Skip to content

The first cut isn’t always the deepest

September 17, 2015

When I had to move earlier this year, I had an opportunity to buy an ideal place up north, where I used to live. I was SO ready and excited. It seemed perfect.

Then in church one Sunday, the announcement came that our dear music director, Todd, was moving to Boston. Everyone gasped and moaned a little. I started to cry, and not a little. I started to cry a lot. After a few minutes, I thought “Maybe this isn’t just about Todd. Maybe this is about you not wanting to leave this church and these people.” I knew then that I had to stay.

I spent last night crying about the suicide of one of our blogging community’s most beautiful members, Anastasia Campbell, Stacy. I didn’t know her well personally, though we followed each other on every platform, seemingly, and often liked and commented on each other’s work. It was the online version of casual friendship.

To tell you the truth, I was intimidated by her. Her physical beauty was just otherworldly. Her talent, both in writing and photography, was considerable. And sometimes I lost track of her because she was a frequent name-changer and shape-shifter online.

Still, her death was like sticking my arm into ice water and keeping it there. Stinging. Painful. Aching.

As with Todd, I realized it wasn’t just about losing her. It was about all those other losses and all that other helplessness over the events that tumble and blast through our lives. I’m old enough now to know too many people who have taken their own lives or who have died far too young.

One of the strangest parts about growing older is knowing so many dead people. It’s peculiar that I have to keep learning the lesson over and over that they’re not coming back, too. Just when I finally know they’re permanently dead, I slip up and again find myself thinking “I can’t wait to show this to them…oh….”

It’s a sad and beautiful world. Sometimes we can’t do anything that will help someone. I think that was the case with Stacy. Sometimes we can, and sometimes people do, which is why I still walk the earth. Help one another. Be kind. Love animals. Do it for Stacy.

Goodnight, Stacy, beautiful soul. I hope it is better for you where you are. You deserve a world made for you.

  1. September 17, 2015 13:36

    Stacy and I bonded over drinks in the bar at BlogHer’06. We both felt marginalized as writers who were not mommys and for a time after that, we tried to figure out a way to have our voices heard. As I recall, she did a left turn to nursing school, and we lost touch after that. Not having been up-to-date on her life for the past years, I can’t believe that she reached the end that she did. But I respect her decision, even as I mourn her loss.

    • September 17, 2015 16:36

      Thanks, Jane. It is a remarkable and weird community we have.

  2. elvie permalink
    September 18, 2015 08:13


  3. September 24, 2015 10:44

    Suebob, this was beautiful. Thank you for being so articulate about grief and loss, and hope and community.

    • November 4, 2015 20:50

      Thank you. It has been a rough year for so many of us.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: