Sandra Lee (Angell) Singley – January 11, 1951 – July 12, 2018

She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

We were at a youth group function at our church. Sandy and some friends were sitting on the stage in the fellowship hall, legs dangling over the front edge. I’m sure I had seen Sandy before but I’d never really noticed her. But that day I noticed! She had the most beautiful long legs dangling over the edge of that stage, and this was back in the day when girls wore miniskirts. So there was a lot to appreciate! And I did.

She had long, silky chestnut brown hair, and wonderfully deep brown eyes, and lips that seemed to say, “Kiss me!” Although that may have just been my imagination. I was smitten. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. But I had no idea how to go about making a connection – if you know what I mean.

But our mutual friend Helen Davy had a party. She and Sandy were cheerleaders and I played on the church basketball team. I didn’t know it then but the two of them cooked up that party expressly to get us connected. I remember going down to Shack’s on Main St. in Worcester, MA and buying a really nice cranberry colored shirt just for the occasion. And off to the party I went. Sandy was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. She was wearing a pink angora sweater. Our eyes met. She got up and started running toward me – in slow motion – those beautiful long legs carrying her across the room, her long brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. Suddenly, Frank Sinatra appeared, singing “Strangers in the Night”. Well, not exactly that. But we did connect that night. Oh, the passion!

When I got home I came through the front door and slumped against it, letting out a deep sigh. My mother, sitting on the couch across the room took a long look at me and said, “So who IS she?” “Whatever do you mean?” I asked, trying to appear innocent. “HER,” she said, pointing at my chest, “the one who left all that pink angora all over your new cranberry shirt!”

And that was the beginning of us, Butchie Singley and Sandy Angell – with 2 “L’s”. She was 15. I was 17. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

Sandy was born in Worcester, MA on January 11th, 1951. Her dad, James, and her mom, Eva , had both been married before and each brought into their marriage three grown children – Beverly, Dorothy, Jimmy, Bobby, Ida and Donald. The kids were mostly out of the house and living on their own when Jim and Eva married. How surprised they were when Jim and Eva announced they were expecting a baby. Eva was 44 years old when Sandy was born. At age 46, she gave birth to Gail. The girls used to get a big kick out of the fact that the children of their much older brothers and sisters had to call them “Aunt Sandy” and “Aunt Gail” even though Sandy and Gail were in some cases younger or the same age as their nieces and nephews.

Sandy had a happy childhood, and a lot of friends. She belonged to Campfire Girls or some such organization but didn’t stick with it because she hated camping. Too many bugs. And for the rest of her life Sandy’s idea of camping was something more along the line of staying at a Hilton Hotel. She attended Worcester public schools, was an “A” student, and an all-around good kid. And that goodness was put to the test when she was about 12 when Eva, her mother, suffered a very serious stroke. Eva lay in a coma for quite some time. When she finally awoke she was totally paralyzed on the left side. Jim Angell did his best to take care of his family all the while working as a signal maintainer for the New York Central and later Penn Central Railroad. But it was too much for him to handle on his own. So Sandy and Gail stepped up to the plate and helped care for their mom and manage the household. They tried to do some cooking – until their dad told them not to. He’d do the cooking. And he was a great cook. Sandy, being the older daughter, became an amazing organizer and planner, gifts that stuck with her all her life. She also tried to mother Gail who, at 10 years old was not very much into having her life run by her 12 year old sister. That created some tension between them but the bottom line was that they loved each other through that very difficult growing up time when their mother was so limited. Sandy had a very deep love for Gail and years later the two sisters bonded even more deeply when they discovered a mutual interest in getting good bargains at the Christmas Tree Shoppes. Sandy was a GOOD sister, aunt, and daughter. She was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.

After Sandy and I met we dated pretty steadily. She came to my Junior and Senior proms, and after I went to college, I went to her Junior and Senior proms. After the last one, we drove with another couple to Cape Cod and watched the sunrise from Nauset Beach. It was so romantic. We started talking about getting married. But first Sandy had to attend Springfield Technical Community College to become a certified lab assistant. Funny coincidence – I happened to be at Springfield College just down the street. Ultimately, we made the decision to go ahead and marry in-between my Junior and Senior years. Our parents weren’t too thrilled about that decision and warned us that “you just can’t live on love.” You’ve got to like have jobs and stuff. But we weren’t listening. And so on May 30, 1970 Sandy and I stood before the altar at Adams Square Congregational church and promised to love each other “for better or worse” – and there would be plenty of both as the years went by – “for richer or poorer” – and there was lots of that, too. We vowed that in sickness and health we would love and cherish each other – “till death us do part.” Being as young as we were, I don’t think those last words of the marriage vows had as much meaning then as they do today.

We honeymooned on Cape Cod. Then, returning to Springfield, Sandy completed her training and landed a job at Wesson Memorial Hospital. I was still in school. Every Thursday – on payday – we’d cash her rather meager paycheck and then go out to dinner – at McDonald’s. Then we’d fill the tank with gas and do our grocery shopping at the Piggly Wiggly – mostly Banquet frozen entrees. Sandy was really good at cooking those.

But one day, for our anniversary, she decided to make her own special meatloaf. She put it in a small casserole dish, placed the glass cover on it, and popped it into the toaster oven we’d received as a wedding present. The aroma was amazing and we were both excited about sharing this special anniversary moment. Then came a loud “POP!” We pulled open the door of the toaster oven. The glass cover of the casserole dish had shattered all over Sandy’s special meatloaf. She burst into tears. I did my best to comfort her. Then I got an idea. I suggested we just take the meatloaf, turn it over, and eat the part of it that wasn’t covered in a million shards of glass. Sandy thought that was a good idea because in those days she thought all my ideas were good ideas. I wonder when THAT changed? So we took the casserole dish and turned it over only to discover that the meatloaf on that side of the dish was totally uncooked!

So we went to McDonalds. Who cares about meatloaf when you are in love? She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

After college we moved to the north shore of Boston for seminary. We lived in Beverly, Salem and finally in Danvers. Sandy worked at Beverly Hospital and every Thursday, on payday, we’d go down to the McDonalds by the drawbridge in Salem and have our dinner date. We were poor, but we were rich – if you know what I mean. And the richness of this beautiful girl blessed me so powerfully one night in November 1973. I was working at a mall electronics store. Suddenly, Sandy appeared at the credit desk where I worked and asked me to come outside with her. And there on the curb she slipped her arms around me. Through tears she told me my father had died. I couldn’t believe it. He was only 50 years old. Sandy’s gentleness and quiet strength led me through that dark and painful valley. And then, four months later, we walked through that dark place again when Sandy’s mom Eva passed away. And a little more than a year after that she lost her dad too. In the space of a little more than a year, 3/4ths of our parents were gone. We were pretty much alone in the world. But we had each other. And Sandy and I were about to become parents ourselves.

Peter was born in 1975. Three years later Bethany came bouncing into our lives. If I had thought Sandy was the most beautiful girl before then, she became even more so after the kids were born. She was an amazing mother who poured herself into her children. Around that time we bought our place up on Highland Lake in Washington, NH. As soon as school let out Sandy took the kids and spent the summer at what we affectionately call “Camp Singley.” I’d come up late on weekends and we swam and fished and learned to waterski. Camp Singley became a sacred place in our lives, mainly because Sandy filled it up with love.

Although Sandy was not athletic she became her kids’ greatest sports fan, never missing a game. In fact when both kids were playing baseball Sandy would start at one of our town’s fields where Beth was playing, and I would start where Pete was. And about the 3rd inning we’d switch, passing each other in our cars and waving to each other as we drove by. And though Sandy was a pretty quiet and reserved woman she became a screamer when her kids were competing – Beth as a softballer and high hurdler, Pete as baseball pitcher and football player. “Go, Beth, go!” “Run, Peter, run!” There were times she even embarrassed me! And even when Pete or Bethany’s efforts fell short of success Sandy always found a positive word of encouragement for her kids. She made sure they had dancing lessons and piano lessons. She read to them, and hugged them, and nursed them when they were sick. One of my most cherished memories is of a night I had a sleepover at the church with our youth group. The kids tried to escape from the church building about 2 in the morning and I had to corral them and herd them back inside. While I was outside I looked down the street to the parsonage. A lone light was on in the living room and I knew that meant Sandy was up feeding Bethany. And I pictured that scene in my mind – Sandy lovingly nursing her baby in the middle of the night.
She was the most beautiful mother you can imagine.

And do you know that even today, with the kids all grown up, they called their mom every day – Beth in the morning as she went to work, and Peter in the afternoon as he drove home from work. They loved their mom. And as their lives grew into adulthood and marriage, Melissa and Keith became part of Sandy’s amazing network of love. She loved them as her own. And along with them, we got the gift of their parents, Roger and Helen, and Vicki and John and Joe – and whole families of special people. Sandy’s love reached out far beyond herself and welcomed many into the Singley family.

She was a wonderful grandmother to Ryan, Rebecca, Avery and Elijah. Each one was special to her and she related to them in ways that uniquely fit their personality. She introduced them to wonderful traditions – decorating the Christmas cake, and the Gingerbread house, coloring Easter eggs, announcing fashion shows when the little girls transformed themselves into Disney princesses. Sandy loved when Ryan called on the phone just to talk and share about his life, especially his love of music. Sandy did not know anything about groups like Green Day and Muse. But she listened to him and told him how great she thought it all was. And how excited she was to watch video streams of Rebecca’s pageants, and she loved it when Rebecca went with her to Keeneland Race Track and they got all gussied up and wore their fancy hats. As sick as she was this summer, Sandy still went over to Veterans Park to watch our grandson Eli play baseball. And just a short time ago, Sandy beamed when granddaughter Avery came to our house and sang to her “You Are My Sunshine”. Sandy had given her a “You Are My Sunshine” book which Sandy had recorded her voice on, and Avery has listened to it over and over these past many days. She was Mimi Sandy to the Kentucky grandkids, and Mimi Up-Down to the Massachusetts gang – because she taught Ryan about opening Camp Singley windows by turning the cranks “up” or “down.”

Sandy was all about the kids – she was a strong advocate for the small group of young families in our last church, and she loved the kids in our new neighborhood on Tranquility Pt. She knew them all by name – Sarah, Alex, Cooper, Aaron, Carter, Lorelei, Grant, Hudson and was so excited when they came to our house for Halloween. In fact, Sandy actually took orders for what kind of candy each kid wanted when they came Trick or Treating to our house! Sandy was all about loving kids.

And she had an extraordinary passion for racial justice – one of the reasons she was so committed to our Council of Community Churches. And just as important was her support for the families of friends and neighbors who were going through hard times as the world around them changed. When the daughter of a dear friend transgendered from female to male – and the family didn’t know what to do and many simply turned away – Sandy wrote a grace-filled letter to our friend, his mother, reminding her that he was still the same beautiful person who had loved his mother all his life and cared so beautifully for her when she lost her husband. And so a mother and child were reconciled in love. Because of Sandy.

She was a practitioner of redemptive love. And I should know. As a husband I have made terrible mistakes, hurtful choices, and often put my own needs before Sandy’s. As a pastor I have sometimes given more of myself to others than to my wife and family. But Sandy never gave up on us – or on me – and fought hard to find the way forward toward healing and reconciliation. And I am so thankful she did!

She was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.

And then the cancer came.

Stage 4 signet ring cell adenocarcinoma of the stomach. No hope of cure, just a protocol of chemotherapy to manage symptoms and extend life a bit. Sandy faced cancer the way she faced everything – head-on. She planned and managed – because that’s what she does. She loved and nurtured her family and friends – because that’s who she is. She fought hard to live every day. She was not about to spend her days dying, but rather she would fully live all the days of her life.

And the days became fewer last week. She was in the E.R. and very confused and agitated, unable really to focus on anything, having incoherent conversations with unseen people. All of a sudden though, she became totally lucid and present to me. She looked deeply at me with those beautiful brown eyes. “I’m dying, you know”.

“I know,” I said.

“It’s coming fast,” she said.

I said, “The kids and I want you to know that it’s okay for you to go to God when you need to. We’ll be okay. I promise I’ll do my best to take care of the kids.”

“I know you will,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And then as quickly as she had become focused and lucid for that brief conversation Sandy went back to being confused and agitated.

Sitting by her bedside I looked at her, those long beautiful legs now marred by deep blue and purple bruises on her knees from a fall she had taken.

Her long silky dark brown hair was whitish gray and in disarray and thinned out from chemotherapy.

Her deep and expressive brown eyes were unable to focus on anyone or anything.

And as I looked at Sandy in that condition of utter frailty…

… she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

_________

“To love and to cherish…til death us do part.”

I think I now know a little better what that vow means. For when life runs away from us and all the things we once thought were important are taken away there really is one thing and one thing only that remains.

There is LOVE.

The love of Butchie and Sandy.

The love of a mother for her children.

The love we share with our family and friends.

The love of God for ALL his children, no matter who, no matter what, no matter where.

And Love…the Bible promises…

Love never ends.