Julia Barrero
This is a story about a picture and the little bit of life it captures.
You see, Mal and I broke a lot of photo conventions. The other day, I noticed something: in half of all our group photos, I’m next to her, a good 10 inches separating the crowns of our heads. How did this odd couple come together time and again? It’s simple: it’s because of the times I had with Mallory that we didn’t get on film.
Like the time that Mallory and I spent 4th of July figuring out how we could “jailbreak” her from the C wing of the Stanford hospital to go to a friend’s party.
The doctor and resident appeared, and Mal just had to answer a few questions and push her next check-in by an hour. Everything was going smoothly until Mal, casually looking over at some food that Diane and I had picked up earlier, said the p-word. As in, “oh, that stuff would be great to bring to the party.”
Mere seconds after the words escaped her lips, I felt my phone buzz: “OMG - John heard me say party and looked up !!!!!!!” 7 exclamation points. Next came a frantic, “Did you hear what I said???? OY.” Oy, indeed.
But we had a happy ending. 20 minutes later, we made it to the party, basking in a proper 4th of July celebration with good company.
That day, Mallory and I took one picture—a classically mismatched shot of us. Just as we appear in the frame, side by side, we lived off camera, embracing laughter, adventure, and the secrets of friendship. Mal had a magnetism unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I adored her, and thank my lucky stars for her presence in my life.
After all the memories we forged, it’s no surprise to me that when there was a photographer at the ready, I found my way next to the tall, blonde, blue-eyed girl in the middle, conventions be damned, because there was simply no place else I’d rather be.
Maya Humes
I️ called Mal Malpal, but she of course had a never-ending list of nicknames for me - Mizzle, Missoula Humes, M, and M dawg to name a few. Her brain was this brilliant, sometimes baffling masterpiece, and her nicknames were just one beautiful part of that. There were countless Mallory sayings - two of my favorites were “We are the sexy MaMaMas”, for "Mallory, Maya, and Makiko" when we were roommates sophomore year, and “bedtime for bonzo”, which was what Mal would say when it was time to go to sleep.
Mal was a weirdo, but the weird parts of us were the same. We were both clumsy and didn’t have full control of our long, lanky limbs, we loved belting out the Rent soundtrack in the dorm showers, and we were veryyy gullible. Well, some people call it gullible, I like to think of it as optimistic. We would essentially believe anything people told us - no matter what. Instantly just so wide-eyed and excited.
We instantly became best friends when we became roommates, and from then on we were friend soulmates. Mal approached EVERY single thing she did wholeheartedly - especially her friendships. Even when we weren’t in the same city anymore, she was always SO excited to dig into the lives of the people she loved. It was always “Okay, I’m gonna quickly answer this question about me, but how was the date with that boy? Or, send me a photo of you guys hanging out!, or, How was the Misterwives concert last night”?. She was a compassionate, excitable listener who wanted to put your life before hers, and you always wanted to share the best news with her.
She was also SO expressive, so often texting wasn’t enough. It was best to see those classic Mal facial reactions live. You know what I’m talking about: the confused one, the shocked one, the giddy one. But then Mal was also courageous in her candor. She knew how to talk you through the hard decisions, delicately, and with a wisdom that far surpassed our years. Her follow-up questions would hit you DEEP.
I’m gonna miss those follow-up questions. I’m gonna miss those facial expressions. I’m gonna miss having a partner in crime just as gullible as me. But I feel so, so lucky to have had those moments with her, and I will never, ever, ever forget them. I love you so much, Malpal.
Tyler Schultz
I got to know Mallory because I was her RA in college. I don't want to get her in too much trouble, so i won't say that her room was THE party rooms, but I will say that her room was one of the party rooms. Mallory has a way of making anyone feel like she was your best friend. So her triple with Maya and Makiko would throw parties with the boys next door, and they would wait until i was on call to throw them, because they knew I would be right in there with them rather than telling them to be quite and drink responsibly like a good RA should. Also as the RA, I had an event called Toyon eharmony, these were the days before tinder, where I set up everyone in the dorm on a blind date with someone else in the dorm. In another slight abuse of power, I set myself up on a not-so-blind date with Mallory. This blossomed into a beautiful friendship. Last week I had Makiko read Mallory a letter I wrote, and Mallory scribbled on a piece of paper "i had a crush on him in college... but he's 5'8" ". I love you too Mal.
Liana Gergley
They say that the art of being human in this life is learning how to hold two disparate things at the same time. Loss and light. Pain and joy. Grief and celebration.
Mallory, you have been my teacher in the art of being human. You taught me about being brave. You taught me about resilience. You taught me about giggling (your laugh was so contagious), and appreciating the smallest of things like Cooper rolling around in the grass and a glass of red wine as we sit outside and watch the sun set. You taught me about taking things one day at a time and the value of an unlimited Netflix account. You taught me about how to turn ordinary pool parties on Friday nights into extraordinary moments of laughter and togetherness. You taught me about the courage it takes to open yourself to the messy imperfections of a relationship and also gave me the best advice each time i was convinced that every frat boy in college was going to be my husband. You taught me that 3 shots of espresso in my almond milk latte is always better than 2 and that we are courageous and strong enough to live without certainty.
You taught me about the unexpected yet perfect places where friendship happens - a beach in Cabo, a cozy couch in Pittsburgh, the kitchen table at your house on El Camino. You taught me that being a friend means saying both “i’m right here,” “i love you” and “can you please pass the fries.” You taught me about being curious and probing about this planet and why it works the way it does. You taught me that the perfect Saturday afternoon requires nothing more than Acai bowls, getting massages and laughing at a rom com until our stomachs hurt. You taught me that there is no moment we cannot endure and no feeling we can’t walk through.
Mallory, today I am celebrating your glorious existence and saying thank you for all the things that you have taught me. More than anything else, you taught me about being human - about letting our hearts be big enough and spacious enough to hold all the textures of this life.
Today I am here with so many people who adore you and I am filled with joy for having laughed with you, spent time with you and been human with you. I am forever grateful to you for showing me how to live.
I love you forever, I will miss you deeply and and when I find myself taking a deep breath on a sunny day I will look up at the sky and smile, knowing “that’s what Mal would do.”
David Hammerman
Hello Everyone,
I am David Hammerman, or as Diane may have introduced me a time or a thousand, Mallory’s future husband. A few years ago, Jesse called me to say he had an incredible girl for me and she would change my life. He went on to describe how smart, beautiful and amazing she was. Needless to say, that woman was Mallory.
A few days later, I was meeting this strikingly beautiful woman at Superba and over a two and a half hour dinner, I was blown away by her charm, ability to listen and most of all, her smile. I’ll let you all in on a little secret - considering I am here today with my loving boyfriend Kyle, the reason we did not work out was 100% me and definitely not her. While I may not have met the love of my life that night, I met someone I will love the rest of my life.
Considering I met Mallory on somewhat false pretenses, I thought the only appropriate story to tell today was how I came out to her.
It was February of 2016 and Mallory was at UCLA in Santa Monica. I went over to the hospital a sweaty mess, which only compounded when Diane refused to leave us alone for more than approximately 20 seconds. After Mallory, somewhat forcefully, made Diane take a lunch break, I gave Mallory the details of the previous few months of my life, which involved lots of sex, drugs and rock and roll (or EDM music to be factual), an ill-fated trip to Mexico and ultimately, coming to terms with my sexuality.
Mallory looked at me with her mouth agape and then burst out laughing. When she stopped, she looked at me (pardon the French here but Mallory’s words, not mine) and said “you’ve got to be shitting me, you made that all up.” I believe I told her “no, I’m not that creative but maybe we should turn it into a movie.” My joke wasn’t that funny but she went into a fit of laughter so hard that the monitors went off and a nurse came in to check on her - a fact we kept as secret from Diane, so I didn’t get banned from the hospital. When she settled down, she had me come over and gave me a big air hug. That moment right there was when I knew I had a special friend. She had every right to have felt jilted, that I lied to her and be angry with me and instead she showered me in love, acceptance and laughter. Mallory was such a unique soul. She saw the world for all its absurdity and chose to fight through and live as long and as fully as she could.
I’ll end with a few lines from the note that I wrote to Mallory last Sunday. Mallory, I love you and am grateful for the the effect you had on me. I consider myself to be a lucky man to have gotten the chance to be a part of your life.
Bo Abrams
Mallory -
Of course, your words are traveling across the digital universe right now being posted by friends and embraced by strangers, who write back wanting to thank you for sharing your life.
So so many people have reached out to me to say “I didn’t personally know Mallory, but she was an inspiration”.
I think I can speak on behalf of everyone here when I say your writing is special - almost indescribably so. Your ability to dive down and reflect and introspect, then resurface, before laying out what most of us could only feel was unparalleled. But we will get to that. What makes you special to me is much more effortless. I remember, as a child, for the first time seeing you perform your mandatory therapy - with that decompression vest accompanied by a mouthpiece that didn’t allow you to speak. Seeing sweet little you with that big loud machine was understandably startling, but before I could react, you smiled and made everything okay.
20 years later, and you did the same thing, whether that was at UCLA, Stanford, or UPMC, or at your apartment or home - when anyone walked into a room, unsure of how to be or act around the machines, you were there, regardless of whatever was going on around you, you smiled and made everything ok.
(Now I will address what I am sure to be a completely packed house), Mallory was popular – like big time popular. And as you can imagine for Diane, scheduling all the visitors for visits required intense time management. So I’d text Diane and Mal and say I was free to come by on a particular day or weekend and Diane would promptly schedule for me to come in 30 minutes or so before Mallory would have a therapy that prevented her from speaking.
For the first 30 minutes or so, we’d talk back and forth about school, work, boys, girls, books, and everything that we could just chat about. Then, right before Mal started therapy, Diane would remind me that it was my job to speak non-stop to Mal for the next hour and that Mal would be unable to respond. When this first happened, I realized that I was Diane’s neighborhood schmoozer whose job was to somehow speak hours on end with incredible stories from the front lines of my desk job… Still, Mal would start therapy and, once again, remind me that she wouldn’t be able to respond, so I wouldn’t feel bad if my jokes fell flat, but of course after I’d say something absurd, like describing the surfboard I took to the face on my vacation, she’d somehow muster up a “that’s hilarious” through the mouthpiece. Even when she was in the middle of her therapy, she smiled and made everything ok.
Michelle and I were talking about this last night, it’s hard to find particular stories about what made Mal so special to us. But really, it was the ease with which she connected to people. When we spoke with her, it didn’t matter if we were talking about the fundamental atomic structure of the universe, or about the terrible date I had last night – each moment in either dialogue felt remarkable. There was so much going on in her own life, but she made sure to connect and check in and be there with you, no matter how small a moment it was.
Mal, while I relish how you simply made people feel at all times, your writing was something to be revered, as it is in this moment. There’s a consensus favorite piece that seems to be everywhere now – you know, the one where you talk about how lucky we are to be here, in this universe – intelligent beings with purpose and intention – the result of exploding stars millions of years ago which make up the individual atoms that form us. You remind us that even if we feel small in the universe that we are made up of those giant stars, merely by chance, and that, therefore, we should feel big. Well if we are approaching this mathematically and scientifically, then I agree, we are lucky to be here, and I am even luckier to have ended up across the street from you 20 years ago. And maybe physics can even explain the reason we are all here now – you are and always were the biggest, brightest star, and as such, had the strongest gravitational pull, drawing us in and allowing us to orbit around and bask in your light.
Thank you for starting Lunges4Lungs with Michelle and me. And thank you for personally thanking each of the hundreds of people who posted videos for the campaign – I can’t tell you how many people felt like superstars for that. I found a purpose I didn’t know existed, and sharing your story continues to raise funding to combat CF and lung transplant rejection. Thank you for inspiring me to become an organ donor – I’m sure I am not the only one that was moved to sign up after you posted about its importance.
I promise we are not done and I do not think it is a stretch to say that because of you, the people in this room now will feel responsible to try and eradicate CF from this planet. I’m so proud to have you, Micah, Mark, and Diane as family, if they have room for the goofy kid across the street. This, now, giant family will make sure to let the world know about your light and we will use it to make this world more like it should be - like you Mallory.
Natasha Gerente
Mallory to me was like a journey, being friends with her was a constant adventure
and in the high like in the lows she would put on that smile and say something ‘’book
worthy’’. Mallory had the gift of making everything seem almost easy and she taught
me to care less about what people thought and to embrace life. And so, we did, from
that time we almost got arrested in Vegas to all the nights spent over at the Smith’s
around the kitchen table - from the Hawaiian escapades to Diane’s amazing talks
about dating and who was the cutie in town - we took in every second of it and lived
it fully. I do have to say though there is one thing I was never able to embrace fully
and that was when she would pee in the pool during practice, we eventually trained
her to do it in a corner or just not be so honest about it...That’s the thing with Mall,
her honesty was sometimes almost humorous. I remember when I first moved to LA
and she told me “at first I wasn’t sure if something was wrong with you or if you were
just foreign”. She made me laugh so much and I know I am not the only one. I am
sure most of you are still thinking wait so, what happened in Vegas? Don’t worry
everyone it was PG. I love everything about Mall, her family, her friends, her humour,
even those mucus pictures I had to take and send to Diane so we could
acknowledge a little woo woo from her and if it was really good a little Diane dance.
So, I say, let’s embrace life and live every second! Let’s make her proud! Aloha
Mallory, thank you for the amazing journey!
Becca Sadwick
Trying to capture the life and essence of such an extraordinary person seems impossible. Though that’s somewhat fitting, given how many times Mallory and her incredible family did the impossible. From providing a life that she described with gratitude as “incredible and fun and filled with awe and surprise” despite the challenges CF posed, to finding treatment options that defied medical knowledge and training, including breakthroughs that may very well change medical science forever. Mallory came from a family of miracle workers, who are ensuring that her legacy of helping others is continued.
Every aspect of my life is changed for the better for having known Mallory, as I’m sure is true for so many of us. I wouldn’t have met my fiancé Tyler if it weren’t for her, and she was the first person he confided in for relationship advice. Mal encouraged Tyler to “just go for it” and ask me out, though she never betrayed his confidence by relaying any of this to me. She was an incredible listener and friend.
Tyler suggested that I talk directly to Mal today, so that’s what I’m going to do. But Mal, I’m going to need your help if I’m to come close to capturing the life of the strong, brilliant, and kind person you were.
We talked about the creative ways to ensure you’d be a bridesmaid in our wedding regardless of where you were—even suggesting getting your hair and makeup done if you were in the hospital in Pittsburgh and piping you through on an iPad—but had no contingency plan for capturing your memory instead of your beautiful smile.
You wrote in one of your blog posts, “With constant adaptation comes a remarkable resilience. When my original goals become unrealistic, I compromise. When those new goals become unrealistic, I compromise again.”
And Mal, that’s what all of us who love you are doing now. Our original goal was for you to live a long, healthy, happy life with the family and career you’d always wanted. When that became unrealistic, we compromised, clinging to the hope of stealing a few more precious years with you. Since that’s now unrealistic, we compromise again. Keeping you present in our hearts, enriching our lives through the thousands of things that remind us of you everyday.
Those things that keep your memory so vivid are different for all of us, though I suspect many overlap. There are things that are just characteristically you—like yoga, the beach, volleyball, iced coffee with soymilk, and your love of dogs and the environment. And then there are the little bits of Mallory-isms that are unique to all of our relationships with you. Every time I have a “fall on the floor laughing” moment--especially over something that no one else finds funny--I think of you. Like that time Ari concluded a story with, “I’m not trying to be profound or anything,” and I replied, “Don’t worry, you weren’t” and the two of us proceeded to laugh so hard it cleared mucus from your lungs.
You had this incredible way of proving support to your friends, coupled with a beautiful honesty that made you one of my closest confidants. Like this time when we were at a bar and I lamented that a guy I’d been talking to had called me Type A, and you sagely replied, “You are Type A…but sweet!”
There are “bigger things” that remind me of you often, whether they be recounting stories from our summer in Hawaii with my sister Ari, playing our Hozier theme song on repeat, or recalling how we’d go back and forth between our favorite acai bowl spots because we liked the gluten-free granola from The Health Bar but the contents of the acai bowls from Bogarts better. Even Marriott hotels remind me of the time we hid out from Hurricane Iselle with Ari and Natasha to ensure we didn’t lose electricity .
And then there are the daily reminders that keep you top of mind everyday, like table salt, tight parking spots, foam rollers, and Whole Foods--to name only a very few. I even think of you every time I eat salsa, because of that time you picked up a tub of salsa and asked, “What's this salsa called? Medium?”
I told you on my final visit to Pittsburgh that the true reason you were an inspiration to me wasn't just because of what you endured and overcame with such grace and optimism, but because you were still so interested in other people and the world around you. You were always selflessly interested and supportive of the people in your life, so devoted to their success and happiness regardless of the challenges or uncertainties you were experiencing.
Before transplant, I used to worry about texting you too late on Eastern Time. Now I worry about all of the texts we’re both missing out on--the moments that make me want to text you and realizing that there’s no beautiful smile receiving them.
At the beginning of your final hospital stint, we were still optimistic that this was just a bump in the road. I had a barrage of questions, then worried that I’d be causing you more stress by asking you to relay the details of your battle. You replied in the most characteristically Mal way, saying “Never! You’re a source of light, not stress!” I love you for your ability to understand the intention in your friends’ hearts, knowing how strongly your squad had your back. We know that you would do anything in the world for us, as we would for you.
And now, we’re left cherishing the memories and contributions you gave us. Including this piece of wisdom, which I hope brings everyone who loves you the same comfort it brings me. “I don’t want to be happy every moment of my life — I truly believe we are more capable of experiencing deep joy when we’ve also experienced the contrast of deep pain.” I’m clinging to the hope that the deep pain we’re all experiencing from the unfairness of your promising life cut short will make the beauty of your memory that we carry with us even stronger.
We love you, Mal. We will feel your presence forever.
Scratch Notes--Stories I love that didn’t quite flow in the speech but wanted to remember anyway <3
Your mom wrote in the book Mallory’s Garden, which my sisters and I read incessantly as our favorite bedtime book for years, that one day CF will stand for “Cure Found.” Thanks to you, that’s closer than ever to coming true.
Or that time in Hawaii when we met some other 20something recent college grads staying in a hostel. When they called later that night asking to meet up, the only thing Ari and I heard on our end was you excitedly saying, “Oooh..a party? Let me consult with my cohorts.” And then we all laughed at the way you’d chosen to word that...before agreeing that we’d rather stay in that night and watch “Weeds” and eat the coconut peanut butter we’d bought at the Kailua Farmer’s Market.
Daniel climbing over the car and prompting me to call 911 because I didn't know you’d told him he could borrow a surf board
Mazda sedans, t-shirts with French writing on them that we don’t understand. Like that time you bought a shirt that says
And we decided that you’d have been better off walking around in a shirt that said “I like idiots,” because at least that could have been sarcastic, while this was fairly literal.
Our Mark Smith book club—some fantastic recommendations of which are currently on my nightstand—and how I decided to return the favor by sending you a copy of my favorite childhood book Watership Down.
Talia Stone & Gaby Heffessee
Hi I’m Talia and I’m Gaby. We’ve been best friends with Mallory since kindergarten. September marked 20 years as the three musketeers. We feel eternally grateful that we were able to spend so much time with Mallory.
Every time the three of us were together, an outsider looking in would think we were crazy highlighted by blasting songs and singing at people as we drove down the street, wearing Gaby’s crazy clothes, dancing around the room, going up to strangers and asking them weird questions. It didn’t matter what we were doing, we’d always laugh until we cried. Obviously this loss is devastating beyond words as we have lost a part of our family, but we would like you all to remember Mallory for her brilliance, compassion, patience, eloquence, sense of humor, and very, very quirky habits, for example her typing fingers that many of you may not know originated in 4th grade as we did type2learn with Mr. P. For us Mallory was our life day in and day out, and it is hard to isolate that into a few moments through the years, but we’d like to spend the next few minutes telling stories that will hopefully bring smiles to everyone’s face.
We were always a little different.
So while other kids would go outside, or to the cafeteria for recess and lunch, we would spend our entire break seeking refuge from the outside. We became best friends with Nurse Didi who would let eat in the nurse’s office. If that was unavailable, we’d go grade papers for our favorite teachers in exchange to let us eat inside. When we were in middle school, we became hall monitors, otherwise known as eagles, so pretty much our dreams came true because every day was an indoor eating party.
We were always a little different.
While other kids would play with toys, we would build rides for Mallory’s cats. We would tie a rope around the stair balcony and connect it to a basket filled with blankets, so the cats would be comfortable. We’d raise and lower the cat like an elevator, so inventive. One time Diane walked in, startled and knowing we were misbehaving, we dropped the rope (with the cat at the top of the stairs). Don’t worry, the cat loved it, we’re certain.
We were always a little different.
Mallory was a great writer and one time she used her special talent coupled with Talia’s schemey personality to make me a Jdate profile and did not tell me about it for months. It started by saying, Hola, Muchachos! I’m Gaby, a spunky funky Argentinian chica born and raised in Beverly Hills and also included lines like I love romantic long walks on the beach but also getting extremely drunk at a club (that’s how you know I’m well-rounded). By the way she’s still single, gentleman, get at her.
Ultimately, we were raised together, and we raised each other. We shaped our personalities around each other so Mal will always be part of us. Her light will never fade as she lives in all of us and guides us through. So every time we look at the sky and see those bright stars or look at the ocean and see that glisten on the water, we will know that is her sparkle, and there will always be her sparkles. Breathe easy and rest in peace Mal. We will always love you.
Marissa Schnitman
Mallory Smith is the best soul I’ve ever known. Her courage and grace in the face of such insurmountable odds will be a guiding light to all of us here today, in San Francisco, Pittsburgh, and across the global CF community. I’ve never loved a friend like I love Mal and I will forever cherish the gift of having her as the brightest light in my life since she was born, 17 days after me, 25 years ago. When reflecting on the longest friendship I’ve ever had - if I am not mistaken, our fist play date took place at 2 months old - I’m in awe that in spite of the terrifying ordeal of having to confront her mortality, Mallory never let that interfere with her insatiable thirst to live her life to the fullest, to always put other’s needs ahead of hers and to give more than she ever took. As I think about the most joyful memories I shared with Mal growing up, a ton took place during the summer time. After sharing our pre-school years at Temple Isaiah, we went onto different schools - so, it was during summers that we got to spend extended periods of time together; and invariably that was the most fun, entertaining time of the year for me. At Camp Hess Kramer sleep away camp during our elementary and middle school years, you could find us Israeli dancing, mooning maria, or getting totally busted stalking the cute older boys in leadership. How we thought it would be acceptable to keep the camera flash on while taking stalker photos is beyond me. In high school during our many summer trips to Maui, all of the handsome older guys on the beach would flock to Mal, assuming she was in her twenties and I was her shy, less graceful 12 year old sister….mind you, even though I’m older! In typical Mallory fashion, she never left her wing girl behind - it was both of us or none of us.
Our summer fun would often carry over to that last Saturday before Thanksgiving. As it would be, today. For years on this day, before heading over to Mallory’s Garden, we had a tradition of having a girly spa day. Massages followed by a haircut at daniel gravel salon and getting our make up done. Pretty cheesy, I know. Full disclosure, we shared a love of many cheesy things— from the movie The Proposal, to the soap show “Nashville,” to the band Coldplay, whom we saw live together in 2009. I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing the cheesiness up even a level higher, but I’d like to read aloud (because I can’t sing) some of the lyrics to a Coldplay song called Green Eyes. I know Mal has blue eyes, but after this song came on from her hospital playlist on Monday night, I realized it perfectly encapsulates how I feel about her. Just as the words comforted Mal during some of her toughest times maybe they can help carry us through our pain and grief.
Honey you are a rock, Upon which I stand. And I came here to talk, I hope you understand. That green eyes, the spotlight, shines upon you. And how could anybody deny you. I came here with a load, And it feels so much lighter since I met you. And honey you should know, that I could never go on without you. Green eyes. Honey you are the sea, upon which I float. And I came here to talk, I think you should know. That green eyes, You’re the one that I wanted to find. And anyone, who tried to, deny you, must be out of their mind. Honey you are a rock, Upon which I stand.
Mal— thank you for being my rock, for teaching me how to weather storms and be the best person I can be. Like a rock, the joy that I got from being around you will last forever. I love you and miss you so very much. Rest in peace and paradise. --Marissa Schnitman