A Friend Passes

A seat at Lexington Elementary has gone unfilled for the last week. It's not a seat that was vacated by an absent student, or the chair of a teacher on hiatus. It's a dark chair in the

school's front office, a chair situated between the front door and staff meeting room. It's a chair that often swiveled its occupant between window views of children entering from the playground to peeks at photographs of family members sitting on the nearby desk. It's a chair that was invariably filled by Debra Sharp, the school's secretary.

It's a chair that, although it will one day be filled by a new occupant, will remain forever empty in the hearts of those who had the pleasure of knowing Ms. Sharp.

Ms. Sharp passed away this week.

Her frank manner, her conversational warmth, her deep interest not only in what folks were doing at her school but also in who those folks were, her optimism for a better tomorrow will be remembered by all who knew her.

The last time I saw her, she was in that same chair at Lexington. We talked about her family. We spoke about her plans for her upcoming wedding. She was thinking about getting married at Lexington, with all of the little kids there to celebrate her special moment with her. She couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

The Lexington family did not get to share in that moment. Ms. Sharp's time here on Earth wasn't long enough to accommodate such a well deserved celebration. Certainly the world could have used many, many more years of Ms. Sharp.

But there was enough time for Ms. Sharp to leave her mark as someone who would get the job done, both professionally and privately. There was enough time for her to give so much of her life to a social endeavor, namely education, that too often gets too little respect.

I thought the next time I would see Ms. Sharp would be at her wedding day. I would finally get to meet those people in the photographs she kept on her desk. Last night, I did meet those same people, and Ms. Sharp was dressed in all white as most brides are. But rather than marry the man she loved, it was her time to bind with eternity.

When someone is so cherished as Ms. Sharp still is, death is but a word that serves only to remind us that a seat in our world will remain empty, while the whispers of memory preserve a spirit ever-flowing.

The emptiness of the chair reflects the emptiness we feel within. But the fullness of spirit of its former occupant serves as testimony to the indelible song the whispers of memory will sing in the halls of Lexington Elementary.