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Rest, In Pieces
By Jennifer Wallace
The Best Friendships Take You with Them as They Live on in You
Kindness. Like love, it’s not easily defined, but easily
distinguishable. Lack of kindness is like a room with-
out air, a beat without a melody. It’s not essential to
survival but it gives life meaning. One of the greatest
echoes of kindness is friendship. Genuine connec-
tions that transcend time and death.
Grandma Darlene
My grandma’s death was the first one that hurt. When
I was eight, she was dying of bone cancer and we
moved so my mom could care for her. Eight felt like
a tender age to lose someone I cared so much about,
and it left an indelible mark on my life. That said,
grief is grief, regardless of age.
(Paulette and Renee Promotional Shot)
My classy grandma was part of two traveling acro-
batic groups in her lifetime. The Nimblettes were a
three-girl team she was in as a child. At sixteen, she
joined Paulette and Renee. Their act involved my
petite grandma (”Renee”) doing trampoline tricks as
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When she died, I was a mess. We all were. Between
a French poodle. Paulette played the part of a French
maid. They toured in Europe and even made appear-
ances at the Palladium Theater.
She adored ballet. As far back as I can remember,
she’d put classical music on the radio for me to sleep
to. She’d even narrate the story. When the music was
sweet and twinkling, she told me that the princess
had come on stage. Then the minor chords would
come in: “Oh no, the villain has come to capture the
princess!” She went through the entire story. Usually
it ended with the prince fighting the villain and sav-
ing the princess. The twinkling music returned as the
princess and prince danced the night away.
Grandma Darlene brought magic and whimsy with
her everywhere she went. My momma and she were
in full agreement that they’d ensure I saw as much
beauty and wonder as possible. Monotonous walks
didn't exist. Every walk led to the discovery of fairy
dresses: small, brightly-colored flower bulbs left
behind by flowering trees. I visited the library often,
getting to see Ronald McDonald and a magician who
pulled a coin out of my ear.
My mom's childhood wasn't ideal. Not every memo-
ry with her mother was blissful. But being a grandma
means becoming the best version of yourself for your
grandkids. My mom and grandma had their differ-
ences, but they teamed up to give me as much magic
as possible. Grandma was my built-in best friend.
My grandmother got me interested in fairy tales.
She recorded Shelley Duvall’s “Faerie Tale Theatre”
for me. It was usually past my bedtime by the time
it came on, though she let me stay up late to watch it
when I slept over. Darlene was interested in all sorts
of things: art, culture, music. And she gave me these
interests as well.
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and legs crossed. We offered our irritated, “Sorry!” at
the move and her death, we experienced major
changes. My mom didn’t know what to do. There was
so much love, pain, grief and frustration. It nearly de-
stroyed her. I cried out for help in a poem left in my
mom’s shoe, saying I wished I had died instead. My
mom told me that what I had written was beautiful
and got me counseling.
That was the first time I wrote a heartfelt poem. My
young heart was bleeding, so I chose to bleed it onto
the page. Grandma’s death pulled that out of me, and
I have not stopped writing since.
She was the first loss that devastated me, but she
wouldn’t be the last. In my lifetime I’ve lost more
than I care to admit. Every one of them has been dif-
ficult in their own way. The two that hit me hardest,
though, were Grandma Darlene and Amber Shrader.
Amber Shrader
Amber made me feel like the only one...her only true
friend. I knew she had other friends, but when I was
with her, it felt like I was at the center of the universe.
That was part of the magic of who she was.
Top picture, Amber is on the left.
Bottom picture, she is in the top row and three from the left…
next to a boy.
Once, my friends and I went to a concert and were
all angry with each other except at Amber. Stupid
reasons. She sat her skinny butt down in the middle
of a blocked-off street and refused to budge until we
apologized. She looked like a petulant child, arms
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each other, thinking it was over. Nope. Like a mother
of naughty children, she insisted we hug it out. We
did. Arguing with Amber was like arguing with a
typhoon.
She loved bowling so we went bowling together after
she’d gotten a new car. We always had a great time
despite being awful at it. That night, after eating our
weight in snack bar nachos, we came back out to the
parking lot. We were almost to her car when I no-
ticed one with a Christian bumper sticker. I pointed
it out and exclaimed, “Look, Christian people!”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “Are you kidding
me?”
“No, I’m serious. See the bumper sticker?”
“That’s MY car!” Her laugh sounded like it was half-
cough, half-laugh, yet was one of the best I’ve ever
heard.
My boy-crazy friend was always doing ditzy things so
she loved to have that leverage over others. She was
still teasing me about it the day of my wedding, as we
began to pull away.
“Look - Christian people!” She yelled, wearing the
yellow bridesmaid dress she chose because it made
her look like Belle. I rolled my eyes and laughed,
waving goodbye to our loved ones. That’d be the last
time I saw her.
Part of the honeymoon was at Disneyland. Pirates
of the Caribbean had been newly upgraded, and I
gushed about how much Amber would love it. I was
going to tell the die-hard Depp fan all about it. That
was likely the day that she passed away. It’s strange,
what grief does to a person. One of the hard things in
dealing with her loss was knowing she would never
be able to see that silly ride.
My husband and I found out on our honeymoon.
Despite her health issues, my husband and I thought
at first that she’d died in a car accident. Amber was
infamous for being a crazy driver. Once I had to tell
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