Remembering Keri Lynn, Forever

JAMESPORT, NY — My mother used to tell me, when I was growing up, that when it rained, God was crying.

The skies opened up Wednesday morning, one year to the day since Keri Lynn Stromski, 48, a beloved kindergarten teacher from Jamesport, died after a fierce battle with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer, leaving a trail of tears so far and wide that all of Riverhead seemed to be weeping.

Stromski made headlines around the world last March when one of her kindergarten students, whom she'd been instructing virtually, made a "hug machine" along with his family so that his favorite teacher could hug again, something she'd been missing so much. The story went viral and suddenly, the world knew something Riverhead had known all along — Keri Stromski was a bright light of love for the many who blossomed under her tutelage.

On Wednesday, the community she touched — with her heart, her advocacy for her students and school district, her tireless resolve to keep the quest for Stage IV metastatic breast cancer research going strong — gathered on social media to remember.

All agreed that it didn't seem like a year had passed, that the memories were as strong and present as the day she left. Family and friends shared memories of a woman who could be equally funny and fierce, sentimental and sassy, committed to her core values and so very, very courageous.

No one fought harder than Keri Lynn, no one embraced life more fully. From her TikToks during chemo to the colorful puppets and tutus she used to fill her classrooms with joy, Keri was a life force, pure and simple. She exuded joy, laughter, and so much love for those lucky enough to be blessed by her friendship.

Keri and I met through my work, I began writing about her journey soon after her diagnosis. And through long interviews, during which she explained the treatments and regimes she was following, the new paths she had chosen to explore, I learned so much. Not just about Keri's laser-focus on the need for research, on education, but about raising awareness in a nation that goes pink in October for Breast Cancer Awareness Month — "Pinktober," a time Stromski dubbed "the worst month of the year."

October, when the "pink-washing" and rah-rah and hoopla for "Save the Ta-Tas," the pink ribbons, balloons, and goodie bags of pink plastic beads, the proliferation of pink cocktails, parties, and empty pink promises had Stromski literally seeing red.

"Pink is not a cure," she said.

Despite the pink haze and hysteria of October, it's research that will make the difference, Stromski said often in her blog, "Faith Over Fear."

"Mammograms do not save lives. They are not a treatment, but a diagnostic tool," Stromski said. "Get your mammograms, and if you have dense breasts, ask for a sonogram. Thermography is also an option."

Research saves lives, she said. And therein, she said, lay her frustration; her mission was to flip the switch on where money raised is allocated, with a much higher percentage in the future dedicated to Stage 4 cancer.

But what I also learned, what we all learned from Keri, were lessons we've all carried with us, in our hearts, in every hour of every one of the 365 days since she's been gone. Lessons about how to truly live, even in the face of the unthinkable.

Lessons on how to find magic and glitter in the every day, on how to have an "ugly cry" in private and then go out and smile, because life is for living, and every day is a gift. #Onward has become my personal hashtag now, because if we are lucky and blessed enough to be here, then onward we should go, with tutus and disco balls and silliness and sunshine. Because life is too short not to smile, even when what we are facing is all too serious.

With her sweetness and smile, Keri Lynn imparted life-saving lessons about research, about fighting for what's right, about being an advocate and ally for her students and school district. And she did it all in her leg warmers and while wielding a karaoke mic, showing us all that even during the hardest of days, there's always time to sing at the top of your lungs and dance, even if it's while waiting for chemo.

"We Are Made Of Magic And Resilience." That was the title of one of Keri Lynn's morning posts, the posts on social media that brought so many of us together, to listen and share as she spoke about every step of her journey, her battle against the disease that she refused to let steal her strength and spirit. Keri Lynn, who dressed as a superhero and who was the greatest epitome of a real-life hero that I've ever known.

We've all missed those morning posts, her blog, her incredibly life-affirming TikToks.

Another wonderful thing she said: "I'm not having a pity party. They don't serve champagne at pity parties."

Tonight, have a toast, whether it be champagne, grape juice, or water, it doesn't matter which. What matters is the toast, the celebration, the lifting of hands and hearts to heaven to thank this woman who touched us all to our very cores.

This one's for you, Keri Lynn. Thank you for teaching us that life is for living. We live every day for the rest of forever, with your words and spirit and love in our collective hearts.