It's been nearly six months since Teresa left this world and is now looking over us in Heaven, and yes, I truly believe that, although my heart aches constantly knowing that she is not physically with us.
Her 46th birthday is July 10, two days from the six-month anniversary of her death.
With her birthday coming up, Teresa's parents will be here in Laramie to see her headstone for the first time and to visit. It will no doubt be an emotional time for all of us.
With that in mind, we're going to have a little party. The whole idea about coming together like this is to remember Teresa as she lived and not how she died. As much as she could, even to the end, Teresa lived her life to the fullest as a mother, daughter, wife and friend.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated
This almost happened to me ... kind of.
A story in the Greeley Tribune about a man whose obituary was published even though he hadn't died, got me to thinking about an incident in college. No obituary of me was published, but there were friends and acquaintances who thought I had passed away.
When I was a student at Black Hills State University in Spearfish, S.D., a fire at a sawmill killed a worker ... a 21-year-old Richard Anderson, also student at BHSU. I, too, was 21 years old at the time.
The story hit the wires services and apparently was heard on the radio by a couple of my high school friends (brothers) who were going to school at South Dakota State University in Brookings, S.D. They had called their mother to find out when my funeral services were, as they had planned to attend. She then called my mother to find out.
I had called my mom to reassure her that it wasn't me and she told my friends' mother that it wasn't me. All was well.
But it didn't end there.
The day after the accident, I missed a certain journalism class to work, covering an event at a nearby local newspaper in Belle Fourche, S.D. Two days later I shocked the professor when I walked into the classroom.
"We thought you had died in the fire," the professor tells me.
"Obviously, that wasn't me," I retorted.
It still hadn't ended there.
A few days later, a knock came on my door. When I answered the door, the man standing there said, "Good, you're not dead."
I think I answered, "Thank you, I'm glad too."
A couple of months earlier, for some reason, I took out a life insurance policy. It was my insurance agent. Evidently, he was sweating bullets for a couple of days, likely thinking he had to write out a check to my survivors.
So as it was, borrowing a quote from Mark Twain, "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."
Slightly like this story.
A story in the Greeley Tribune about a man whose obituary was published even though he hadn't died, got me to thinking about an incident in college. No obituary of me was published, but there were friends and acquaintances who thought I had passed away.
When I was a student at Black Hills State University in Spearfish, S.D., a fire at a sawmill killed a worker ... a 21-year-old Richard Anderson, also student at BHSU. I, too, was 21 years old at the time.
The story hit the wires services and apparently was heard on the radio by a couple of my high school friends (brothers) who were going to school at South Dakota State University in Brookings, S.D. They had called their mother to find out when my funeral services were, as they had planned to attend. She then called my mother to find out.
I had called my mom to reassure her that it wasn't me and she told my friends' mother that it wasn't me. All was well.
But it didn't end there.
The day after the accident, I missed a certain journalism class to work, covering an event at a nearby local newspaper in Belle Fourche, S.D. Two days later I shocked the professor when I walked into the classroom.
"We thought you had died in the fire," the professor tells me.
"Obviously, that wasn't me," I retorted.
It still hadn't ended there.
A few days later, a knock came on my door. When I answered the door, the man standing there said, "Good, you're not dead."
I think I answered, "Thank you, I'm glad too."
A couple of months earlier, for some reason, I took out a life insurance policy. It was my insurance agent. Evidently, he was sweating bullets for a couple of days, likely thinking he had to write out a check to my survivors.
So as it was, borrowing a quote from Mark Twain, "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."
Slightly like this story.
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