On Wednesday, April 8, the phone rang and the news was bad. Amy had been tragically killed when another driver ran a red light. The world had lost a truly wonderful and beautiful young woman. The students at DeMasi Middle School lost one of their favorite Language Arts teachers. And my close friend Greg lost his wife.
It pours on the day of Amy’s funeral. The kind of drenching, sopping, wet rain that soaks you to the bone. We stand as one unit, Russ, Sarah, Dustin, Mike, Adam, and myself, huddled beneath umbrellas, sending every thought and every prayer – hoping that something, anything, can provide Greg and his family with the strength they need to survive this day.
After the funeral, there is laughter. About Amy’s incessant list-making and her obsession with visible vacuum lines. But after every story, there is a lull. A gap that is quickly filled by the reminder that she is no longer with us. And that Greg is left to bear a cross which no one should have to carry. He’s not even 30 years old.
We rally. We rally around our friend. We support those that we love during their darkest hours. We remind ourselves how lucky we are, that we can kiss our husband goodnight; that we still have the privilege of the mundane – picking up his dirty laundry, or sending a quick text message from work. And we revel in the realization that these things are not to be taken for granted.
Under the very worst of circumstances, it was a good trip. There were stories, and memories, and celebration of life and friendship and love; a stark reminder of what is really important.
Amy continues to teach us all.
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