Michelle Tooley

I took the day to breathe and rest, to regroup and get my feet back on the ground.  I made some calls and worked through some connections and contacts.

I spoke with my temp agent, one of the kindest people I've met since moving to Tucson.  She spoke the words I needed to hear about something better coming along.  Truth be told, I felt very isolated in that office, and I was beginning to feel antsy.  I fear sounding demanding when I speak of the small things that drain me, but I've learned that no windows, no contact with people, and no acknowledgement as a person can be a hard environment for me.  I like to move and to mingle, I like to be challenged and have some meaningful outlets. 

I walked to the cemetery close to my home this afternoon as the clouds hung heavy and drizzles came now and then.  It felt good to take off my flip flops and dig my bare feet into the healthy wet grass.  How lovely to feel the cooler weather, the shade beneath the trees, and the smell of the fresh cut grass.  I love walking through the largest cemetery in Arizona, Evergreen.  Every time I see something bewildering and fascinating.  I studied the tombs of the soldiers from WWI and WWII, young men who lived to be 20 or 22, and I looked at their names and reflected on their sacrifice.  I walked by a gravestone with fresh flowers and a half eaten slice of cake.  Was it his birthday? Was it an anniversary?  I kept seeing the verse about fighting the good fight of faith and finishing the race today, and I stored that in my heart.

A couple months ago I heard of the passing of one of my college professors, Dr. Michelle Tooley.  She wasn't just a professor to me, but she became a neighbor and friend.  She called on me on several occasions to dog sit and house sit for her while she traveled, and I loved staying at her home and walking Toby, sleeping warmly against his fluffy fur in the cold Kentucky winters.  Whenever I would come over to housesit, she would leave behind fresh baked cookies, clean sheets, television, and the washer and dryer to use.  She was so generous to me.  She had never married but had lived a full life in peace and social justice issues.  She was from Texas and never lost her soft soothing accent.  She was tall and cheerful, and she was known as a difficult teacher at Berea.  I took one of her classes and surprised many with an A-.  I loved the class she taught.  I didn't agree with her on everything, but I enjoyed sharing my opinion through the research and writing I did.  She made me uncomfortable and I told her so, but she also made me think and stretch a little too. 

I knew she was accomplished and intelligent, but I loved seeing the other sides of her too-  walks every day with her beloved dog scooping up his poop, not finding papers and failing at any type of organization, trying to lose weight, procrastination ... (I turned in a paper once and it took her months to finally find it under her welcome mat.) She had piles of Outdoor Hiking magazines, stacks of read and unread books, and postcards and bright mementos  from her travels around the world.  She was kind and generous to the her neighbors, church, and community.  She often had the International students to her home for dinner once a week, and she took trips up to J. C. Penny to help them find clothes for presentations, meetings, etc.,  She brought our night class cookies in the evenings.  I always felt she had a soft spot for me, for my raw and abrupt honesty, and I can remember her telling me, "Krista you can do anything."  I think it was the first time anyone had ever said that to me, and I will never forget the spark she gave to my wobbly heart.

A few years ago I was on lunch break at my job in Maine- sitting out in the sun looking across the street.  Out from nowhere I saw Michelle walking down the street with a shopping bag in her arms.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  It felt so surreal like I was back in Kentucky and we were meeting at the street corner again.  I ran over to her and chatted.  I remember she asked if I still had my bicycle- I was a notorious biker in Kentucky, and I told her I still biked some.  She was smiling and healthy and thrilled to be on vacation after extensive work that she was doing in and with Africa.  I'm glad I got to see her once again.  She was so excited about the work and doors that were opening for her and her students. 

My friend Zac tells me that she died in her home with friends singing to her.  It was peaceful and comforting.  She was only 62 when she died, after a two year battle with cancer. Michelle's life challenges me to look carefully at the world, to live imperfect and messy but with a full and open heart, and to make a difference in peoples lives.  Her life continues to inspire, and I know I will never forget her Texas sized heart and smile.