In Loving Memory of
Wende Jean Henderson


3 spots down from Reggie Chastain by brett henderson Reginald Reggie Chastain was a childhood friend of my childhood idol. He died young, 17, in an auto accident I think. I found his tombstone as I wandered around the hillside in the back of the cemetery. It was the basketball and hoop etched on grey granite that caught my eye, it read: Gone to play with God's All-Stars. I was only five and my memory has surely been enhanced by 25 years of remembering. I remember daisies – my mom says they were just dandelions – everywhere. It was early June, warm and too sunny for a grave side service. I rode in the hearse by choice, first to the church and then to the graveyard. I am guessing that was the first time in my life I chose to be alone. The house was full all week with relatives and well wishers bringing suitcases and pre-cooked pot luck meals. The hearse was the first chance to be away from the crying and the people needing to hug someone. It didn't occur to me that I was not alone in the back of the hearse until we pulled away from the house and the people and the pot luck. My sister was there too. We had not been able to hang out together much lately. Not since we shared time in the hospital together with pneumonia that fall. I got to leave for home after a couple of days and her stay lasted through the Spring. I proudly rode my bike for the first time on the circle drive beneath the window to her room. I read her


  

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