They buried her in Greeneville this past Friday, August 6, 2010.
To know Cindy was to love her. I can say that with no fear of it being disputed, if for no other reason than the droves of people who came to the funeral home to pay their last respects. But I have even more evidence than that.
I met Cindy in high school. She was a city girl, and I was a farm girl from the county, which normally would have meant that we lived in separate universes, and, I have to admit, should have meant that she felt and acted better than me. But nothing could have been farther from the truth with Cindy. She had an openness about her that immediately communicated how receptive she was to everyone. I don’t think she ever met a stranger, as they say where I come from, and, if Cindy knew you, you were her friend. Simple as that. No standards to meet. No hurdles to get over. No stumbling blocks. Just fun, and smiles, and friendship. Cindy cared. That’s all there was to it. And the literally hundreds for whom she cared showed up in full force to bid her farewell.
It happened much too soon.
They used Cindy’s high school graduation photo in her obituary, which was surprisingly appropriate, because the last time I saw Cindy, she really hadn’t changed all that much. We’d played softball and basketball against one another in high school, which ironically led to us being in medical rehab together, both of us for knee injuries. Even more irony is that her injury sort of came at my hands during a softball game, but that’s another story. She forgave me. Of course. She was Cindy.
We went on from there to work together, while I was in college, at Mickey D’s, where Cindy was a shift manager. Despite only being five foot nothing, she was a fireball of energy. When I sang a few years later at her wedding to Kevin, her diminutive size may have paled in comparison to his height, but there was never anything diminutive about Cindy’s presence. Cindy was strong and she knew it.
She still seemed exactly the same the last time I saw her on October 20, 2009. Our friend Jean’s mom had passed away unexpectedly. We’d all entered that phase of life. You know, the one in which grandparents and maybe parents are beginning to pass, so we typically only saw one another at the funeral home. That’s where I saw Cindy. She sat right beside me during the funeral. Never would I have imagined that this picture of health, who looked just like her high school graduation photo, would receive a stage 4 cancer diagnosis 5 short months later. And never in a million years could I have anticipated she would be gone in just 5 more short months after that.
Yet there I stood on Thursday night, one of the hundreds who waited patiently in line for over two hours to reach her family. It gave me a lot of time to think. And I wondered; what was it about Cindy that obviously touched so many lives? Do I even have it…whatever it is? And have I even begun to impact a fraction of people in the way Cindy did? These are difficult questions for anyone to ask and answer. Maybe none of us will ever bring to bear the unique combination of what made Cindy Cindy. So I won’t ask you to hold yourself to that standard anymore than I’m going to beat myself up about it. But I do want to ask you to think about one thing.
If Cindy’s life teaches us anything, it’s that we don’t know how much time we have.
How many times have you caught yourself thinking, “One of these days, I’m going to…” or “Someday, when I have time, I would like to…” or “When I retire, I am definitely going to…”?
Please don’t wait to live. Whatever it is, don’t put it off. LIVE your dreams NOW.
Perhaps an even greater weakness we all suffer is not worrying about the time we waste. We waste it on the unimportant, the inconsequential, the distractions. We don’t think about how we might use this time differently, if we knew it was all we had left.
But we should. Today is all you know for certain that you have. Each hour. Each minute. Make it count.
Last week I wrote about redeeming your time. One of the other translations of that phrase was making the most of every opportunity. I think Cindy redeemed her time. I don’t think she ever missed a single opportunity to do what she did best—reach out to others, build relationships, show compassion, offer help, and make every single person she encountered feel special.
What would it look like to redeem your time? Have you identified your priorities? Do you know what’s most important to you? Do you know what it would look like, if you were making every minute count?
Life truly is short, and some lives are even shorter than others. Whatever time you have, don’t waste it. Make it count.
With all my best and deepest love and condolences to Cindy’s family,
Rhonda
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