Robyn Steely

The first time I met Julie was back when I was a few days into my then-role as Write Around Portland’s Executive Director. Ben Moorad, one of Write Around’s co-founders, took me to meet her. I wasn’t actually sure who Julie was or why we needed to meet. Honestly, I don’t remember what we talked about. But I do remember Julie’s rapid fire curiosity and how she swore like a sailor. I remember how she made me feel. She made me feel great, like she genuinely wanted to hear my answers to her cascade of questions.

I walked away still not exactly understanding who Julie was in the world, but I soon learned and appreciated how important she was to Write Around Portland—with her advice, time, support, connections, and her particular Julie brand of cheerleading. And I learned how important she was to me.

Over the years, I’d show up wherever she was working and bring her some Diet Coke. One time I dropped by her College Possible office. When I handed over the 12-pack, she immediately started asking me, “How are you? What do you need? How can I help you?” in rapid succession. At her core, Julie was generous and wanted to help, to give, to connect, and do something for everyone. I said, “Julie, I don’t need anything. I just wanted to see you.” She was absolutely clueless that I wanted most—what so many, many of us wanted—was her presence. It was precious to be on the receiving end of her gorgeous smile. Fucking precious, as Julie might say.

A couple months after my dad died, Julie and I went out to lunch. I was telling her how sad I was and how hard it was to lose him. Julie said, “My mom died 15 years ago, and not a week goes by when I don’t pick up the phone to call her.” I guess that’s what I want to do right now. I want to call Julie. I want to tell her, “Holy shit, this fucking sucks. I miss you.”