Lynn R Anders

April 16, 1964May 20, 2020

Lynn R Anders, age 56, of Seattle, Washington passed away on Wednesday May 20, 2020. Lynn was born April 16, 1964.

Because of the current pandemic and the inability to assemble as a community to celebrate, mourn and support the Anders family at a time of great loss. Fond memories and expressions of sympathy may be shared at for the Anders family.


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Lynn R Anders

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Evan Marquit

May 30, 2020

Evan Marquit --- Part 1

I never got to spend much time with Lynn but I admired her right away, from our first introduction.

I'm pretty sure that happened in the mid-90’s when Sally brought Lynn along on a weekend trip to the Ostrander ski hut in the Yosemite National Park backcountry with a tightly-knit group of friends of Sally's and mine. Knowing none of us in advance but Sally, Lynn managed to not just “fit in,” but to really ramp the group up to higher heights of zaniness and down to deeper depths of meaning and connectedness than we’d have ever reached on our own. She also showed plenty of comfort and grace carrying a pack and free-heal shredding the slopes of the Sierra, miles from the nearest road! Go Lynn!

I don’t have a good memory but I’m pretty sure that after dinner one evening on that trip, Lynn instigated a round of completely whacko/gonzo freestyle-rap-cheerleading in the hut. I had never imagined, no less seen, anything like that before! Who was this brilliant and crazy character and how did she wind up with a mind capable of generating these ideas and getting others onboard with her? Go Lynn!

Jen Tashima

May 30, 2020

PART 2/2 (out of order)

Lynnie, I will remember all the things that made you human. You were always YOU, inhabiting yourself perfectly. Non-apologetic for things that didn’t matter, like a messy house or dishes in the sink. While battling this horrible disease you learned how to be gentle and forgiving with yourself, and to accept help when offered.

While your body was failing you, your heart & spirit were growing in depth & beauty. I found a text you sent last June where you shared notes you’d written to yourself. “ We are love. I don’t need to change or fix anyone else or change the world to match my vision. Everything is as it should be. My job is to be, to live life from joy. Follow my heart and I can’t go wrong.”

Jackson, you’re your Mom’s ultimate pride and joy & the biggest blessing in her life. Many of her beautiful qualities live on in you. She was and is so proud of your inner strength & your capacity for love.

Ellen, Irv, Bruce & Jeff, my prayers & love are with all of you as you grieve this loss & reflect on the joy she brought to this world.

Lastly, Erik. My heart goes out to you because I know you feel like yours is breaking. You were there for her right to the end, and that is such an incredible gift of love. She’ll always be with you. Stay open.

Lynnie, 2 hrs before you passed from this world to the next I was driving home when a huge rainbow stretched over the Utah fields. I know one of your fav songs was the Hawaiian version of ’Somewhere over the Rainbow’, and I pulled over and said a prayer. I miss you so deeply, but I’m glad you’re out of pain. I will see you in the mountains, the rainbows and the sunbeams shooting from the heavens. I'll try to honor you by finding joy & beauty in every single day. Til we meet again, my beloved Bat Girl friend. . . xox Jennie

Jennie Tashima

May 30, 2020

PART 1: Jen’s Tribute

Lynnie, where to begin? I’m unable to fit my entire message onto this website, so I’ll attempt to post it in 2 parts

Lynn Ruth, aka Bat Girl, you have been my dearest friend & closest confidant since grade school. We were inseparable. You were my motivating force throughout hg school, my partner in crime, & have been the source of more belly laughs over the last 50 yrs than most humans are lucky enough to enjoy in a lifetime. I have flash backs our McDonalds burger-eating contest (we tied at 4 each) & one of us prank calling boys in 7th gr while the other one listened in on the extension in my parents’ room. X-C, gymnastics and track wouldn’t have been half as fun without you & Wease. I remember practicing our balance beam routines in the strangest of places. In the classroom you were a force to be reckoned with. You had a brilliant mind that could out-reason half the teachers in school, and they knew it.

My all-time fav hg school memory was trying to tame your long, wildly curly hair. Every morning we’d get off the bus & run straight to the girls’ bathroom armed with a brush & a can of hair spray. From this losing battle came your ‘Bat Girl’ nickname, because your hair would frizz out around your head like big bat wings. While we were attending to your unruly mop each morning, you’d sing opera at the top of your lungs in the bathroom until we were on the floor laughing. You were spontaneous, kooky & one of a kind.

In the 2 decades after college you wrote me long letters about impt stuff. I saved them all. You were forever funny, humble and utterly yourself with no pretenses. What I admired most was your uncanny ability to keep life in perspective when things weren’t going your way. You focused on the blessings in front of you instead of the challenges. You were full of gratitude and positivity on a daily basis, and you shared that gift with all who knew you.

(Uh oh...out of space. On to part 2.)

Bart Miller

May 30, 2020

This photo (from ~2002, and on our fridge since) is a favorite. We had all spent a long day of biking in the rain and mud (White Rim Trail, in Utah). Gathered for dinner, Lynn stands out--living in the moment, center stage, probably singing, and certainly making the best of it. We do miss Lynn. I'm grateful to the many people who were close by her side (and in close touch) in her final weeks. I'm certain she felt loved right to the end. Thanks.

Margaret Elkins

May 29, 2020

Classic Lynnie!

Kelly Robinson

May 29, 2020

Lynn and I were classmates from 7th-12th grade. We lost touch after high school, but we were reconnected through Louise Lynch and Jennie Tashima when the three of them paid me a visit in 2010 when I was living in Ennis, MT. The moment Lynn and I saw each other after 28 years . . . it was if we had never been apart! The four of us spent four or five legendary days together!

On the day we were to float the Madison, I went over all of the rules: 1. wear shoes 2. plant your ass deep in the tube 3. tether your tube to someone else's 4. don't go near the bank of the river where there are low hanging trees or downed trees. Pretty simple, right?

We rented four tubes; one of them had a hole in it. While Lynn and I drove to town to replace it, Jennie and Louise decided that they would tether together because, they lovingly told me, "Lynn is a spaz" and they didn't want to flip. Our tubes were not the only thing tethered--our hearts were forever tethered that day. Not a ripple went by that we weren't laughing our butts off. Everything was funny! Everything! Lynn was SPF 100: red pants, a long sleeved white shirt, a wide brimmed sun hat, sneakers, and gloves. She was just so . . . Lynnie! Lynn and I were in bliss and joy and hysterical laughter until . . . Jennie couldn't keep her butt down in the tube, they went too close to shore, and a widow maker flipped her. She wasn't wearing shoes, and long story short . . . an ER trip ensued.

Floating down the river of life was only one of the outrageously hilarious memories we created in Montana. Lynn and I kept in close touch after that trip. She and her beloved Jackson visited MT again and I was able to spend a beautiful day with them. It was moving to see Lynn as a mom--Jackson was the center of her life.

When my mother died in 2012, Lynn told me, "Relationships continue long after someone dies. You have time to work things out with your mother."

I will forever see Lynn Anders in all things beautiful. <3

Margaret Elkins

May 29, 2020

I have known Lynn since freshman year of college. She is everything I am reading here in these kind and generous remembrances.

I want to say how grateful I am to have been pulled back into her orbit over the last year and a half. And I'll tell just one story, of how Lynn changed me forever in that time.

I had asked her to communicate something to me, I can't even recall what, but in hindsight I felt I had been too demanding of her. So I called her to apologize. She said, "You have nothing to apologize for. We are all forgiven for everything."

That last sentence blew open my mind. Not, You are forgiven. Or even, We are all forgiven. But, We are all forgiven for everything. It has truly changed my understanding of the grace of forgiveness. I have no idea how she knew that. But I will forever hold that truth in my soul.

In gratitude to you, my dear sweet Lynnie,
Margaret, or Marg said with a Vermont accent

Mary Lee McRoberts

May 29, 2020

It is one of the great privileges of my life to have shared Lynn’s cancer journey these past two years. She popped into my office one day seeking care. I said I’ll help you as much as I can and teach you what I know – that’s how it started. Her determination to beat cancer was formidable. Her spirit was awesome. And her bright goldenrod pants were a sight to behold.

One of the things I loved about Lynn was her ability to simply be in the present moment. I remember one day telling her after our session to go home and be with nature in her back yard, to glory in the sunshine and all living things. She texted me a picture later of her lying on the ground in her backyard, sleeping in the sun. Not on a chair, mind you, right on the ground. Jackson came home from school and took the picture, it was lovely.

I send my soft goodbye to Lynn today, knowing that her physical body is gone but her spirit lives on in Jackson, Erik, her family, and all of us who have had the grand privilege of sharing space with her. I’ll be seeing Lynn in the whisper of the wind, the rustle of trees – and every time I see goldenrod pants!

I taught Lynn about healing. She taught me about courage. We both experienced love. I’m grateful.

Wendy DuBow

May 29, 2020

There are two situations that repeated themselves over the many years of knowing Lynn that, for me, capture her wonderful and quirky essence...

1) She used to have her birthday parties every year at my house in Boulder. All of our friends from Ultimate would be sprawled all over the floor and couches, there would be a huge pile of shoes at the landing of the stairs, and Lynn would walk around serving everyone chunks of cookie dough on a platter. She would say in her inimitably logical way, "This is what people really want. The cookies are just an excuse to eat the dough.” I loved how she saw right through the norms and went straight to the core. But the funniest part was that the batter she offered was the kind you buy in a roll and slice (not homemade), AND she didn't slice it neatly, but rather only kind of cut it, and then separated the rest with her fingers, so each bite on offer was uniquely fingerprinted.

2) After Lynn moved away from Boulder, I would get regular phone calls filled with heavy breathing. Not prank calls, these were always her, rushing from one place to another. Out of breath, she would say, "Hi, I don't have very much time. I am ______, so just tell me one good thing from Wendy's day." Sometimes we would literally spend 2 minutes on the phone, then she would say, "OK, gotta go. I just wanted to say hi and hear your voice." As someone who hates talking on the phone, but loves my friends, I found this approach to be absolutely perfect. I wouldn't have thought it was "okay" to call someone you hadn't seen in months for such a quick talk. I cherish Lynn for so many reasons, but one is that she didn't let what was "okay or not okay by someone else's arbitrary standards" stop her. And neither should we.

sara smith

May 29, 2020

Lynn and I became fast friends when we met at the UW, and our friendship was a hilarious, original, adventurous ride filled with laughing, skiing, biking, hiking, and sharing of every detail of our lives. It was also deep and challenging, which is what made it such a gift.

For a long time after we moved apart, Lynn would send me birthday presents. They would arrive in worn envelopes and inside I’d typically find a fuzzy article of clothing wrapped in crinkled newspaper accompanied by a loving note scrawled on a sheet from the recycle bin. The gifts were beautiful items found at thrift shops. I, only the other hand, would buy her new items and wrap them in special paper, thinking delight in the crispness was part of the experience and showed how much I care. I was a bit judgemental of her approach.

Eventually, as life moved on, our gift exchanges morphed into cards or phone calls and then sometimes to just texted emojis. And now I see those early gifts and their imperfect wrapping in a new light.
In many ways Lynny was a messy package for me, but I see now what a great gift she gave me. I am not talking about the chic, eggplant-colored scarf that goes with absolutely everything, or the luscious orange mohair wrap that still keeps me warm. She gave me a container in which to learn and grow. She saw me, and she held firm to who she was, and we both learned. We held a space for each other. I learned that crisp perfection doesn’t matter. I learned about forgiveness for myself and others and the joy of acceptance, gratitude, and letting go.
I am so lucky to have lived in that container with her, and so sad we don’t get to see where we could go. I know she held this space with so many of you all who are reading this and I am so sorry for your loss. It is real, true, and deep, just like our beloved wife, daughter, mother, sister, aunt, and friend. Thank you, Thank you Lynny Anders for the great gifts you gave. In time they will outweigh the gaps you leave behind.

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