skill, I guess, which would go on to shape his career.....

It can't have been easy for Ross. He'd moved into a hall of residence with a group of second years who all knew one another. But Ross being Ross, it didn't take long for him to get to know us all. I really clicked with him. He was unlike anyone I'd met before. A true gentle man. I say this, checking myself to make sure I'm not glorifying the dead. But I really mean it. He was unmistakably himself. 

Cocktails

We first learned of Ross's macho love for cocktails at, funnily enough, a cocktail party which was arranged in our hall of residence bar. If I remember rightly, we lost Ross at the beginning while he went to get drinks and mingle. About an hour or so later, Ross emerged from the smokey atmosphere with bright cocktail umbrellas behind each ear, a blue mouth, and a glazed look in his eyes! A particularly hilarious moment was when he tried to lean against a door which he thought was locked, and fell into our Hall office, uncovering one of our subwardens in a compromising situation with his girlfriend! From my creaky/drunk memory it was a real Delboy moment, which our uni friends all still recall to this day. 

Radiohead

Being the late nineties, Radiohead was pretty popular at the time, and it wasn't long before I found I had a fellow fan in Ross. Most of our mates found them depressing, but Ross and I both owned the OK Computer album so classed ourselves as number one fans, obviously. My fondest memory was one evening, spending a good few hours in Ross's room, chatting. He talked to me about his Kibbutz, his views on Judaism, and all kinds of deep and meaningful things. It was a beautiful conversation that I'll always remember.  

A funny kind of marriage

It wasn't long after that evening, then, that - despite both Ross and myself being in relationships with other people - we decided that we were married. I don't remember a ceremony, or a dress, but married we were, and married we remained, until a certain Halloween in 2009. Our other halves were simply 'holograms' - sent to fill the void for each other. In fact, I remember the tone of the message that Ross sent me when he met Gemma. Something like 'I've met a new hologram, and her force is strong'. I could tell he meant business. And what a wonderful lady he'd found. 

So there you go, Ross. These are some of the fondest the memories I have of you. It's been a pleasure to have you as a friend and I will go on telling people about you. 

To me, you'll always be the boy with the cocktail umbrellas and  the blue mouth. I hope they're playing some decent music up there, my friend. 

Until we meet again, 

Lizbeth x