Angels among us
This one will be personal. It’s not that I mind you knowing my most personal thoughts. In fact, I don’t. At the same time, it can be tough to be vulnerable. But I figure at this point in my life, you either like me or you don’t. So, let’s just do it.
It’s been three weeks since my brother Craig said goodbye to his wife Samantha. For this column, I will refer to her as Sam as we did as a family. They were married for several decades, which is something I’ve never been able to accomplish. It would be hypocritical of me to not tip my hat to both. Marriage isn’t for the weak. I guess it takes a lot of give and take. Don’t take it from me. I’m the last person in the world to be giving relationship advice.
Things weren’t easy for Craig and Sam during the past few years. Sam had issues with her kidneys as long as I have known her. Craig has had issues with the effects of war since he did his second tour overseas. I won’t pretend to know what he went through over there. I haven’t been. I do know that being in law enforcement twenty years was no picnic. One of the main differences was, I went home every night. I don’t think that necessarily makes me a sissy. However, it was nice to be able to clock out and forget the bad stuff for a few hours. I’ve seen things no one should ever see. I’m sure he has too.
Whether you believe in angels or not, I do. I’m not necessarily talking about the ones with wings we can’t see. I’m talking about the ones we see every day. People who do things with absolutely no fanfare. Cherokee County has been fortunate to have many of these angels doing good every day just because they feel it’s the right thing to do. Wherever they live now, they were raised here with the values which make our community unique. Maybe there are people like this everywhere. Maybe not. That’s over my head.
One of the hardest hit by Sam’s passing was their fifteen-year-old, Phoebe. Craig asked me to break the news to her because he just couldn’t do it. In my sixty plus years, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. When I told her, she lost it. She continually said it’s not fair. Instead of talking to her about how God knows best, I just agreed with her. It wasn’t fair. Not to any fifteen-year-old. She was right. Her mother was supposed to be there for her high school graduation, her college graduation, and on her wedding day. I hope I never have to do anything like that again. But I know I will if I need to.
If I heard the names Shannon and Stephanie Cantrell once in the last few months of
Sam’s life, I would hear it a hundred times. If Phoebe needed to be somewhere for a school event, the Cantrells were there. If Craig couldn’t be there, the Cantrell’s were there to take Sam and Phoebe. They didn’t do it because they were asked. They just did it. Their daughter and Savannah are best friends. What they did was remarkable. They made a difference in the life of a fifteenyear-old. Without Shannon and Stephanie, Phoebe would not have had the life she has had.
I knew Shannon but hadn’t seen him in many years. I had never met Stephanie. When I introduced my self at the funeral home, Stephanie said, “You are friends with my brother, Bullet.” I knew exactly who her brother was. Bullet is Jeff Messer. We have been friends for many years. If you know Bullet, you love him. If you don’t love him, that’s on you. If Bullet only had five dollars to his name and someone needed it, he would give it to them. I know I love Bullet. When she told me that, things seemed to make more sense. The Cantrells and the Messers are good people. Some of Cherokee County’s best unsung heroes.
Forest E. Witcraft, a teacher and scholar once said, “A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove…but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.”
Shannon and Stephanie Cantrell measure up to this quote. We should all.