What is Grief if not Love Persevering?

Callie was a 'tribe-building' kind of person. If you knew her or talked to her on the phone for any period of time, you knew about half a dozen people you'd never met. And you loved them vicariously. Sometimes you all showed up at once to her house with food or coffee and met other tribe members. You knew her neighbors, her kiddos, and all the animals roaming her house. You sat on the back porch and talked with her mom and watched sunrises or sunsets from the front porch. You had mild panic attacks as a passenger in her car, especially downtown, and were always telling her how to spell correctly. She made you stay on the phone while she cleaned the house as motivation or else it didn't get done.

She cheered you on through everything; every move, new job, and relationship...then consoled you when they didn't work out. She reminded you constantly of your shared German heritage and that it was okay to be morose and grumpy most of the time because "it's in our blood!" You fought when you both got hangry, then kissed and made up after a couple drinks and a bowl of cheesy tator-tots or hamburgers. No trip to the Brass Armadillo together would leave you empty-handed, usually with some jewelry or that one time she brought home a banjo.

She drank more coffee than the Gilmore Girls combined and talked faster than them too. No one could make or hold a conversation once she had something to say. She always had something to say. You watched people who were ordinarily talkative shrink back or try to speak, only to close their mouth in defeat. It was incredible. She wasn't just someone people were acquainted with; she was someone to experience- a whirlwind of a person who made you feel happy and confused and known simultaneously. If people were friends with any of us, they knew Callie. How could they not?

She cared. Despite complaining about people in general, she was ready to turn Kansas City upside down with "Women of Trade," a business idea she pitched to me last March. It was, and may yet be, a non-profit organization to supply education and equipment to women in the trade and medical fields. We would renovate houses, get involved in the community, and network with women around the globe someday. She did not leave this earth without making a difference from her little corner.

Although small in stature, there was more tenacity and talent in Callie than anyone could imagine. She created and sold artwork as quickly as she could get her hands on material: resin pouring, welding, acrylic painting. She was planing on putting up a booth in the KC art garden soon. She drove forklifts, jumped in and out of U-Haul trucks on an assembly line, and was the only one small enough to climb through/repair equipment like giant ovens. She had the strength to man-handle machinery, yet was gentle enough to be a preschool teacher, all the while collecting new members of her tribe.

There's so much more to add but I am at a loss. How do you sum up eight years of friendship and sisterhood (20+ years for some people) in just a few paragraphs? How can someone describe all the magic and wonder that was Callie to people who never had the privilege of meeting her? I wish everyone could have. She would have loved telling you about the pet raccoon she had as a kid, her dog, Chess "the mess," and the sixteen art projects she was working on simultaneously. She would have introduced you to a plethora of new music and made you the strongest cup of coffee you've ever had in your life. She'd laugh at your jokes- a high pitched, almost crow-like laugh that is still ringing in my ears, or a deep-throated, breathy evil laugh. Every tattoo had a story, even the giant peony on her left backside of which she sent an unsolicited picture. She was a tiny, ferocious, walking piece of art.

"I'm thirty-seven! In thirteen years I'm going to be fifty! That's not very long...I better learn how to grow up," Ocalla Victoria Snyder- September 3, 2021