Linda.

I've stared at a blank page for a while now, even leaving it over night, to try to figure out the words that will pay the utmost respect and give the most accurate portrayal of the wonderfully lived life of Linda Shirley.

I'm still not even sure where to start, so I'll just start from the beginning.  My mom shared the most beautiful tribute to Linda at her funeral which tells of Linda's life and accomplishments perfectly.  With her permission, I will share that with all of you on here in another post.  But for now, I'll tell you of my Linda.

Linda was my mom's big sister.  When I was born, Linda was 37 years old.  I'd like to believe I was extra special, especially to Linda, because I was Linda's first niece.  I grew up in Morgan City, Louisiana, which is a tiny town down in the swamps.  We lived in the same neighborhood as my grandparents and Linda, only living a few blocks away from them.  Linda lived with my grandparents where they strived every day to provide her a "normal" life.  Linda had Down's Syndrome, and let me tell you, she rocked that extra chromosome and her beautiful red hair with every ounce in her.  Before I started kindergarden, I stayed with my grandmother while my mom worked half days at the Daily Review, the local newspaper that my Papa (mom and Linda's dad) owned and ran.  I didn't spend time with Linda on those days, because she was at work too.  She would go to and from work with my mom, and she would work.  We often said that the Daily Review wouldn't be able to operate without the true boss, Linda Shirley.

I remember spending time at the Daily Review, running around with the smell of printing ink floating through the air.  That smell still stops me in my tracks.  Linda had a desk in an office where she would neatly cut out pictures and file them into a box.  She went around to everyone's desk every single day and flipped their day calendars to the correct day.  She restocked the Coke machines.  She swept the pressroom floor.  She "inserted" newspapers, putting one section into another and counting them out into stacks to be delivered.  She had a lot of different jobs, but it was that last one that always amazed me...even from a young age.  You see, Linda was like 5 foot nothing on a good day with a pair of tennis shoes on standing straight up, so she had a stool she would stand on to insert.  And she was good at it.  She had a system, she would lick her finger on one hand, open the paper with the other hand, and slide the insert in while simultaneously moving the completed newspaper into a stack.  She had a rhythm and a method that was efficient and effortless.  There used to be multiple people inserting at tables scattered throughout the press room, and she was one of the best.  I remember trying to do it a few times, even when I was older, and I sucked.  There were inserts flying onto the floor, stacks falling over, a disaster. So I'm not fluffing when I say she was good.  She earned every dollar of her paycheck at the Review.  And we were all proud of her.

Every Saturday night, Mom, Dad, Jon Eric, and I would go over to Grandmama, Papa, and Linda's house and have hamburgers.  "Red-burgers," we called them.  [Red heads in my family is a badge of honor.  My Papa was a red head, earning him the name "Red" by all who knew him, then came Linda, Uncle Steve, and Uncle Andy, all who were red heads.  Then there was my mom...a brunette. But they loved her anyway!]  Jon Eric and I would watch cartoons or Lawrence Welk with Linda while everyone would get dinner ready.  I'd sneak away every single week to grab a bite of the pork-and-beans when they were set out on the table and Grandmama would act surprised every single time.  At the table, Linda would say the blessing.  As she got older and her words started slipping, she would say "God is great, God is good, thank Him for the food, and thank you Lord." Amen.

Linda was talented.  I remember her teaching me how to make pot holders.  She had the heavy duty loops that she would arrange into beautiful colored patterns to make up the pot holder.  She gave them to everyone.  Everyone.  I honestly believe that at least half the town of Morgan City has a Linda pot holder.  I have like 20 now as an adult.  Jon Eric and his wife have plenty.  Everyone at their church had them.  After we moved to North Carolina when I was in the 4th grade, Linda, Grandmama, and Papa would come to visit us and we would go down to Morgan City every Christmas and summer, and Linda would always ask us our teacher's names and give us pot holders for them.  Linda also did paint-by-number paintings.  And I'm not talking about the little ones that like 4 year olds do, I'm talking about huge intricately elaborate ones that are beautifully displayed in the homes of my mom and her brothers now.  In looking at them, you can't tell they are paint-by-numbers.  It would take her months to complete one, but she worked on them faithfully on her blanket spread out on the living room floor with her lamp, brushes, paints, and magnifying glass.  She would paint and paint, laying on her stomach and concentrating so hard through her cute glasses usually while watching the New Orleans Saints play.

Speaking of the Saints...if you know anything about NFL football, you know the Saints back in the day were embarrassingly horrible.  Linda was the BIGGEST Saints fan in the entire state of Louisiana, and probably the world.  Seriously.  We often joked that Linda refused to die until the Saints won the Superbowl.  She had shirts and hats and good luck charms, and she faithfully cheered them on every Sunday.  Linda would get so antsy at the end of church if the preacher would start to go over because she needed to get home to see her Saints play.  Unfortunately a few years ago when the Saints DID win the Superbowl, Linda's mental health had declined to a point that she probably didn't understand that they won.  But I think she knew.

 

I remember playing with Linda and sitting cuddled up with her on the couch.  I remember brushing my teeth in the bathroom next to her while she brushed her teeth with her electric toothbrush.  We did tons of little things together and were quite inseparable as I grew up.  She would often tell me 'secrets,'  whispering "hey, Ash, come here!" And motion to me from across the room.  I would get up to her and she'd lean in real close and whisper something into my ear.  It would often be nothing really, like "did you see that?"  or "yep, that right there," or sometimes just a deep breath or nothing at all.  It never annoyed me, even as I grew older and long passed Linda in height to have to stop whatever I was doing and come and bend down and let her whisper nothing into my ear.  Often times she'd look at me and giggle, sometimes clasping her hands in excitement, and shake her head yes for who knows why.  It made me stop and thank God for her.  I think little moments like that kept me human in a way.

Linda loved Jesus.  We went to the same church in Morgan City and every Sunday, we always sat in the same row.  Linda sat in between her mom and her dad and paid attention.  She stood when we stood and prayed when we prayed.  She opened her hymnal and sang her heart out.  She was always about a half a beat behind, but it was beautiful.  She gave her tithe every week.  Every single week, she would bring money in her envelope and put it in the offering plate.  During the Sunday School hour, she worked in the 5-year old classroom.  She took the roll and delivered the attendance sheet to the office every week.  In my mom's tribute she wrote that I will post later, mom references all of the little 5 year olds who are now adults, wondering the impact that Linda had on them.  After Linda's passing last week, I got a message on Facebook from one of those 5 year olds.  He is now 26 years old, and he commented on a picture I posted of Linda, 'I remember Linda.  I love this picture, it's a great one of her.  I remember when she taught my Sunday School class.  Praying for your family.'  I fully believe she understood heaven and Jesus and grace and love better than any of us can and taught a piece of that to everyone around her.

Do you know about Santa?  Santa was Linda's favorite.  She would giddily make out a list every year and write Santa a note.  She would leave him milk and cookies and wake up on Christmas morning with more excitement than any child.  When my Papa died unexpectedly on December 23, 2001, in the midst of a saddened stupor and funeral arrangements, Santa still had to come.  He just had to.  And he did, for Linda.

When Linda lost her dad, her Pa as she called him, she started declining.  She started forgetting things and would say more and more things that didn't make sense.  She lived with my Grandmama still, and at times we weren't sure who was taking care of who.  Grandmama was heart broken over Papa's death, and it became difficult for her to care for Linda.  Thankfully, my mom's 2 brothers, Uncle Steve and Uncle Andy, stepped in since they still lived in Morgan City.  They helped care for Linda and Grandmama both, helping with the house, cooking meals, and caring for Linda.  It was hard for us to be so far away, but we were so thankful that family was still able to help.  Grandmama died in March of 2008 and Linda went to live with my Uncle Steve and Aunt Jean.

 

Brandon and I got married in June 2008.  By this time, most of the time Linda didn't recognize people.  She could still feed herself but had lost the ability to do other daily activities that she had been able to do before.  Before our wedding, I walked down the stairs at the place we were married and Linda was sitting in her wheel chair at the bottom of the steps.  When she saw me, she stood up.  She didn't say a word, she just stood up when she looked straight at me, and I came down the stairs and hugged her for the longest time.  That was the only time I cried at my wedding.

Over the past few years, Linda declined mentally and physically.  It was during this time that my Uncle Steve cared for her in his home, a sacrifice that all of us are incredibly grateful for.  She spent time at my parents house as well, and we watched as our sweet Linda slipped away.  In the past few weeks, Linda's health took a quick turn for the worse.  We knew without a doubt that the Lord was going to call her home soon.  You see, Linda was never sick, probably because of that head full of stubborn red hair she had.  So we knew that this was it.  I was able to spend some time with her a few days before she died.  I sat at her bedside with her and held her hand.  I rested my head on her chest and listened to music with her.  I played old hymns and tried my best to sing the words that she knew so well.  As hard as it was seeing her tired body, I was filled with so much hope that soon she would be alive.  To sit by the bedside of someone in their final days on this earth is nothing less than a sacred experience.  I felt Jesus in that room.  Knowing that He loved her more than I ever could was something that brought me peace and hope.  I begged Him to take her home where she could be whole and perfect.  I thanked Him for the full and abundant life she lived on this earth and the lessons she taught everyone around her about perseverance and defying all odds.  I know that Linda loved Jesus, and she represented Him so well.  She was the perfect representation of the sanctity of life, living a full and happy life when people told my grandparents that she never would.  I said my earthly goodbye to Linda after spending those few days with her, knowing that I would not see her again on this side of heaven.

Last week, Linda went to be with Jesus.  She died at her home with her 2 brothers, 1 sister, and their spouses at her bedside holding her hands and talking to her.  I don't think we could have asked for anything more.  Linda lived to be 64 years old, which is incredible for a women with Down's.

At Linda's funeral, we had many of her paintings and potholders out for display.  Many people who came asked about the paintings, having no idea that Linda painted them.  All of us beamed with pride as we showed off her work.  To us, they represented her determination and her strength.  Her service was beautiful, and was co-officiated by my parent's pastor and Brandon.  My mom read something she wrote about Linda, and through the grace of God was able to read the entire thing in front of a sanctuary full of people.  (Something she was unable to even do in her own living room!)  I'm so proud of her.

I'm proud of everyone, actually.  I'm proud of my grandparents who raised a "handicapped" child during a difficult time.  I'm proud of the community that Linda grew up in, from the employees at the Daily Review who treated Linda like their own sister, to the little 5 year olds in her classroom at church who saw her as Linda, not someone with a disability.  I'm proud of my mom and uncles who raised us, their children, to love Linda.  I have always been drawn to people with disabilities.  I fully believe that Linda is one of the reasons I am a pediatric nurse where many of my patients have different forms of disabilities.  The way that I saw my family love Linda and treat her like she was "normal" mimics the love of Christ, something that I hope to teach to Lucas daily.

The day before I left to go and spend those last days with Linda, Lucas, Brandon, and I were eating dinner at Chick-fil-a.  After dinner we went into the play place with Lucas and there was a little boy in there who ran straight up to Lucas.  His name was Timmie, he was 3 years old, and he had Down's Syndrome.  He ran right up to Lucas and stopped in front of him and he took Lucas's face in his hands, with one hand on each cheek.  And for a few seconds, they just smiled at each other.  Then a little spunky 6 year old girl bounced up to them and said "this is Timmie!  He is my brother!  You guys can play!"  No funny looks, no differences, just two little boys who were about the same size and loved chicken nuggets and the play place.  And Lucas and Timmie ran towards the toys together.  A lump formed in my throat the size of a baseball and tears filled my eyes.  I looked at Brandon and he just smiled.  This is the type of love for people that I want Lucas to have his entire life.

I do miss Linda.  I'm sad that she is gone from this earth.  But I believe in a God that promises that one day all sad things will become untrue, and that we will sit around the throne worshiping together with all of the people that we love that have gone before us.  Death is not to be feared, it swallowed up in victory.  And for that, I am thankful.

If you're still reading, thank you.  I hope I've shown you a little glimpse into Linda's life and why she was so much more than just my aunt.  I leave you with this song which we heard every Saturday night while eating Red-burgers as Lawrence Welk closed his show.  Goodnight!