Feb 21, 2025 – Everyone leaves a legacy. Whose do you look to for glimmers of light and hope? Beyond beautiful, what I find so powerful about this card is that it only came to be because one Cardie Community member acknowledged the inspiring life of another.
After we shared in a Cardie Newsletter that Pamela Salem O’Hagan had passed — one year ago today — Lauren Rowell, in her always-eloquent way, left the comment: “While I only knew Pamela through these stories, she was an inspiration to me. May her love and legacy live on – reminding us to look for the glimmers in the dark.” And a card was born.
I’d met Pamela and her husband Michael while walking our dogs here on Miami Beach more than a decade ago; they were easing their way into retirement from successful acting careers in London and Los Angeles. All our locals came to know that this gracious British beauty had played opposite stars like Sean Connery and Ian McKellen yet, in her company, we felt like the most charming, witty, and fascinating people she’d ever encountered. She really listened, heard you, and truly wanted to understand all points of view.
We all marveled at how Pam somehow managed to be her joyful, indomitable self over the years, despite a broken elbow that surgeons had to go back in three times to rescrew. The double-mastectomy. Cancer taking Michael. How she kept calm and carried on while increasingly debilitating Parkinson’s painfully bent and twisted her like a still-pretty and always-smiling pretzel. Only to learn she had stomach cancer.
I’ve told the story before of how Pam once phoned me on her way home from a doctor’s appointment with, “Good news!” She’d just been told that her form of cancer was so rare that it had no cure. 😳 “Pam,” I managed, “I’m missing the ‘good news’ here. And how can you sound so, well, delighted?!?”
She didn’t skip a beat, saying in her crisp Queen’s English, “Oh, darling, it’s good news in that they’ve assigned a team of world-class specialists to try all kinds of experimental treatments on me. Poor things, it was clearly hard for them to have to explain that the drugs and chemo and radiation and whatever else they can throw at this will not be at all pleasant and, in any case, the treatments will likely be of no use to me. They were all so kind and apologetic that I assured them not to worry, it was an honor and a privilege to be their guinea pig and, hopefully, what they learn from treating me will help them beat it in someone else down the line.” She laughed, “I finally had to put the discussion to rest by telling them the Parkinson’s is surely going to kill me long before these blasted tummy tumors do anyway!”
Thoroughly dumbfounded, I wondered how in the world she could have such a relentlessly positive attitude. On she went through chemo, and one Saturday morning I called to ask what I might do or bring to support her. She asked, “Have you any watermelon? It does seem to help keep my mouth somewhat moist.”
I delivered my container of chunks, we talked for a bit and, as I started to turn toward home, I remembered I’d brought along a card for her that a caring Cardie had sent c/o my address. Standing at the patio gate with rosy bougainvillea at her back, Pamela read the card and tears started to flow. “I feel so loved and cared for,” she said and I sighed, “Only you, Pam, would cry not in frustration, or about the pain and discomfort, or losing your crowning glory, or the lousy odds, or what the future holds,” and she jumped in and said what I was about to, “Oh no! I’m crying because people truly are so kind, and I feel so blessed to be surrounded by so many of them.”
In my friend’s final weeks, I’d take my little Bose speaker over to her patio, where we’d not talk and just listen to classical music with birds chirping and trees rustling softly in the background. Pam was often lulled to sleep sitting there, leaving me to reflect on all that she’d taught me by example over the years.
Acceptance was her way of dealing. Not resisting or insisting, just playing the cards she was dealt. Gratitude was a gift she gave herself — regularly acknowledging all the good that came her way helped soothe her soul. Humor here, there, and everywhere got her through, her boisterous laugh one that those who loved her can hear in our hearts to this day. Compassion shown through acts like packing meals for the homeless with her church group every Saturday and donating as much as she did to ASPCA. Peace and Strength she’d found in daily meditation and prayer.
One day she was so excited to share a new card idea. “I know you only publish either what you have written or original messages from the Cardies, but just this once I think this Chinese proverb belongs on a card.” You’ll see the resulting Nest card below: “That the birds of worry and care fly above your head, this you cannot change. But that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent.”
From Pam I learned that the more we give our attention to something or someone who worries or upsets us — or to situations we fear — the darker our thoughts become and the stronger our concerns grow. The light of our spirit dims. While our intention may be to let our minds go to whatever is bothering us in hopes of feeling more in control, in effect, we are simply giving our power over to the worry, person, or problem. Instead, I believe Pamela would say, we want to think of ourselves as lightkeepers who stand strong and firm, never allowing our lights to fade. Focus not on the gloom and doom but rather on what we can do to bring about what we want to see. Keep our attention on building trust that we will be fine no matter what may come.
Through the Cardie Newsletter, many of you followed Pamela’s journey over the years, and left supportive comments, too. So on this day that feels like it’s been forever and just yesterday since we lost her, here is what this remarkable woman wrote to you in a comment while she still could. “My lovely Cardie friends … All of you have your own battles and I can only pray you are surrounded by as many Guardian Angels as God has sent me. Blessings and thanks to you all. Pamela.”
Jodee Stevens
Founder & Chief Creative
Thank you for wishing to honor Pam’s great love of life — or to simply express your own.
For security purposes on this Cardie Community platform, commenters must be logged in to post.
We appreciate you helping to make this caring community what it is here today. You do Pamela proud.
Feb 21, 2025 – Everyone leaves a legacy. Whose do you look to for glimmers of light and hope? Beyond beautiful, what I find so powerful about this card is that it only came to be because one Cardie Community member acknowledged the inspiring life of another.
After we shared in a Cardie Newsletter that Pamela Salem O’Hagan had passed — one year ago today — Lauren Rowell, in her always-eloquent way, left the comment: “While I only knew Pamela through these stories, she was an inspiration to me. May her love and legacy live on – reminding us to look for the glimmers in the dark.” And a card was born.
I’d met Pamela and her husband Michael while walking our dogs here on Miami Beach more than a decade ago; they were easing their way into retirement from successful acting careers in London and Los Angeles. All our locals came to know that this gracious British beauty had played opposite stars like Sean Connery and Ian McKellen yet, in her company, we felt like the most charming, witty, and fascinating people she’d ever encountered. She really listened, heard you, and truly wanted to understand all points of view.
We all marveled at how Pam somehow managed to be her joyful, indomitable self over the years, despite a broken elbow that surgeons had to go back in three times to rescrew. The double-mastectomy. Cancer taking Michael. How she kept calm and carried on while increasingly debilitating Parkinson’s painfully bent and twisted her like a still-pretty and always-smiling pretzel. Only to learn she had stomach cancer.
I’ve told the story before of how Pam once phoned me on her way home from a doctor’s appointment with, “Good news!” She’d just been told that her form of cancer was so rare that it had no cure. 😳 “Pam,” I managed, “I’m missing the ‘good news’ here. And how can you sound so, well, delighted?!?”
She didn’t skip a beat, saying in her crisp Queen’s English, “Oh, darling, it’s good news in that they’ve assigned a team of world-class specialists to try all kinds of experimental treatments on me. Poor things, it was clearly hard for them to have to explain that the drugs and chemo and radiation and whatever else they can throw at this will not be at all pleasant and, in any case, the treatments will likely be of no use to me. They were all so kind and apologetic that I assured them not to worry, it was an honor and a privilege to be their guinea pig and, hopefully, what they learn from treating me will help them beat it in someone else down the line.” She laughed, “I finally had to put the discussion to rest by telling them the Parkinson’s is surely going to kill me long before these blasted tummy tumors do anyway!”
Thoroughly dumbfounded, I wondered how in the world she could have such a relentlessly positive attitude. On she went through chemo, and one Saturday morning I called to ask what I might do or bring to support her. She asked, “Have you any watermelon? It does seem to help keep my mouth somewhat moist.”
I delivered my container of chunks, we talked for a bit and, as I started to turn toward home, I remembered I’d brought along a card for her that a caring Cardie had sent c/o my address. Standing at the patio gate with rosy bougainvillea at her back, Pamela read the card and tears started to flow. “I feel so loved and cared for,” she said and I sighed, “Only you, Pam, would cry not in frustration, or about the pain and discomfort, or losing your crowning glory, or the lousy odds, or what the future holds,” and she jumped in and said what I was about to, “Oh no! I’m crying because people truly are so kind, and I feel so blessed to be surrounded by so many of them.”
In my friend’s final weeks, I’d take my little Bose speaker over to her patio, where we’d not talk and just listen to classical music with birds chirping and trees rustling softly in the background. Pam was often lulled to sleep sitting there, leaving me to reflect on all that she’d taught me by example over the years.
Acceptance was her way of dealing. Not resisting or insisting, just playing the cards she was dealt. Gratitude was a gift she gave herself — regularly acknowledging all the good that came her way helped soothe her soul. Humor here, there, and everywhere got her through, her boisterous laugh one that those who loved her can hear in our hearts to this day. Compassion shown through acts like packing meals for the homeless with her church group every Saturday and donating as much as she did to ASPCA. Peace and Strength she’d found in daily meditation and prayer.
One day she was so excited to share a new card idea. “I know you only publish either what you have written or original messages from the Cardies, but just this once I think this Chinese proverb belongs on a card.” You’ll see the resulting Nest card below: “That the birds of worry and care fly above your head, this you cannot change. But that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent.”
From Pam I learned that the more we give our attention to something or someone who worries or upsets us — or to situations we fear — the darker our thoughts become and the stronger our concerns grow. The light of our spirit dims. While our intention may be to let our minds go to whatever is bothering us in hopes of feeling more in control, in effect, we are simply giving our power over to the worry, person, or problem. Instead, I believe Pamela would say, we want to think of ourselves as lightkeepers who stand strong and firm, never allowing our lights to fade. Focus not on the gloom and doom but rather on what we can do to bring about what we want to see. Keep our attention on building trust that we will be fine no matter what may come.
Through the Cardie Newsletter, many of you followed Pamela’s journey over the years, and left supportive comments, too. So on this day that feels like it’s been forever and just yesterday since we lost her, here is what this remarkable woman wrote to you in a comment while she still could. “My lovely Cardie friends … All of you have your own battles and I can only pray you are surrounded by as many Guardian Angels as God has sent me. Blessings and thanks to you all. Pamela.”
Jodee Stevens
Founder & Chief Creative
Thank you for wishing to honor Pam’s great love of life — or to simply express your own.
For security purposes on this Cardie Community platform, commenters must be logged in to post.
We appreciate you helping to make this caring community what it is here today. You do Pamela proud.
Thank you for sharing your dear friend Pamela with our Cardie community. And thank you for sharing your reflections of the lessons you learned from her. Here’s to being light-bearers who seek the glimmers of hope. Remembering her with warmth and yes, some tears.
I join others in feeling like I knew Pamela. What an extraordinary soul! May her light shine on.
through my tears —
you, jodee stevens,
do us cardies proud, ♥
it is a great thing you have done
with your company.
providing a space for
so many to be
their best selves. ♥
thank you, your cards bring such joy in times of celebration and so much comfort during those dark days of sorrow and grief.
We all got to know Pamela through you Jodee, and I thank you. To cope with all that was thrown at her with such grace is extraordinary. I know you miss your dear, wonderful friend and I offer comfort on this sad anniversary.
Pamela was a natural beauty both inside & outside. She was kind, giving & compassionate, as was Michael her dear husband. Pamela was all that is good and precious in our world. Heaven has one more angel looking out for us. I am so lucky to have shared precious moments with her and Michael. She will always be a part of the people whose lives she touched. She lives on by the example she set everyday no matter what.
What a beautiful tribute to someone who had a beautiful spirit. Thank you for caring and sharing.