Moby in the Morning - The Biggest Small Town In America

11 - 2 - 05

Dear Mr. Moby,

My name is Pam. As you may recall on Oct. 12 I asked you to wish my daughter Kasey Moody a Happy Birthday. I mentioned that she has been through a hard time with the death of her 15 mo. old niece Gracie (my grandchild). You said you were sure there was a story behind it and there is. Here is the story written by Kasey who is 14 years old and we think it would make a good story for your Small Town Soap Box. Thanks Pam Berry

Subject: Sweet Baby Gone

The night was as regular as any night at my sister Nichole’s house. Just playing with my niece Gracie. Gracie Nichole Stancil was born on May 31st, 2002, seven pounds, thirteen ounces, and nineteen and a half inches long. She was my sister’s first baby. Nichole’s step-brother Chase and I were playing ball and all kinds of games with Gracie. Time sure flies when you are having fun. Unfortunately, it was time to go. I told Gracie goodnight and Chase put her to bed. I didn’t know how much that goodnight would mean to me. As my parents and I headed home, I was thinking about how happy I was since Gracie was around. I was a new person in a weird kind of way.

The next morning I was woke up by the ring of my house phone. My Mom got the phone first so I ran to her room to see who it was and to be nosey, as usual. All I got out of the conversation was my mom stuttering, “What do you mean the baby has passed away?” My Mom hung up the phone and ran out the door bellowing “Kasey, Gracie has passed away!” I was dubious so I just did what she told me to do. On the way to my sister’s house my mom explained to me what happened and I started bawling. My niece had passed away. Thoughts were rushing through my head in disbelief. The trip to my sister’s house seemed like forever and a day.

I just wanted to get there and see why all this commotion was happening. When my mom and I arrived I understood everything perfectly. At first the officers wouldn’t let us in; they were talking to Mark and Nichole. When they were finished they finally let us in. I went into Nichole’s house to find her and her husband Mark, on the floor bawling in tears. However, Gracie was no where to be found. I was so upset. Whatever I did I couldn’t think of why a fifteen month old, healthy baby had passed away. Especially when I see family’s that don’t want their kids or don’t take care of them. Here was a family that not only took care of their baby but loved her dearly. That day at least a hundred people came to pay their respects. The tears everyone cried could have over flown the Grand Canyon.

The next day my family went to arrange the funeral arrangements. They were scheduled at Ward’s Funeral Home in Gainesville on September first and second. The burial was held at Liberty Baptist Church on the third. After getting everything arranged my family and I went to shop for the last dress Gracie would ever wear. The day that I saw Gracie lying in that casket her face cold and selfless. Not like her face always smiling, and full of joy. Her lips colored faded and her precious curls hid behind a bonnet. The funeral days were horrible people crying, hugging, and questioning why? Funerals are always hard to deal with. If you ever see a baby in a casket your perspective of things will change. You wonder why a person should have such a short life. Things like that make you be proud of your age and the past and present, good and bad events that have happened.

Everyone discovered something new from this experience. Especially my Mom’s boyfriend for ten years, Danny. My family was out picking out the flower arrangement for the casket and Danny proposed. This experience made him realize how much he cared and loved her. My Mom and Danny got married at the same place that Gracie was buried, Liberty Baptist Church. If I discovered anything it is to be kind and stay close to what you have, you never know when it’s going to go.

A few weeks later the results to Gracie’s death came in. They were inconclusive. The cornier couldn’t even propose crib death. That made me wonder even more. Gracie and I were very close. My sister used to bribe me if she wanted to go somewhere and she didn’t want to go alone. She would say, “I will take you to see Gracie”. Of course I would go. I saw her almost everyday. I can still remember things Gracie said or done. The freshest thing in my mind the first time she said my name. I was on the outside of the window, while Gracie was in my brother’s lap on the inside of the house.

I was playing with her, making her laugh, when she said Kasey. Even though it came out as Tasey, it really didn’t matter. She may have not have known her words correctly but, she knew what the word “no” meant. If we told her not to do something, she would slap her hand and put it behind her back. I also remember the first time I babysat her. I didn’t have a stroller, so I pushed her around in a baby doll stroller. That night I also recorded her talking and took pictures. I have a couple not so fond memories. Once I was chasing her around the car in the driveway playing with her and she fell. Also I can remember when she cried when I left the room. I can remember a lot of simple things like that.

Every memory I have with Gracie is great on some way. Great like Gracie, a VERY loved baby. This situation has been hard to deal with but, my family and friends have helped me pull through. It is like thread, it can’t go through without a needle. Time was a major factor for me. It took time for me to realize the reason she passed away. I have finally found that reason; God needed another angel to brighten the skies.

In Loving Memory Of Gracie Nichole Stancil

Midnight Phone Call

We all know what it's like to get that phone call in the middle of the night. This night's call was no different. Jerking up to the ringing summons, I focused on the red illuminated numbers of my clock. Midnight. Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the receiver.

Hello?" My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed. Mama?" I could hardly hear the whisper over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter. When the desperate sound of a young crying voice became clearer on the line, I grabbed for my husband and squeezed his wrist.

"Mama, I know it's late, but don't...don't say anything, until I finish. And before you ask, yes, I've been drinking. I nearly ran off the road a few miles back, and..."

I drew in a sharp shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my hand against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to fight back the panic. Something wasn't right. "And I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt you if a policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want...to come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried sick. I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid...afraid..."

Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter's face in my mind and my fogged senses seemed to clear. "I think--"

"No! Please let me finish! Please!" She pleaded, not so much in anger but in desperation. I paused and tried to think of what to say. Before I could go on, she continued, "I'm pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn't be drinking now...especially now, but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!"

The voice broke again and I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes fill with moisture. I looked at my husband who sat silently mouthing, "Who is it?"

I shook my head and when I didn't answer, he jumped up and left the room, returning seconds later with the portable phone held to his ear. She must have heard the click in the line because she continued, "Are you still there? Please don't hang up on me! I need you. I feel so alone." I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance. "I'm here, I wouldn't hang up," I said.

"I know I should have told you, Mama. But when we talk, you just keep telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don't listen to me. You never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if my feelings aren't important. Because you're my mother, you think you have all the answers. But sometimes I don't need answers. I just want someone to listen." I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the how-to-talk-to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my night stand. "I'm listening," I whispered.

"You know, back there on the road, after I got the car under control, I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about people shouldn't drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home." "That's good, Honey," I said as relief filled my chest. My husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I knew from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing.

"But you know, I think I can drive now."

"No!" I snapped. My muscles stiffened, and I tightened the clasp on my husband's hand. "Please, wait for the taxi. Don't hang up on me until the taxi gets there." "I just want to come home, Mama."

"I know. But do this for your mama. Wait for the taxi, please." I listened to the silence in fear. When I didn't hear her answer, I bit into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from driving. "There's the taxi, now."

Only when I heard someone in the background asking about a Yellow Cab did I feel my tension easing. "I'm coming home, Mama." There was a click and the phone went silent. Moving from the bed with tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the hall and went to stand in my sixteen-year-old daughter's room. The dark silence hung thick. My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

"We have to learn to listen," I said. He pulled me around to face him. "We'll learn.

You'll see." Then he took me into his arms, and I buried my head in his shoulder. I let him hold me for several moments, then I pulled back and stared back at the bed. He studied me for a second, then asked, "Do you think she'll ever know she dialed the wrong number?" I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at him.

"Maybe it wasn't such a wrong number."

"Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled young voice came from under the covers. I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into the darkness.

"We're practicing," I answered.

"Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes already closed in slumber.

"Listening," I whispered, and brushed a hand over her cheek.

10 - 19 - 05

Midnight Phone Call