Earlier this week I received tragic news that a long time friend, Sally Conrad, had succumbed to cancer in Pennsylvania. Through Facebook messages and some conversations with her sister, Peggy, I knew the cancer was aggressive and had been discovered in its final stages, but her sudden demise still left me with an empty, gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. After over ten years of being apart, it saddened me deeply to know that our phone conversation several months earlier would never be replayed. Sitting alone at home in front of my computer, I found it hard to believe that her battle with cancer had claimed her life so quickly.
When someone dies suddenly and in a far away place, it gives you pause to reconcile and relive, if only for a brief moment, the breadth of your friendship. Sally had come in to my life when I was a junior in high school. She drove a school bus then, and part of her routine was ferrying our speech team to various competitions on the weekends. From the first cold morning that I stepped in to the warmth of her bus, I found Sally to be anything but your typical bus driver. For starters, she smiled, laughed and talked to the kids- something that was totally foreign to most of us. The bus drivers of our youth were grumpy old men. They smelled of sweat and tobacco, their thoughts focused on their farm fields that needed to be tilled between bus runs. The only time they spoke was to admonish us for horseplay or to inform us that we were temporarily kicked off the bus for bad behavior.
Riding on Sally's bus was a breath of fresh air.
We could laugh and sing on her bus... sometimes in such a silly and ear-piercing manner that even Mother Theresa would have been forced to pull over and give us all a good tongue-lashing. But Sally was different. She seemed to enjoy our company, even pausing between driving and taking sips of her ever present cup of steaming coffee to banter back and forth with us. When we finished with our competitions, sometimes deflated after a poor performance, Sally was there, patiently waiting for us in her radiantly warm bus. Her kind words of encouragement and radiant smile always managed to take some of the sting out of a bad day.
In later years, Sally developed a deep and lasting friendship with my mother. It was through this relationship that I came to know her as a dear friend. In a crass world populated by narcissistic mortals, she was one the most selfless people I have ever known. If something was wrong with your kitchen sink or you were just having a very bad day, Sally was always there for you. She would give and give, often times to the point of physical exhaustion. If the measure of our days has anything to do with personal benefaction, Sally was a colossus who had few peers.
She was also a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with. We spent more nights than I can count playing board games or cards at my mom's house, often times playing until the wee hours of the morning. Our game nights were punctuated with incessant laughter and banter. In more serious discussions about life, politics and world events, Sally was open-minded and had a passion for those who were less fortunate. She was sentimental and loved her family deeply, especially her sister Peggy, and her only child, Billie.
In later years we grew apart when Sally moved, first to New York, and then to Pennsylvania. Through Facebook, we reconnected last year, and sent each other messages from time to time. When she called me back in January of this year, it was as if we had never been apart. Although I didn't recognize her number on my cell phone, I knew immediately who it was when I heard her beautiful, crackling laugh. It was a joy to finally be back in touch with such a good friend, and I feel sick now knowing that I allowed time and distance to cheat us out of a reunion.
When someone dies suddenly and in a far away place, it gives you pause to reconcile and relive, if only for a brief moment, the breadth of your friendship. Sally had come in to my life when I was a junior in high school. She drove a school bus then, and part of her routine was ferrying our speech team to various competitions on the weekends. From the first cold morning that I stepped in to the warmth of her bus, I found Sally to be anything but your typical bus driver. For starters, she smiled, laughed and talked to the kids- something that was totally foreign to most of us. The bus drivers of our youth were grumpy old men. They smelled of sweat and tobacco, their thoughts focused on their farm fields that needed to be tilled between bus runs. The only time they spoke was to admonish us for horseplay or to inform us that we were temporarily kicked off the bus for bad behavior.
Riding on Sally's bus was a breath of fresh air.
We could laugh and sing on her bus... sometimes in such a silly and ear-piercing manner that even Mother Theresa would have been forced to pull over and give us all a good tongue-lashing. But Sally was different. She seemed to enjoy our company, even pausing between driving and taking sips of her ever present cup of steaming coffee to banter back and forth with us. When we finished with our competitions, sometimes deflated after a poor performance, Sally was there, patiently waiting for us in her radiantly warm bus. Her kind words of encouragement and radiant smile always managed to take some of the sting out of a bad day.
In later years, Sally developed a deep and lasting friendship with my mother. It was through this relationship that I came to know her as a dear friend. In a crass world populated by narcissistic mortals, she was one the most selfless people I have ever known. If something was wrong with your kitchen sink or you were just having a very bad day, Sally was always there for you. She would give and give, often times to the point of physical exhaustion. If the measure of our days has anything to do with personal benefaction, Sally was a colossus who had few peers.
She was also a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with. We spent more nights than I can count playing board games or cards at my mom's house, often times playing until the wee hours of the morning. Our game nights were punctuated with incessant laughter and banter. In more serious discussions about life, politics and world events, Sally was open-minded and had a passion for those who were less fortunate. She was sentimental and loved her family deeply, especially her sister Peggy, and her only child, Billie.
In later years we grew apart when Sally moved, first to New York, and then to Pennsylvania. Through Facebook, we reconnected last year, and sent each other messages from time to time. When she called me back in January of this year, it was as if we had never been apart. Although I didn't recognize her number on my cell phone, I knew immediately who it was when I heard her beautiful, crackling laugh. It was a joy to finally be back in touch with such a good friend, and I feel sick now knowing that I allowed time and distance to cheat us out of a reunion.
When Sally died on April 16th, fighting for every last breath until she could fight no more, she left behind a lifetime of wonderful memories for her family and friends.
Goodbye, my dear friend. You were loved...
1 comment:
Wow Jeff that was unexpected! You got me.... I have a lot of mixed emotions sometimes as you might imagine. She was a very kind person almost to a fault, and I know she would have done anything in the world for me. I think life could have been very different for Sally had she come to grips with being gay much much earlier in her life. I think what she battled internally led to her demise.... My issues with her came with how she left mom. It's a very long story, and her life with Billie. I am not sure Billie will ever be healed...things and issues hidden within a family's fabric.
I do wish that Sally could have lived a much happier life...I wish "she" could have been ok with being just herself! Thanks for this post...it was beautifully written!
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