Dear Stacey,
I heard late last night in the evening from a close friend and colleague that you were gone. It came at first as a moment of glee as I saw that my dear friend had texted me and I was struck with that stroke of connection, the reach of the olive branch from across the country of a dear friend and colleague who knows what I know, who has been “in the trenches” who I have relied on so many times for guidance not only for my own patients but for my own health and the health advice for my own children. I was elated to see the warm glow of my iphone with her name lit up as it unfortunately rarely does these days as our lives are busy with work and children and 2,000 miles that now separate us. I opened up the text eagerly and it was a photo. My first thought was it will be of her stunning children as it often is as we like to boast to each other (as any good mother does) their latest seasonal pic but it was a surprise when I saw a picture of a different colleague with the fervor in her smile looking back at me. Another fighter in combat who I could always count on, reach out to and share not only stories and practice advice with, but life with. But then in a flash my eyes caught it, like the aura of the launch of a searing migraine starting in one corner of my eye. Over her radiant picture was the word “remembering”...my eyes darted to her picture and back to the word “remembering”. No wait, I clicked out of the text app and then back in. Yes, this was from my good friend. Yes this was real, yes it was a picture of my other good colleague and friend and YES it actually said remembering. But I know that I just saw a picture of her with her and her son on the last day of 1st grade posted on Instagram. The child she had yearned for so long which we had bonded over during the last conference we had spoken at. The photo was actually an attached article. I did not want to click further but yet I had no willpower to stop myself. Next to me my wife snored softly fighting a cold and sore throat that even the FIFA games (her favorite) could not keep her up from. I read the article and I started to have those feelings, you know the ones. The feeling that the world is not right, your stomach is floating and suddenly not really attached to your body, it actually is moving now up towards your neck and you feel that the grounding of your body, feet, mind and world as you knew it no longer makes any sense. This floating feeling now reaches your throat and at once you are not sure if you are going to be sick or scream. You search your body for a sensation, any sensation to reground you but it fails you. You start texting frantically in all caps back to the friend who sent this to you “WHAT?!! How did she die? She has a young son. This is terrible news.” Then you look at the time it is 10:47pm PST and your friend is 2 hours ahead. You are not likely to get a response at that hour. Your tears start to roll and you reread the article one more time and then go to her Instagram page and look at all the breathtaking photos that now have a totally new meaning and will all be the last. The last photo the boy has with his mom, the last embrace, the last family trip, the final, last day of school photo with his mom…the flood gates are now wide and I am deciding if I should get out of bed and have a good cry (it has been a while) so as not to wake my recovering wife or take some deep breaths and attempt to go to sleep. Then for some reason I go back to my friend's text again to look at the article one more time just to make sure for sure this IS real and I see the text bubbles…she is awake! I can’t believe it. She writes back two simple lines “Car accident. I am in shock.” That is it for me. I come completely unglued. No more deciding. I quickly have to jump out of bed and decide where to go. I settle for the stairs as the sobbing starts to overtake me. I am no longer in control of my body. I no longer can even stop myself. I do have fleeting moments where I think that I will wake my daughter as she is the next lightest sleeper in the house but at this point it is no longer controllable. I am full on in the ugly, body bouncing, wailing cry. The one that comes from letting out all your past grief. I lost my father in a car accident when I was around her son's age (he just turned 7 years old and I had just turned 6). Sudden deaths of a parent are in a class of their own. It was like the little girl inside of me needed to scream and cry for the little boy she had longed for and she discussed so many times. How unfair and cruel life can be.
To Stacey, I remember your brilliant smile, compassionate love for all children, incredible intelligence, unwillingness to bow to the higher ups and wanting to always do what was right for every child. This we have always had in common. Sometimes this has not made us popular but we have known that we are not here to be popular but to advocate for ones with the quietest voices, our most vulnerable children. I will miss you my dear colleague and friend.
