Shann Palmer, aka Sharon Radabaugh left us on a 70 degree day in December. The skies opened up the day after her death and haven't relented, God's crocodile tears making any outdoor Christmas pageants postponed or cancelled. She never was huge on Christmas- the tree was a chore every year, though she would decorate. This year, she was excited because she found a great (tacky) Mary Engelbreit bowl to house her lovely (useless) Mary Engelbreit holiday balls. It was her thing, though.
Mama had been under the weather for a while. None of us, herself included, knew what was coming. She told me once, when her mother was diagnosed with cancer, she said she wasn't afraid of death. When the time came for Joyce to die, she held on. Shann had a heart attack on the 11th, and stuck around for ten arduous days.
She left behind a lot. A husband, son, daughter (me); friends, groups, a church, and I kid you not, a lifetime of writing. There are boxes upon boxes. She never threw anything away.
Before she died, she had been making plans. In November, she went to her doctor with a persistent cold that turned into an arrhythmia caused by a virus. Suddenly she had all these doctors appointments and new medications with fluctuating doses and schedules. Her heartbeat was too fast. There was damage. An ECG showed at some point she had suffered a minor heart attack. Unfortunately the ECG couldn't pinpoint the date and time. We were given a spectrum of 30 years. The jokes that us kids almost killed her lost their fun. Who am I kidding? She loved the irony.
I hope no one's lactose intolerant, because here comes some cheese. She's gone, but not forgotten. Her spirit is alive in everyone she knew. Her words are stronger than ever. Her intense love still radiates. She even made the darkest day of the year her b*tch.
Mother, poet, teacher, singer, organist, diva, friend, wife, exceptional in every way.
Stay tuned. I intend to keep this updated.
Sharon Davis Radabaugh