I'm exhausted. Mentally, physically, vocally and emotionally pooped.
Last week we had our Spring Style Show at work. If you've read this blog for some time, then you know that as the events director at the club where I work I host two fashion shows a year, one in the fall and one in the spring. It's always a huge undertaking, but even more so this year since I had no help in the decorating department. I did it all myself. So basically that means I worked nearly 24 hours Monday and Tuesday decorating and rehearsing with the 5 stores. The show was Wednesday morning.
Style Show is always a beast as far as stress is concerned. But last week was even worse. I found out Tuesday that my Uncle Ron passed away. I was blessed enough to be able to see him one last time the previous Sunday after hearing the news that his health was quickly deteriorating. But the news still took my breath away. I've written about my Uncle Ronnie on this blog several times, mostly quoting some little nugget of wisdom he had given me over the years:
"Time gets shorter and shorter the older you get because each year is a smaller and smaller increment of your life. When you're three, a year is only a third of your life. When your 33 it's a 33rd of your life."
"When you get divorced and remarried you are simply trading in one set of problems for another set of problems. Make sure you marry the set of problems you can live with."
When I started a sales job at one point in my career I enlisted the help of Uncle Ron. I told him I wasn't any good at it and had no idea how to get better. This is what he said to me, "Nea, sales is not about your pitch, or about you, or even really about whatever it is you're selling. Sales is about finding out what a person needs and then doing everything you can to fulfill those needs." So simple, yet so brilliant. And he was a very successful real estate agent and businessman who not only worked with that philosophy, he lived it as well.
He lived his life fulfilling people's needs. While I have a tendency to prefer to stay unnoticed at restaurants full of people or at parties and social gatherings, my Uncle Ron could walk into any room full of people and by the time he walked out he would know (and remember the names of) almost everyone in the room, and they would remember him, because he had the gift of instinctively knowing what a person needed. If someone needed a laugh, he would tell them a joke. If they needed to talk, he would listen. If somebody needed to feel loved and cared for and appreciated, he would most often say something like, "She's purty and talented, just like her Uncle Ron!"
I will forever miss hearing him say those words.
In the past couple of years, Uncle Ronnie called me many times to share new lyrics he had written, and more recently he shared ideas he had for the book he had begun to write. Most often he would call me while I was at work and I would spend 20 or so minutes at a time laughing out loud. He was a bright, funny, wonderful man who lit up every room he ever entered.
So when I sang at his funeral Saturday, which I considered to be a great honor, it was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. I was unable to look at my family members, especially my Aunt Joanne, who is one of the strongest, most faithful, most loving and compassionate women I've ever known, and my cousin Amanda. Singing is hard. But it is impossible if I'm crying. So I kept my eyes up, and powered through it. And I was grateful to be able to sing for Uncle Ronnie one last time.
This week has been stressful and busy as well, but mostly for Emily. I will write about it in my next post...