Tammy on her bus. |
FLOMATON, Ala . — The rain had not yet
begun to fall, but low clouds crossed air currents above the hillside, curling
around one another, gray on gray, and threatening a downpour.
We stood beside a freshly covered grave. Colorful
flower arrangements lay spread on the upturned clay or stood in pots where a
headstone was yet to be placed. A train passed down the hill, heading east, its
mournful wail echoing among the pines and dogwoods.
At the head of the flower grouping lay a school bus
formed of yellow silk buds. Near the foot, several popsicle sticks jutted from
a clutch of cut flowers, decorated with figures named for some of the children
who rode her bus. She drove for the Escambia
County , Fla., School
District for more than 15 years.
Tammy, my wife’s older sister, died Sept. 12 of
complications after more than a year of treatment for leukemia, first at Baptist Hospital
in Pensacola
and later at the University of A l a b a m a - Birmingham.
She left two sisters, a husband and four daughters, her mother, grandchildren,
cousins — and countless others — to mourn.
She was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, but
an anonymous donor on the national registry was a perfect match for stem cell
transplant. Thanks to that donor, her most recent biopsy showed she was 100-percent
cancer-free. Tammy was looking forward to leaving the hospital soon and coming
for a visit so she could dip her toes in the Gulf of M ex i c o
on an autumn afternoon. She hoped to recover well enough to return to work
someday.
Our photo albums are filled with her visits. A joint
anniversary cruise on the Lady Anderson. Camping trips to St.
Andrews St ate Pa rk . Family portraits at the foot of the
dunes and in the surf along Panama
City Beach .
Running the Gran Maze at Coconut Creek, miniature golfing, go-cart racing,
shooting the rapids at Shipwreck
Island . Most recently, a
vow renewal ceremony for Tammy and her husband, Robby, at sunset on the beach.
As we stood there on the hill under threatening
clouds — a small group having gath ered
a few hours after the services and now lost in our own thoughts — a beat-up
Ford Explorer pulled over along the cemetery lane. A skinny girl in flip-flops
and a black skirt climbed down from behind the wheel and crossed the lawn to join
us. We didn’t know her, but she knew Tammy.
“I rode her bus when I was in third grade,” the girl
explained. “If I was still in school, I’d be a senior this year. I heard this
morning about what had happened, but I didn’t have any way to go to the
funeral. I had to wait for my dad to get home from work so I could take his
truck.”
She stood, hands folded together, studying the
flowers and engulfed in memory, and I wondered how many others like her there
were in the world. Children who rode a school bus — perhaps only for a short time, many years ago
— who will carry a piece of their driver’s spirit with them into the future.
How many others might there have been if things had gone differently?
I wondered what Tammy had done to impress this one
child, to move her nine years later to pay respects on a lonely hilltop as rain
began to fall. But I didn’t ask. My curiosity didn’t matter, really.
The children mattered, and this girl’s quiet
visitation was testament to how well Tammy saw to them in her time.
Peace.
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Leukemia Awareness
What: September is National Leukemia and Lymphoma Awareness Month
Who: More than 1 million people in the United St ates are diagnosed with cancer each year
Details: Cancer.org
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