A strange, abrupt way to face the concept of loss

To this point in my life, I've been very fortunate not to lose anyone I care about--certainly, not anybody young and in the prime of their life. My grandfather died when I was two, so I don't really remember him; my grandmother and other grandfather have passed away more recently, but I wasn't overly close to them so it didn't shake me much. In fact, the most I've ever grieved, I'd think, was for Martin, my dog, when he died two years ago. After all, it wasn't like I knew someone who had been cut down before their life had ever really gotten a chance to bloom.

That changed this afternoon. And, sadly, I'm 11 months late in finding out.

Since Momma Pug is over in Mississippi this weekend and I don't have a lot to do, I went with Tree and her baby girl up to the Brazos Valley to see the bluebonnets. Being from Louisiana, Tree hadn't seen them; being less than a year old, little bit hadn't had the chance. So we went, had a very nice time, and ended up in College Station so I could show her--poor, blessed soul that she is--Aggieland.

The trip ended up at my old hangout, Fitzwilly's, so we could grab a burger. The burger was good, as it always is, and just looking around brought back a lot of memories. A lot of them centered around an old Fitzwilly's bar tender, a cute, charming young lady I knew simply as Stephanie, or Steph.

It wasn't that Steph was someone I saw once or twice--I ran into her several times a week for the better part of four years. When I came back from Georgia, she came around the bar to give me a hug, even though my future wife was right there. She then turned to The Missus and told her that she had nothing to worry about (I found out why about an hour ago), that I was just a good friend.

Stephanie and I talked a lot about a little. When she was working, I always knew two things: she'd take the time to talk to me and my bar tab would be a LOT less than it should have been. We just clicked. But she clicked with a lot of people; she just had that vibe. She could make anyone smile. We'd talk about how she was doing with school, and she'd tell me that THIS was the year she'd graduate. She was Class of 2002, and she was still going to A&M in 2005, working her way through as she went. She eventually made it, as I also found out about an hour ago.

As we were sitting there, I noticed something on a post on the other side of the bar that caught my attention. It was a memorial for someone. It looked like a girl, but I couldn't tell. Something in my mind asked, "Could that be for Steph?" After all, I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, and she was ALWAYS there.

Nah, I thought. No way. She's moved on to something better. After all, she's still a kid!

As we were walking out the door, I stopped to look at the memorial. Inside a small wooden case with a glass front was a picture of a young lady and a beer bottle opener. I looked at the picture. Sure enough, that was Steph. Then I read the inscription: "Stephanie Waller Billings: April 29, 1980--May 26, 2008."

I went numb and felt like I needed to throw up. That, I thought, is NOT POSSIBLE. Stephanie cannot be gone. No freaking way.

She is. She has been for 11 months and I didn't know. I still don't know why or how, but it just seems incredibly unfair.

Everyone else I know gets this horrible experience when a young friend or relative dies. I get it when my old bartender passes away at 28. But Steph was a lot more than that; she was a real talent, someone who truly did give a hoot about more than your bar tab. I'm sure I'm not the only Aggie who was in College Station between 1996 and 2008 who would consider her some sort of friend.

So I'm sitting here trying to figure out my emotions, and I think I've got it down to this: I feel horrible for her friends, family and loved one and think her death is incredibly freaking unfair. She'd finally gotten her degree, gotten out from behind the bar and boom. Gone.

I know that one someone closer to me does go on, the pain and emotion will be far, far worse. But, sadly, I now have somewhat of an idea--a very small one--of what it'll feel like.

Rest in Peace, Steph. If we do see one another again, I'll get the first round.

And actually pay for it this time.