I added Shawnie Romney Tull as a friend on Facebook today.
She died last Friday night.
I grew up about 2 minutes from her house in Springfield, Virginia. Barry and Alita, her parents, were good friends of my parents – there was an extremely good group of adults in that area, and many of them are friends still today, 20 years later – and they were my friends, too. I sang with Barry many times. Alita seemed like everyone’s second mother. For my youngest sister Diana, she was her second mother. Diana spent half her life at the Romneys playing with Reeahn.
You couldn’t miss the Romneys. Between them and the Openshaws – cousins of theirs – they had half the red hair in the county. That, and they were tall. Rochelle, who was the child my age, was easily six feet tall, and probably taller. She was also quite beautiful, as all the Romneys are, and to this day I remember her as one of the smiley-est, happiest people I know.
Shawnie was the #5 kid, about 5 years younger than I am. That meant she didn’t really become a person until I was back from Hungary, and by then I was off to college, so we didn’t hang out. Knew who she was, of course. It was hard to miss her. She was thin and tall and funny, as beautiful as a summer sunrise, friendly and smart. Of course she was. She was a Romney.
We’d connect on and off. Our families match up pretty closely, same number of kids in about the same slots, so when my sister Catherine got married in Virginia, we all met back up again. I still have a photo of that. The same happened when Diana got married. We all knew when Alita got cancer, and we wept and prayed for her. God spared her and she’s still with us, and we all shared, to a greater or lesser degree, in the joy of that.
Shawnie got married about fourteen years ago, and had four children, all little boys (one died as an infant). I knew about it vaguely, keeping tabs the way one does, through those in her family I knew better, and though we never connected directly, Shawnie was one of those friends-in-abeyance. You know the kind, the people you know fairly well because your families are friends, that you don’t spend time with but that still form a part of your life, people that you know you would love to be around if the opportunity presented itself. It was fun to hear how she was doing. She added joy to the world, even from a distance.
And now she’s dead.
Apparently, she died of the flu. She started feeling unwell early last week, throwing up a lot and running a high fever. Eventually, she ended up at the hospital, where they gave her some medicine to break the fever, and sent her home. It worked, the fever broke, and she started keeping some fluids down, and even a granola bar. But she never got well, and went back to the hospital again. They gave her an IV, but by the time she made it back, it was too late. She couldn’t breathe on her own, and shortly after, went into cardiac arrest, and nothing the medical staff did worked.
She was 35.
And what else does one say? How does one prepare for something like this? This part isn’t even really about Shawnie, because she’s gone elsewhere, and no matter what you believe about the next life, the part she’s in is the good part. Her husband Travis, though, he’s still here, and the three little boys, Drake, Luke, and Mason, 9, 6, and 4, they’re still here. Rochelle and Reeahn and Annie, and all the rest, and Barry and Alita, fresh from the miracle that left Alita here, now are burying their daughter instead. What does one say to them?
As shocked as I am, as deeply as I feel Shawnie’s death, I’m in a terrible position to offer sympathy, because how does one know this kind of hurt without having felt it oneself? Without having felt the ache of rolling over in bed, and reaching out…and she’s not there. And she’ll never be there again, not in this life. At a funeral, I once heard President Hinckley of the LDS church say to the grieving husband of the deceased, “it is an ache that never goes away.” Having recently lost his own wife, he knew whereof he spoke. What do I know?
How does one explain to a 5-year-old that the Great Plan of Happiness includes having to fix your own breakfast and read bedtime stories to yourself?
So this is what I have. The kids will not really be making their own breakfast, because there are dozens of people that will be thrilled to make it for them. They have family everywhere. Those kids will be read to, and cuddled, and loved, and while it won’t be the same – it will not ever be the same – they will know maybe better than most that they are not alone.
As I was discussing this with Rachel DeMille, whom I am privileged to call a friend of mine, she said something profound. Here’s what she said:
The grief is real, and in some ways enduring; but it is my experience that the blessings that come outweigh the pain, and I do not believe that the Lord leaves such innocents comfortless and alone. My own children have endured much with the injury of their brother and the subsequent complications in our life, which are too numerous to mention here, as well as the debilitating illnesses I, and now my husband, have had. I have marveled at the richness my children have experienced, and have taken solace in the sure knowledge that their souls are truly consecrated, and they fear nothing that the world can do to them. I doubt that many of us would unblinkingly submit to the trials that bring these gifts, but I doubt even more that any who have would trade back the gifts for a simpler life.
Amidst the shock and pain, your friends may not be ready to embrace the comfort and treasures that come with this; but they will, and ultimately the gifts are even more real than the loss. We know in our heart of hearts that the loss is temporary. The gifts are enduring.
My heart will be heavy for this young family, and I do pray that they will feel the Lord’s abiding love to carry them through this time of sorrow.
Since there’s no hope of my saying it this well myself, I thought I’d just quote it.
Travis, everything you know about your purpose here and Shawnie’s purpose here, is true. Everything. Everything you know about eternal families, about the power of sacred covenants, is true. Everything. It is all real. It is much more real than any of what appears to be happening today and tomorrow and, no doubt, for a very long time afterward. You will come through it and you will have the gifts of that trial forever.
And Shawnie’s loss is already making itself felt across the country, among people that were close to her and not so close, even among those that never knew her at all. People everywhere are holding their loved ones closer, appreciating their children that much more, whispering things to each other they always meant to say.
It is not that we fear death, though it is excruciating for those that are left behind, it is more that we respect it and especially we respect those – even envy them, a little – that have obtained this, the final ordinance of this life. For a moment, we might wish that we had them back, but almost immediately we realize that what we really want is not to pull them back, but to have them pull us onward.
And they will. Starting right now. And we will one day join them there, in a reunion made all the sweeter by the pain of the separation. It must be so. It is so.
Today, I added Shawnie Romney Tull as my friend on Facebook. I may not know for a long time if she accepts me. But I hope to be the sort of person she would like to be friends with, and I’m going to start working on that today.
Tags: Shawnie Romney Tull
Posted on Tuesday, 5th May 2009 by chrisjones
Posted in Blog & News, General, Jones Family News | Comments (6)
May 6th, 2009 at 12:32 pm
I feel in the same relationship you do to Shawnie (families dear friends).
Thank you for this post, it was really nice to read.
May 6th, 2009 at 2:14 pm
Hey, I had finally stopped crying!
May 7th, 2009 at 11:27 am
Thank you Chris. Beautiful.
May 7th, 2009 at 6:53 pm
Shawnie was one of my best friends in high school. Loved her.
May 11th, 2009 at 1:24 pm
Chris, this is beautiful. From one of the tall redheads,
Robyn Openshaw
August 26th, 2009 at 1:07 pm
I worked with Shawnie briefly at a law firm in DC. I will remember her “lovliness” as you and your friends have so eloquently stated. Reading your tribute has reinforced my faith and I do believe that knowing her, no matter how well, was and forever will be, a gift I will cherish.
Thank you, friend…