Archive for February, 2009

So, now it’s personal

Since I went through the change I have had a really, really hard time writing.  The thoughts are there, constantly swimming around in my head full of oatmeal, but for the life of me, when I sit here…I got nuttin…not even able to muster up a lousy post about how good the meatloaf plate at Ma’s was yesterday.   Since November 29, I have written 11 times. 

And it is weird because I really have so much to say, yet so much of it is so big…

But if I don’t talk about this, I will explode into a million mute pieces.

Yesterday morning, the Teacher sent me an email with the subject line:  IMPORTANT.  And thinking she just needed her sore spot diagnosed, as usual I opened the email to find this message:  Call Me.

My heart sort of stopped right then, sort of like it does when your phone rings at 3 a.m. 

No good news comes at 3 a.m. and no good news is going to follow an ‘IMPORTANT, call me’ email. 

So, I found my phone and found the charger, because it was dead, as usual, and plugged in and braced myself to call, but she was already calling me.  I answered, trying to be calm…hoping. 

She was crying. 

erojkl dfkljaopiu dfoijdfdf  died.

What, I said, because I hadn’t really processed the words that were coming out of her mouth, plus she was crying and that didn’t make it any easier…plus my brain was simply refusing the data input.

She repeated and this time I understood…but I didn’t hear.

Slowly I asked again…what. did. you. say.

It’s amazing how many thoughts go through your mind when you hear that someone you love has died.

First, of course, I knew it had to be a mistake…the regular Joe equivalent to the Miley Cirus is dead thing.  Then I remembered every bit of the last IM conversation we had just the other day about the Little Dribblers tournament and who won and how many games he refereed and who helped and all about the asshole parent that had to get booted out of the gym for…well, being an asshole (and as much as he’d never really say so, I know quite well that he probably had a ball doing that, too, since he said the parent was a little feller talking big and Bill, well Bill was 6’9 and could kick. your. ass.)

Anyway, with everything that was going through my mind and all the questions and the random memories, it really was like those scenes in the movies where the guy is seeing his whole life flash before his eyes…and all I could manage to say…

Well, hell…dadgum.


So I will try to do a little better.

Bill was this 6’9 redheaded teddy bear.  He loved basketball and baseball and football…a lot.  He was my friend Jackie’s husband back in the day when our kids, The Teacher and JoB were BFFs in elementary school.  He had a fast smile and a quick wit and quite the way with the ladies…my Senior, for one…and it was just hard not to love him.  My senior loved him a lot.  When she was 3 and she fell in love with him, he would swoop her up and say in his booming voice KELLY WARD and she would say I love you, Bill Stacy.  

He loved us all and we loved him. 

Gosh, the girls and I spent so much time over there with him and Jackie and their girls…endless summer evenings, grilling and drinking beer and laughing while the kids played.  They were my best friends. 

One thing you always knew about Bill was that if you called him at 2 o’ clock in the morning from Mumbai and you were out of gas, he would grab his gas can and be there for you…and you…and you.  Because he was just a good guy. 

And oh my, his girls.  He loved them so much and was so fiercely proud of them.  I know they knew he loved them, but I hope, for their sakes, that they told him they loved him…a lot.   

So, anyway, it’s been a weird 24 hours for me.  I’ve had older people I love die…my mom, folks from church…and with them, it’s easy for me to say, oh well, it was a blessing because, well…they were old…life was lived, time to go on.

But Bill was just 49.  He had a ‘lady friend’ and ran the Little Dribblers program and for petesake it was time for the state basketball tournament and March Madness and now who is going to dispatch the calls at the co-op…and he is on my yahoo buddy list…over there in grey…

Bill Stacy appears to be offline and will receive your messages after signing in.

Except he won’t.

It’s just really surreal and quite difficult to wrap my head around.

Had I known the last time we talked was going to be the last time we talked, I guess I would have spent less time razzing him about throwing that guy out of the gym and more time telling him what a difference he made in so many people’s lives.  He certainly did mine, and my girls, and countless other kids he influenced over the years through the Little Dribblers program.  He’ll be missed.

I would have told him he made a difference.


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Going Home

As long as I can remember, I’ve never really wanted to go home.   I mean, who doesn’t get homesick while they are at church camp for the first time in 4th grade?  Me.  What little girl doesn’t decide she wants to go home while she is at a slumber party?  Me.

Isn’t that strange? 

I’ve always thought so and often wondered why.  Why didn’t I ever want to go home.

But when I go to Glen Rose, there is this tree… My kids know it as “Mom’s tree” and to me it is the most perfect tree I have ever seen.  I love it most in the winter, as it is in the picture, but in the Spring it is every bit as glorious and it makes my heart happy every time I see it.  Every time I see that tree it is like going home…

and I don’t mind it at all

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What with all the book burning going on, I completely forgot to mention that I turned 45 last Sunday and it was absolutely painless.  I rather like the sound of it, 45.   Over the years, I have certainly done ‘grownup’ things.  I have birthed babies


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oh super

We’ve made the news again

At about 1:47, my Senior (who was in AP English and read the book) is over Mrs. Bell’s right shoulder, a few seconds later, over her left shoulder, is The Teacher (also was in AP English and also read the book), who were both there to support this amazing teacher who has given 30 years of her life to enrich the lives of our children.

This town.  I swear.


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Whatcha Gonna Do…

when you have 20 potential blogs going in your head, but you can’t seem to get them to translate to your fingers?


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