Last Saturday evening I and some of my fellow Clarkston Community Band members, along with a few hundred other people, attended the Southeastern Michigan Wind Ensemble (SEMWE) spring concert. The talent in this group is stunning, it’s members are mostly current and retired music directors. People who have devoted their entire lives to making and teaching music.
I try not to miss any of their concerts, and I’m certainly glad I went to this one.
It turns out they were honoring two of their group who have passed away, Jennifer Ginther who suddenly died last December, and the other our own CCB music director who died in February of this year. Here we go, I thought, sitting out in the audience, time to focus on not crying.
But their choice of music didn’t make me to cry, not outright anyway. It was beautiful, just the kind of music Shelley would program herself. The first piece, Resplendent Glory by Rossano Galante was so very beautiful and, I think, my favorite of the evening. The link above wasn’t from Saturday’s performance, but it gives you an idea of the uplifting piece that made me smile even though I was sad.
I enjoyed all of the music at Saturday night’s concert, but especially a piece played by one of the middle school teachers, Ross Taylor, on the marimba. He was amazing. You’d have enjoyed it too, Concerto No.2 for Marimba and the Wind Orchestra, Movement 3, by David Gillingham. I could only find movement #1 on YouTube, but you’ll enjoy that movement too, and it’s similar to what we heard.
What a treat! We applauded and applauded…and then we applauded some more when he finished. The poor guy had a hard time getting off the stage, we just kept applauding.
In fact the whole concert was a treat. When I left the auditorium after the program I was still missing my friend, our music director, but I was oh so grateful to have spent time in the presence of other people who also loved her, people making music to honor her and Jennifer from a place deep inside each of their hearts.
Then, leaving the building close to 9:00 p.m., we all gasped in awe. The sky was a brilliant pink and gold. I immediately knew, at least for me, that sky was Shelley saying “Good job! I enjoyed it!” I can hear her voice and see her big, beautiful smile.
I would like to let you all know that my good friend Deuce the cocker spaniel is now safe with me and his other dog friends over the Rainbow Bridge. Last night mama asked me to keep an eye out for him because he’d be journeying today, and to make sure he got introduced around here once he arrived.
Deuce, May 23, 2012 – March 18, 2025.
She said she didn’t want him to feel alone or scared, and since we were buddies back in the day she knew I’d be glad to see him again and that I’d take good care of him. Well, it turns out there were several dog friends waiting expectantly for him, so he had quite a wonderful reunion.
Deuce could fly even before he crossed the bridge!
Mama also asked me to tell you about his remarkable life because, she says, typing when her eyes are leaking is really hard. So, let me tell you about my friend Deuce.
Always happy when he could run on a trail.
Deuce and I go way back. Our moms got us together pretty often to walk in parks, near his house and over at my parks too. Some of my best walks ever were with my friend Deuce.
We sure enjoyed walking together.
He was always a gentleman and let me pee on stuff first, then he’d pee there to validate the spot. We usually walked separately but together, if you know what I mean. If either of us discovered a good spot we’d invite the other one over to enjoy it, but in general we were our own dog on most of our walks.
Sometimes he liked to photobomb me, just for fun.
Not to say we didn’t sit near each other a lot when asked, mostly to humor the moms.
Yep, we’d sit together if it made the moms happy.
But Deuce did a lot of other things besides walk with me. He was a very dedicated, certified, therapy dog. He visited nursing homes and schools and had special friends there that loved him, and he loved them back.
Deuce pays his respect at a wall honoring military dogs who have gone on ahead.
As soon as he put his therapy dog vest on he knew he was working and he loved every minute of it. Why he even went up to people in wheelchairs when he was out and about and not in his official capacity. He just seemed to know when someone needed a little snuggle.
A special stop to visit Cody the therapy dog.
He liked adventure too. One summer I took Deuce and his mom camping with me. Deuce had never camped before but he settled right into the new experience. He had his own tent that he shared with his mom, and his own chair to sit in when we hung out around the fire.
We each had our own tents, no cohabitating allowed!
But mostly on that trip we walked and played in the woods around the campground. Deuce liked to climb up on stuff we’d find there; he was a very good jumper.
Deuce never met a log he didn’t want to climb on!
He was a few years younger than me, so usually I let him jump high up and pose and I’d settle myself somewhere below.
We liked to goof off together.
Both of us were good about sharing our moms. And we let them take as many pictures of us as they wanted. Which, I guess, is good now that he’s up here with me. I think all those pictures will make our moms feel just a little better as they remember all the good times we had together.
I love you, mom! We’re a team!
I feel I’ve known Deuce forever! I first met him at doggy school where we were both learning obedience. Deuce was much more obedient than me. He was such a fast learner and such a good dog. He was and always will be his mom’s Little Buddy, and he’d do or learn anything for her.
She doesn’t know what she will do without him.
Deuce and his mom on our camping adventure.
Deuce says he wants to reassure her that he’ll be watching over her and his younger brothers and if she needs him, especially to put the youngest one in his place, why, he’ll be right there. Guaranteed.
His walks with his mom were special.
He says he’s sorry he had to move on, but as the top dog of the household it’s his responsibility to make sure everything up ahead is copesetic. He says that will be one of his main duties while he’s here waiting for his mom.
I figure there will also be time for long walks, and maybe even some running and jumping, just like he and I used to do.
Things look good up here, mom!
Deuce and I used to race each other sometimes on our walks. We’d line up and the moms would call “COME!” and we’d both run toward them. I usually let Deuce win. Though it’s entirely possible he was just faster than me. Up here ,everybody wins and we get to run and run as much as we want!
He beat me fair and square on this race.
Deuce and his mom were a great team. He wants her to remember him that way, as part of their team while they did obedience, or rally, or when he was working as a therapy dog, or even when they were just walking through the woods together.
Team Deuce.
Deuce says he’ll always be part of that team and he’ll always love his mom, just like she’ll always love him.
Deuce looked handsome in any season.
He reminds us that love is forever, no matter what. I know you guys will miss seeing him every day, but if you look closely, when you’re out in the woods, or napping on the sofa, or training one of the younger dogs, I bet you’ll see him, right there, just around that corner.
Deuce stayed with my folks once, after I had to leave. He helped them when they were missing me.
You might not see it right now, but he’s smiling, and patiently waiting until he sees you again. In the meantime Deuce and I have walks to do and dogs to meet. Please be happy for us. We are young and healthy and feeling wonderful now.
Sometimes Deuce looked like a grumpy old man, but he was always smiling underneath.
We promise we’ll be right here when it’s your time to cross the Rainbow Bridge.
We’re together, right here over the bridge, waiting for our people!
Deuce is a special boy, and he touched the lives of a whole lot of people. I know you all wish him the very best adventures over on this side of the Rainbow Bridge.
Well, we’ve got a lot to do up here, so I’ll sign off for now, Deuce and I just wanted you to know we’re doing just fine and we love you.
Talk later,
Your Bridge Tour Guide, Katie-girl, and her Intrepid Buddy, Deuce.
I don’t remember when I started playing with the local community band. And when I joined I certainly didn’t expect to still be playing years (maybe more than15 years!) later or how lucky I’d be to form a friendship with the band’s music director.
But it was easy, she was a clarinet player as well as a band director in the public schools. We were similar ages, and had lots of the same interests. She gave me tickets to the Detroit Symphony, took me and others to the Detroit Institute of Art to see the Van Gogh show, invited me over to play with her beloved kitties, made meals for my husband and me when we got Covid the first time.
She gave of herself in ways too numerous to mention. As she did with so many others.
In recent years Shelley has fought cancer, going to treatments and tests but still coming, every Tuesday night, to rehearse a band that on it’s best days can be a handful. We are something of an island for misfit musicians, all with different sets of skills, different levels of commitment, but each of us 100% lovers of making music. When we get it right it is so right, and when we fail, well, we fail spectacularly.
And still she came, every Tuesday night. Arriving early, she was the last one to leave.
At our October concert, “Three Women and a Podium”
When the cancer struck again it became harder for her. She had moved an hour away to be closer to family and her doctors. The trip back to be with us was sometimes long, sometimes impossible. Still, she persisted. When necessary other dedicated music directors stepped in to give her a break.
But we always knew she’d be back. She wasn’t ready to give up her community band.
The last concert she conducted for us was this past October. By Christmas she didn’t have enough stamina to stand on the podium and keep us in line. I texted her after the Christmas concert, her favorite of each year, and gave her a report. We had done well, had a good crowd, we missed her, Santa said hello. She told me she was grieving the loss and missed us too.
She never came back.
Last week at rehearsal we learned she was in hospice at the family’s home. She was receiving visitors and cards and spending time with her grandchildren. This past Tuesday morning she died, her family surrounding her, and music playing.
Of course it was a Tuesday.
In Michigan’s UP on a 3 day trip, where it rained every single day.
Maybe she knew that we’d need each other, as one by one we heard the news. She knew, of course, that there is no better group of people to be with when you’re mourning your music director than the people with whom you share the music.
And so we went to rehearsal. Those of us that knew had a hard time walking into the building, into the band room, looking at the podium. Even though she hadn’t been physically there since last fall, it was still her podium. Those that hadn’t heard the news yet sat in stunned silence as it was announced.
The room was quiet for a moment and then people started sharing stories and we laughed a bit and teared up a bit. And then we did the best thing we could do for ourselves, and for her.
We made music. For a moment the music had stopped. But only for a moment.
Last week I wrote Shelley a letter, thanking her for being a friend, for her advice, for her musical support, for our travels together, for her generosity, for her time and her care. There are so many stories I could tell you about her, and I am just one of hundreds who have stories of her giving to them and their families.
I ended my letter to her by reminding her of the hundreds of students she had mentored over her 30+ years of teaching music in our public schools. Her legacy will go on forever through those students, many who have made sharing music their careers.
I told her she was the stone tossed into quiet water and the ripples she made are still spreading out into the universe. I told her I didn’t think any of us could have a bigger affect on the world than what she’d done with her talent and her love.
A subset of us, playing a pop-up concert during Covid in her neighborhood.
And I asked her if, after she gets settled and has her celestial band warmed up and in tune, if she might look around for a way to let us know she’s OK. I told her I knew she’d be OK, but it would be nice to know.
I expect to be hit over the head with something fantastically musical any day now. And I bet that first concert up there is going to be amazing.
The news has been so sad lately. Images of California neighborhoods fully engulfed in flames mixed with those of President Carter’s coffin being delivered to our nation’s capitol by a horse-drawn caisson. The lines of people solemnly passing by the coffin in the Rotunda. And, more privately, two different friends of mine learning to live without their own parents.
But this morning my husband and I watched the state funeral for our 39th President, and afterward I felt a little better. No, California isn’t better, the devastation there is beyond understanding, and my friends are still deep in grief, but watching the ceremony honoring President Carter took the edge off my sadness.
Not to say I didn’t cry a little bit during the service. The first tears fell when President Ford’s son, Steven, spoke. Before he began to read his dad’s eulogy for President Carter, he extended his heartfelt condolences to the “Carter children.” It seems back when his own dad died in 2006 the Carter kids offered his family support and comfort. Now he was returning the love.
I remember the funeral of President Ford, it was only a couple years after the funerals of my own parents. The pain on the faces of the Ford children was so intense and I knew, deep inside, what they were feeling. I wanted to hug them all and tell them they were not alone. And now here are the Carter children. Not children anymore by any means, but still grieving their dad a year after their mom. Heartbroken.
Most of the speakers caused me to shed a tear, each of them deeply touched by the life of Jimmy Carter. The grandchildren speaking made it clear that his legacy is in good hands, that the mission of making the world a better place will continue uninterrupted. Grandson Jason heads up the work, and spoke so movingly of his PawPaw, making us laugh and cry, just like, I’m sure, all the kids, grandkids and great-grands are doing tonight as they sit around telling stories after a long day sharing their Jimmy with all of us.
And one of the sweetest moments came toward the end while Garth Brooks and his wife Trisha Yearwood sang John Lennon’s “Imagine.” Somewhere in the middle of that quiet, gentle song the camera swung to President Biden who was singing along. “Some may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”
So what was my big take-away from this celebration of love? That Jimmy Carter was a husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather and that he was a regular guy who wore shorts and crocs and struggled with his new fangled cell phone just like all of us.
For a couple of hours today I could forget about all the stuff going on in the world, in our country, in my part of the universe. For a couple of hours I could immerse myself in times long gone, remembering most of them, the celebrations, the grief, the wins, the losses.
I was reminded that we’ve been through hard times before and we made it to the other side. And I’m reassured that there are more good, regular people out there than we sometimes realize. And that most of us are just regular folks trying to do the best we can.
Just like President Carter did for the entirety of his 100 years.
Many of you know the story about my dad and the semi-truck. I wish I could say I wrote a kids’ book about a daddy driving a big truck.
Dad and his baby sister.
But that’s not the way it went.
In reality my dad was driving to the Atlanta airport December 23, 2004, a plane ticket in his shirt pocket, heading north to spend Christmas with his family.
He loved water his entire life.
Around 6 a.m. with an hour to go, he was hit from behind by a semi-truck who’s driver didn’t notice all the traffic slowing in front of him.
A college man.
Dad never had a chance.
The semi driver said he fell asleep after driving all night, trying to get a load of electronics to Atlanta for Christmas sales. His dispatcher had enticed him to make a deadline in Atlanta in order to have another truck ready for him to drive to Florida, getting him home to his family for Christmas.
A married man.
My dad didn’t get to spend Christmas with his family. The driver didn’t get to spend Christmas with his family either, he spent it in jail. My siblings and I spent Christmas in shock, sitting in dad’s house, looking at the Christmas tree he’d put up before he left.
Trying to make sense of it all.
A new father.
And in the following months we found the Truck Safety Coalition, made up of CRASH, (Citizens for Reliable and Safe Highways), and PATT (Parents Against Tired Truckers). It’s a group of people who have had similar experiences with large commercial trucks.
A dad and his girls.
Sons, daughters, grandkids, parents, friends, spouses, nobody is immune, we all travel our roads alongside big trucks. TSC supports survivors and victims’ families. It educates policy makers on common sense changes that need to be made to make us all, truck drivers included, safer.
A family man.
But we can’t do any of it without financial support. We’re a 501c3 nonprofit. We struggle, as do many groups, to fund the activities that give families hope. Giving Tuesday is one of our biggest fundraising days.
This year it’s on December 3rd.
Everybody growing up.
And, this year, we’re trying something a bit different. In addition to using the Facebook platform, we’re asking folks to donate directly to us. Here’s the link to my personal fundraising page: https://secure.qgiv.com/event/trucksafetycoalitionpeertopeer/account/1899034/. Give it a click and see dad’s story and my progress toward my goal.
You don’t have to wait until December 3rd to donate. We’re starting our campaign right now. In fact you could be my very first donor!
Always interested, always busy.
I said it on Facebook the other evening; I fully believe that Dad says thank you to everyone that has supported me and my siblings all these twenty years. We needed you and you were there. And along the way I’ve met even more supportive people. You’ve all helped me help TSC to continue the work that helped us in our worst moments.
Retired.
The circle of support continues. Round and round, as you helped us, we are supporting the new families who keep on coming. Truck crashes continue, families are irreversibly changed, we provide support, and in time, they grow and get stronger and provide support for the next family.
More than 5,000 people die in commercial truck crashes each year. More than 100,000 people are injured. There are so many families.
We are working hard to help as many families as we can, and it all begins with your support. So thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of my dad’s heart.
I’m afraid I have some sad news to share with all of you. My friend, sheltie Lance’s big sister Tally, a Gordon Setter, crossed the rainbow bridge last Friday. Tally lived with Lance and Katie’s half sister Payton and their mom and dad. As you know Peyton crossed the bridge in September, so the loss of Tally is doubly hard on her mom and dad.
My mom learned about Tally crossing the bridge on Sunday morning, shortly after she finished doing the Wordle puzzle. Sunday’s Wordle solution was “tally” and mom, of course, thought about Payton’s sister and smiled. And then she got the news and she wondered if anything in the world is truly a coincidence.
Anyway, I can’t say that I knew Tally well, I only met her once, and I have to admit I was something of a chicken then, cause she was a lot bigger than me!
She was nothing but polite though, and it was silly of me to be scared of her. She was such a friendly girl.
You might remember that Katie got to show Payton and Tally around her park in May of 2022. Tally had the best sniffing nose and just loved exploring new parks.
She was less thrilled to pose for my mom who is always taking pictures. But she did it anyway, cause she was a very good and polite girl.
Katie got to visit Payton and Tally at their house too. One time Katie and Payton were busy getting treats on the deck and Payton’s mom went in the house. Katie thought she was getting more treats, so she waited by the door. She sure was surprised when Payton’s mom didn’t bring more treats, but brought out Tally instead!
Tally got along with everybody, and was such a good girl that she didn’t even steal treats off the table! Katie was sort of jealous that Tally was tall enough to even think about doing that.
Tally and her mom were competing in obedience and she had already won lots of ribbons when she had to retire because she got sick with leukemia.
Photo from Tally’s mom Diane
She fought hard to stay with her family as long as she could, but last week she was just too tired.
Her mom and dad and Lance are missing her terribly.
Lance and Tally playing, photo be Tally’s mom.
Our only consolation is that she’s with her angel sister Payton, her angel mother Flair and of course my angel sister Katie. We know they’re exploring a new park every day with lots of things to sniff and the best treats ever!
If you’re of a mind to send positive thoughts, or prayers, or suportive vibes to Tally and Payton’s parents I know they would appreciate it. And poor little Lance, who has never been an only dog, needs support too.
Lance on the left, me on the right.
I hope that I get to see him soon. When I do I will remind him how much all you nice people and your fur babies care about him and his folks.
You know I keep track of my mama and daddy even though I’m across the bridge, right? So I know when they’re upset. Thursday night I noticed mama had wet eyes so I paid extra special attention and wasn’t surprised when she started talking to me.
Don’t we look alike? That’s Payton on the right.
I’m a very good listener.
She said that Payton, my half sister, was going to be crossing the Rainbow Bridge on Friday, the very next day, and she wanted to make sure I’d be waiting for her so that Payton would have someone there right away to show her around.
She didn’t want Payton to be alone as she arrived.
We are both very happy girls.
Well of course I told mama not to worry, I’d be right there, first in line to greet her as soon as she arrived, cause after all, she’s my little sister!
Payton and I met a couple years ago when our moms got us together to go for a walk, way back in July of 2021. It was pretty warm and we were both mature so there wasn’t a lot of playing between us. But we did sniff hello and go on a congenial walk around Payton’s large estate.
She enjoyed sharing her home with me. She lived in a beautiful place.
Most of the time while the folks were sitting around talking we were hanging around snoozing.
A nap on the deck is always a good thing.
Or sneaking treats from the other’s mom or dad. Sometimes mama said she couldn’t tell us apart, especially from the back.
We knew how to work it, that’s for sure!
We were good about taking turns getting treats.
Then in May of 2022 Payton and her folks came over to my house and I showed her and her sister Tally around my park.
The two of us and our dads. We were already discussing how to thwart the moms taking pictures.
We had so much fun together, we even conspired to give the moms a hard time getting pictures of us, just for fun. But you know how moms are, they’re pretty stubborn, and they got a few good images of us.
She looked so beautiful in the afternoon sun.
Secretly I’m glad they did. Now that we’re both gone I think the pictures will give our parents some comfort, you know?
We were giggling because the moms couldn’t get us to sit together for a picture!
Payton was a very smart little girl, she even earned her UDX title in Obedience and she did rally and agility too!
Payton and I were not impressed with mom wanting a yellow flower shot.
Payton loved her mom and her dad very much, but she was definitely a daddy’s girl, helping him do the yardwork and enjoying a daily golf cart ride with him to inspect her estate.
She loved her folks so much.
She lived to be 15 years old, just like me, and just like me she was tired at the end, but she had a very wonderful life, and she lived every minute of it to the fullest.
Payton had the best smile.
She was a feisty little girl that managed her household and she will be missed so much by her family and friends.
But don’t worry everybody, we’re together now and healthy and happy. There’s so much to do here, so many things to sniff, and we have so many friends with us, why there’s always a game of ball to play, and walks to take and soft beds to nap on.
“Come on Katie, let’s mess with the moms again!”
And don’t get us started about the treats! My oh my, there’s any flavor we might want, and we can have as many as we want! It’s crazy!
Anyway, I know those of you that knew Payton will miss her terribly, but I wanted to reassure you that she’s just fine and when it’s time we’ll both be right here, along with all your doggie friends and fur babies, waiting to show you around.
“We’ll wait for you guys to get here!”
Well, Payton and I have a nice walk scheduled next, we’re going to explore that meadow of wildflowers over there, so we have to go for now. But we’ll be watching you, and if you get sad again know that we’ll be right there.
Promise.
Payton. Never forgotten, loved forever.
Shelties are always loyal and we love you all very much.
Friday the August 2nd my friend Nancy died, and Wednesday August 7th my friend Bob died.
Bob and I weren’t the kind of friends that hung out together, we didn’t know each other outside of work. He was my manager for some months when I was an underwriter, and we were fellow managers, along with several other really wonderful people, for several years, long, long ago.
He was a great manager and those of us that got to work for or with him were lucky. He was always smiling, always supportive, always wise, always engaged. When you were talking with him he was fully talking with you. He noticed little things, did little things, appreciated little things.
He was one of those people that made going to work fun.
Eventually he moved on to another company and I didn’t really stay in touch. Then along came social media — Facebook, blogging. And that’s how we kept track of each other over the years. Not a lot, he’d comment on something I posted on FB. I’d note that he was in NYC during his beloved US Open Tennis Championships, or visiting London where he lived as a child.
About a year ago I noticed someone asking him, on FB, if he was in NYC for the tennis matches. He replied that no, not this time because one side effect of the new chemo pill he was on was fatigue, and he was really tired. Chemo pill?? I messaged him to apologize that I had somehow missed the fact he was taking chemo. He replied that he had slipped up by letting that out on FB.
He’d been sick for a couple of years. Stage 4 now.
But amazingly he was so optimistic, so joyful. He was still working, he was doing well. His wife and family were wonderful. His son was getting married in September of 2024. He was sure he’d be around for the wedding.
So since then, periodically I’d check in with him, always on FB messenger, he’d always reply that things were good, he was a little more tired, but he was good. In January he took a medical leave, and told me he was declining and probably wouldn’t ever go back to work. But that was OK, he said, because it gave him more time with his wife and sons.
He felt really lucky that he had that time. He loved his family so much.
We didn’t talk every day, but whenever we messaged back and forth I would end up smiling. He was so supportive, even as he was needing more support himself. He was so wise and had such good advice on my every day problems. I will miss having him there to bounce frustrations off. He always made me feel better. In fact at the end of one series of messages a few months ago he ended with “Don’t worry, you’re doing better than you think.”
That was Bob.
Below is his very first message about the cancer to me, describing his approach to his illness. It made me smile though my eyes were misty. One of Bob’s gifts to so many of us was helping us smile even in the tough times.
“I’m really A-OK. I remember reading with interest your posts about your dear aunt in her last few months. I was sick by then and sensed something was up. Loved how she went out on her terms and LIVED right to the end. I got great inspiration from her through you! I’ve become an avid vicarious traveler these past few months in particular. Your adventures I read with rapt excitement! Your trip to Canada with Beth…I was tempted to hop in the car and go to a bagpipe concert near a lighthouse! And your sadness and grief when you lost Katie and all the thrill and energy and excitement of Penny…I was right there! …. So, that’s my tale of woe, but truly not woeful. In fact, I’m more happy and more ‘chill’ than I’ve ever been. I’ve had a great run. I’m having a great time, and I don’t give much thought to the circumstances.”
Saturday, at the funeral home, I looked around at the room packed with people, all telling Bob stories. And here’s the thing. I didn’t have a unique relationship with Bob. He was a caring, supportive, gentle, inspiring friend with everyone. He had a positive influence on everyone. He made us all, each of us individually, feel special. And we were all, each of us, lucky to have known him.
Apparently Bob’s employer had a thing called “Random Acts of Bob” based on the way Bob did nice, random, things for people all the time. I think, in Bob’s honor, those of us that knew and loved him should make a point of continuing his tradition. And if all of you who weren’t lucky enough to know him want to join in, well, I think that would make Bob smile.
Isn’t it amazing how one person can create a whole world of smiles just by being himself. It’s going to take a lot of us smiling a whole lot to even begin to fill the void he left. But I think it’s worth trying.
When I got back from the funeral home Saturday evening and changed into my regular clothes I noticed the shoes I had been wearing.
Last week I lost two friends within 5 days of each other. They were from two different parts of my life and didn’t know each other but they were very much alike.
Friday August 2 a very special lady went to join her husband in heaven. Her name was Nancy and we’d been friends for almost 40 years. We met when she was hired by the bank where I was a trainer. She and four others were hired to be branch managers and I trained them for a couple weeks in our teller systems.
In 1985 I moved back into our branch system as a floating manager, and I worked in Nancy’s branch for several months, driving more than an hour each way every day. We became good friends when she invited me to stay with her, in her lakeside home, to ease my commute. She was gentle, sweet, empathetic and had a huge heart. She was always smiling, and had the best giggle. She was everybody’s mom.
And, 35 years ago, she and her husband, Bob, introduced me to my now husband.
This is the only picture I can find of Bob and Nancy, from our wedding in 1990.
When Bob and Nancy retired they moved to Arizona and, sadly, Bob died from pancreatic cancer shortly after. But Nancy and we have stayed friends, calling once in awhile, visiting when we could, annual holiday cards. During my last call to her she told me she was thinking about moving into an assisted living facility, and as she described it I told her it sounded nice. Then a few days later she accidently called my husband, and during their conversation told him the same thing.
She moved into her new apartment a few months ago, but suffered a fall and was in the hospital when her heart failed. Her son called me with the news.
I think, now, about our last visit with her back in February of 2020. We stayed with her a single night, and then traveled around the state, visiting beautiful places. But I got sick on that trip and we didn’t want to infect her so we called her and told her we wouldn’t be coming back to the house, instead we’d find a hotel near the airport for our last night in Arizona. We told her we’d be back out to visit her.
And then….covid. We never got back out to Arizona to see her again, and that makes me really sad, but we will keep her in our hearts forever. She loved and grieved for her husband so much for the many years that she survived him that we’re thankful she is with him again. That must have been some reunion.
But man, I’m going to miss her giggle.
I’ll tell you about the other special person I lost in the next post. They each deserve their own space. And the combined grief is just too much.
When I’m out and about I often see roadside memorials. And if I have time, and if it’s safe, I pull over to read the name and date. When I get home I attempt to look them up, see what happened, learn more about the person.
Because every memorial is someone who was real and who is missed and who deserves a bit of recognition and attention.
This is a very large memorial near my home.
I know for a fact that the families that erect these memorials want people to notice that something terrible happened right there. And they want their person or people to not be forgotten. Even if you never knew them.
There are no names that I could find, no date either.
I’ve done this for years, trying to find out more about the people who died on our roads, ever since my own dad was killed on a stretch of highway between the Alabama/Georgia state line and the Atlanta airport.
She was almost 30, walking on an overpass with her children when she was struck and killed.
We didn’t build a memorial, but we did hastily plant some daffodil bulbs next to the busy freeway where he died. I’ve only been past the spot at the right time of year once, and the traffic was so bad I couldn’t look around for more than an instant, but I think I saw a flash of yellow years after the crash. It could have been the daffodils or it could have been a Wendy’s chili cup.
But I choose to believe it was dad saying hello and making me smile.
Change Is Hard 