Winter/Spring 2006. I was into my second trimester carrying Baby Girl and planning the annual spring barbecue for seniors and volunteers with Adopt-A-Grandparent Program.
I was looking for an MC for the event, as I didn’t want to be the one to have to do it. I’d served in this role for their Christmas Party some months earlier, and it took the whole of the following day for my pregnant ever-changing body to recover.
I considered radio and television personalities. Connie Flint was one that I knew the seniors loved and recognized on Praise 97.5 FM, a local gospel music station. We’d spoken on a couple of occasions and she was warm and gracious, telling me to call on her any time, as she loved seniors and doing these sorts of appearances.
With that in mind, I called Ms. Flint about this particular spring event, but my voicemail messages went unreturned. I sent her greetings via email looking to follow up with her. Never a reply. I mailed her packets and personal notes to give her more info. Nothing.
I was a little dismayed, as this unresponsive behavior didn’t seem characteristic of what I’d experienced with her.
In a last ditch effort, I planned to go to a live remote I learned she’d be doing at a newly-opened active senior retirement community with which I wasn’t familiar.
I sent her a note ahead of time letting her know I’d be there and was looking forward to talking with her. Still no response.
The afternoon of the remote, I was headed on my way when I got a flat tire. Perturbed, I listened to the goings on of the event on my radio as I waited for assistance. I heard residents and visitors go on and on about how lovely this new retirement community was, heard all about its fine amenities and listened to Ms. Flint kindly interact with all within the sound of her voice. It further perplexed me as to how such a clearly genuine and loving person could be so seemingly inconsiderate in not responding to any of my communiqués.
After getting my tire replaced I sped to the location, with just about 10 minutes of the live remote left. As I traveled down the last stretch of road with the community in sight, the radio station’s vehicle passed me in the oncoming lane. I’d hoped that perhaps Ms. Flint was still on the premises nonetheless.
She wasn’t. The retirement community’s staff was cleaning up and informed me she’d just left. Deflated, I figured I’d at least tour the community so that the trip wouldn’t be totally for naught. My parents were planning on moving to Atlanta in the next couple of months and although they already had a community in mind with which they were making their housing arrangement, what would it hurt to look around?
It didn’t hurt at all. Touring the grounds and units I knew this place would be just perfect for my parents. I picked up application forms and literature, thanked the staff and headed on my way.
I gave up trying to contact Ms. Flint, ended up serving as a co-MC and taking the whole of the following two days for my even more pregnant body to recover. But a fun time was had by all. And my parents ended up changing their plans and moving into that retirement community, where they still remain quite pleased.
So all was well that ended well. I thought about sending Ms. Flint a note letting her know that although she’d never gotten back to me, I saw that in the whole exercise in futility it was meant for me to find this fabulous place for my folks that I never would have likely known about had it not been for my chasing after her. But then I checked my intentions (admittedly, they weren’t pure) and decided not to do it. Yes, she seemed so kind and I’d felt we connected, but who knew why she didn’t respond—it could have been any number of reasons. She didn’t owe me anything. I let it go and moved on.
Driving yesterday a.m. doing my morning radio show channel surf, the memory flooded back to me instantly as I heard the jarring news on 97.5: Connie Flint had passed away the day before.
I hadn’t heard her on the air for a little while, and her station had shuffled their host line-up, but it didn’t occur to me what was now pretty obvious: she had been sick.
And for all I know, though I’ll never know, she could have been dealing with her private pain and challenges of being ill back in early ’06 when I was trying to reach her. Again, I’ll never know, but what I was sure of at that moment in hearing the sad news was that I was glad I never sent that note…
It was one of those stop-you-in your-tracks reminders to me that people have lives outside of their dealings with you. Everything is not always as it seems, and every inexplicably poor occurrence you may experience is not necessarily meant to be a personal affront to you. Hence, when in doubt, try a little tenderness. You just don’t know.
A humbled and heartfelt thank you to you, Ms. Flint, for this lesson, as I posthumously add you to The Thanks Ranks. My condolences to your family and all who love you and celebrate your life. God’s got a new announcer in heaven.
