By Rebecca Joice-Moore
Special to The Globe
NEOSHO, Mo. —
Today has been very difficult, one of reflection and heartbreak. I am reminded that every life is a story with a beginning, a middle and an end.
Some endings are untimely and abrupt, giving us cause to ponder. However, it has been in the forefront of my mind all day to focus more on the beginning and the middle of the story. The joyous and happy memories that make up a beautiful life cause us to reflect with such sweetness, that the middle will never be forgotten. No matter the ending, the beginning of the story is still the most important because without a beginning, there would be no life to appreciate and love.
I have to admit that I am struggling. I am aware that the media is doing their job by covering current events. The events leading up to the Nov. 17 tragedy have been made public trying to discern some reason for the horrific act of violence. However, I feel that the past few weeks of Monica Webb’s life that have been reported are not indicative of the life that my friend led. I would like to see one article that was more focused on Monica without the catalog of cold facts.
You would never know from the media coverage that when Monica entered the room, she might as well have been accompanied by a mariachi band, fireworks and a parade. To say she lit up a room was an understatement. She carried with her joy and exuberance like no one else. Her eyes did not twinkle, they sparkled. One of her greatest gifts was the ability to make the young and the old smile. An ordinary conversation might include a song and a booty dance.
A stressful day could be relieved with hysterical laughter at a joke or an antic. The slowest part of her day was before she had her coffee, and a Starbucks made her zing. She did not walk, she bustled. Nothing made her more happy than to talk about her children. To her, they were the funniest, cleverest and sweetest children ever born. It did not have to be a milestone event that made her happy. Barbecue ribs and mashed potatoes for dinner would make her just as excited as a night on the town. Her career was taking care of the elderly. She held their hands, performed her duties, made them feel loved, talked with them, made them laugh and cried when they passed to heaven.
My friend was not just a tragedy in the press and not just a woman the justice system failed miserably. She was a beautiful, vibrant, loving, bubble of energy who loved and always had lip gloss in her pocket.