I’m writing this now because today, my schoolmate Marci would have been 46. I remember being totally surprised, because I didn’t know she was struggling, and she is/was one of those people who lived so “loud” that you rebuke yourself for wasting time complaining. Have you ever met someone so joyful that you think they’re nuts? Later, you realize the problem is you.
I didn’t see Marci much after we left grade school, but I will tell you a story from that time. We’re sitting in class at Ross Elementary in the Physically Impaired classroom. Most of us were slowly being introduced into the general education setting, with plenty of support. One morning in October of 1989, we were regrettably informed that Ross was going to have a fire drill. Now, all the hours and days in the PI classroom, I don’t remember too many alarms. I daresay we didn’t leave for drills (or hear the alarm) as much as the other students. Because if you know anything about cerebral palsy, that startle response of ours is…not fun. Marci was really upset and anxious, and if I am honest, I was, too. Our teacher could have just not mentioned that a really loud alarm of questionable necessity was going off. Marci taught me to respect myself that day, and not be afraid to say, “You know what? This is stupid, I’m upset, and I’m not gonna play it cool to fit in.” I still don’t like fire alarms, and I still won’t pretend random loud noise is “not a big deal.”
Many years later, we were in college. Both happening to be at the same community college campus. In my case, a combination of foolishness and disability-related challenges had me there. Marci wouldn’t have been prideful about that situation; she always took whatever she happened to be doing as exactly what she was supposed to be doing. I still admire that. Anyway, she caught me coming out of the really nice library. Y’all know: if I am not reading a book, I’m writing about reading one, and so on. I probably told my little sob story, and then she just shifted the gears: “Oh, Jason, you’re still just as cute as you were when we were kids.” We never dated or anything, but I can tell you that I’ve had love interests who never made me feel that good.
There are people who learn how to be funny. Professional comedians actually work really hard to make it look easy. Marci was funny because she seemed to grab joy right out of the air. She didn’t have to try, and she never did, from what I saw.
To attend her memorial service and burial was odd, because it happened to be probably the worst 3-day period of my life. It’s too bad she couldn’t say some words of comfort to me then, but maybe she really did. Everyone who spoke would have impressed upon you that she truly lived. She didn’t waste time complaining or overthinking. And you can tell when people are struggling to be diplomatic in a eulogy. Nobody had to do that with Marci. I daresay one of the purest souls I’ve ever known. Everyone who left seemed to make a promise to learn from her. I know I did.
I don’t make a habit of telling the Almighty what to do, but death is stupid, and the suffering around it usually is apparently senseless. But she’d tell me not to worry about it, and probably make a joke.
May her memory continue to be a blessing.
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