jamelah.net

Dear Stacy,

I haven’t lost my mind, really. I know you’re not going to be checking my website or anything, but I wanted to pay you tribute, and doing so in essay form seemed a little too stuffy and formal, which didn’t fit at all, so I’m going this route instead. It’ll work.

So. Today was your funeral. I have no idea how many people were there, but it’s pretty safe to say that there were hundreds. This just goes to show how awesome you were, because everyone who ever met you loved you to pieces. I always admired your ability to treat everyone with dignity, respect and genuine kindness, no matter who they were, how they looked, where they came from, what they believed or what they did. I don’t think you ever knew how rare a gift it was to be able to make everyone feel like they were the center of your universe whenever you were with them, but it was, and it’s a testament to how rare you were that you were able to touch so many lives so deeply in so few years. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t know this, because you just were who you were and didn’t think there was anything special about it. Of course, had you understood it, it might not have worked the same way, I don’t know.

Speaking of your funeral, I wore a pair of fantastic shoes. This is worth mentioning, because we shared a love of fabulous accessories.

I suppose it goes without saying that I’ve been thinking of you constantly over the past week. I’ve been hard pressed to think up a favorite memory, because there are so many. I mean, I’ve known you and Missy and Patty since before I could read (and I started reading pretty early in life), so you and your family have made up a huge portion of my life. There was the three-wheeler in South Dakota, the frolicking in the mountains of Poland (because the hills, they were alive with the sound of music), the trips to Mancino’s, the birthday pedicures, the time we drove to my house shirtless and giggling and covered in peanut butter (which is not as twisted as it sounds yet still pretty funny), and, of course, the question that could fill my heart with dread: “Can we go into Wal-Mart for a minute? I just need to get some shampoo.” We had the following conversation hundreds of times:

“Stacy, are you ready yet? I’m staaaaaaaarving.”
“I’m almost ready. I just have to blow dry my hair.”

Among those of us who were fortunate enough to hang out with you, the amount of time you could spend getting ready was legendary. I’m sure it will remain legendary, because seriously, nobody else even comes close. And I doubt I’ll meet anyone who ever will.

The truth is that there were millions of things I loved about you, little things that came together and made you who you were. The way you’d always ask me if I was dressing up even though I never dress up and you’d say you weren’t either, only to show up looking like a princess. The fact that guacamole was just too green, that you’d order fajitas without peppers or onions, the way you’d eat an onion blossom by peeling off the fried outer part and leaving all the onions on your plate. Your laugh that could sometimes get high-pitched enough to shatter glass (I exaggerate — slightly). You could put on liquid eyeliner in a moving vehicle. I can’t even put on liquid eyeliner when all conditions are perfectly still. I adored your goofball sense of humor and admired your ability to think up all sorts of deliciously evil and hilarious pranks to play on people. You were detail-oriented and had tiny, perfect handwriting. You invented the butt punch. I’m glad people don’t really do that anymore, however, because man, those hurt.

Though we always knew each other, we became ultra-super-close when we worked together for Oneighty. Maybe then we discovered how much we were alike. Though so very different, we were both stubborn and strong-willed and not afraid of taking charge (I guess some would call that being bossy, but, um, yeah). We liked things to be organized and just so (even though you were the organized one, not me). We were both a little obsessive-compulsive and cut our food into tiny, tiny pieces. We made fun of each other’s taste in music. We also had a lot of fun short-sheeting Cara’s bed, but I digress.

Even though you were younger than me, I always looked up to you. You were a natural-born leader, and I always counted on you to know what to do at any given time. It never failed to surprise me when you’d say things that hinted at the fact that you looked at me the same way. Especially since I’m such a scattered mess and you were always so together, but then, it’s always weird to find out how other people see us, I guess.

I could go on forever, easily, but I’m not going to. I just wanted to touch on some of the major points. The smaller ones I’ll keep for me. But before I wind this up, I just wanted to say that the other day, I found this note you wrote to me before I left for my semester in Italy, and you asked what you were going to do without me. Now I have to wonder the same thing about you. You were my anchor, Stace. You kept me going through so much, and even though I know I have to put my chin up and keep at it, things really suck without you here.

I mean, who’s going to say “I love you boo boo. Call me,” now that you’re not around to do it? On second thought, I’m okay with that — I don’t think I’d let anybody else get away with calling me “boo boo” anyway.

Until we meet again, I am going to miss you, in ways I probably haven’t even thought of yet. I heart you, Muffin. You were the best.

Love,
Jamelah

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