Adieu, Stacy Widelitz

This guy.

Last Friday afternoon, a week ago today, I got an email from him saying that he’d checked in to Vanderbilt and had just found out he had pancreatic cancer that had metastasized. I spent Saturday afternoon in the hospital with him. On Monday things spiraled and on Tuesday around 10:00 a.m. he took his last breath. Oof. The gut punch of life turning on a dime.

For those of you who knew Stacy Widelitz and have been reading the outpouring of grief, shock, and hilarious stories, you know the deep, collective loss we’re all feeling. For those who didn’t know him, well, there was and always will be only one of him. Here’s the obituary I wrote that will give you the flavor of him along with a few of his accomplishments, the crown jewel being that he wrote “She’s Like the Wind” with Patrick Swayze for the movie “Dirty Dancing.” But my word, that was just the tip of the iceberg. (Stacy Widelitz Obit)

Stacy and I met in 2006 when we were in the same Leadership Music class. When we graduated in 2007 we were put together to be co-chairs of Artist Day for the upcoming class. For the past 18 years he has driven me crazy. And for the past 18 years he has been one of my very best friends. Pretty much every sentence out of my mouth when we were together started with, “Oh my god, Stacy.” Or “Stacy, stop it.” Or “I’m not believing you just said that.” Or simply “Dear lord…” with an eye roll. Any and all of which delighted him, and ended with the two of us laughing uncontrollably.

He was irreverent, hilarious, brilliant, completely full of himself, generous, ridiculous, beyond quick-witted, and a steadfast friend. And he was consistently himself. One of my favorite stories — which made him laugh every time he told it and perfectly summed him up — took place after a fight with a girlfriend who was furious and exasperated with him. She told him he was “arrogant, pompous and conceited.” And without missing a beat he quipped, “I am NOT pompous.”

His stories … oh, my god, his stories. They were endless and epically funny. From growing up on Long Island with parents and childhood scenes that sounded like something out of a Woody Allen movie, to his decades of dating life, to something that had just happened the day before. The constant in all of them, however, was that he never, ever made fun of anyone else — they were always stories that poked fun at himself. An awareness that came from his early days of being bullied because he was, as he said, “a short, fat kid with a girl’s name.” And he told me he wore a cape to school. A CAPE! So incredibly, ridiculously Stacy.

He was also one of the most supportive people in my life. He was there during the last years of my magazine, and then while I was trying to figure out my identity after folding it. After I started producing creative workshops he signed up in 2015 to go to Italy on one of my retreats that Gretchen Peters taught. He really did try to behave himself as best he could, and oh, the stories from that episode. He ended up writing a beautiful song called “Ciao, Luciano” after connecting with a photo on a village grave of a guy standing by his sports car. I just found the video of him playing it for our group. He was so proud of it—his goal was to write a song without a co-writer, AND to make me cry. He succeeded on both counts. And as he would endlessly tell me over the following years, “I won!”

Another thing he won was the seat of City Commissioner of Oak Hill in 2016, his first foray into politics after serving as president, board member or committee member of just about every organization in Nashville. He spent that election day continuing to knock on doors right up until the polls closed. That night I got a phone call from him, sitting outside by his pool with a martini and cigar. “You can just call me ‘The Commish’ now,” he said. And I said, “Oh, my God, Stacy. You just wanted to WIN. Now you’ve got to be the City Commissioner. Good luck with that pickle you’ve gotten yourself into.” He did serve his 4-year term, throwing himself into that as he did everything else. 

The last great thing he stumbled into was becoming a photographer of street scenes, which started on that trip to Italy in 2015 where he brought his brand new camera. It quickly turned into his new creative passion with non-stop awards, gallery showings, and me rolling my eyes at him. “Winning!”

We had dinner at the same place every couple of months to catch up. The last one at the end of March was for his birthday before he headed to France. In addition to the typical inappropriate jokes and my string of “oh-my-god-Stacy’s,” we talked about how filled with magic our lives have been. How lucky we were. Just incredibly, overwhelmingly, hilariously lucky. And we toasted to that.

We were supposed to have had dinner a few weeks ago to celebrate my birthday and for me to hear about his trip, but he cancelled that morning because he wasn’t feeling great and was just going to curl up on the sofa with his dog, Max. We’d rescheduled for this week.

After I got his email last Friday I texted him and said I’d be over to the hospital the next day after I had a chance to walk off the grief that was all about me, and that I’d even brush my hair. He texted back “Thank you for both.” I said “Sad you had to go and get cancer for me to brush my hair.” His immediate response: “It’s worth it!” Typical Stacy right up to the end. He texted, “One of the nurses told me that, after discussion, the nursing team determined that I was one of the most upbeat patients they’ve seen. So I’m still winning!”

On Saturday we talked for hours about everything, laughed about a lot of things, cried about a few, and in the end believed more than ever that we were the lucky ones. When I left, in addition to saying how much we loved each other, I told him that more than anything I was just going to miss him. 

I’ve been thinking about that so much for the past few days. That on the other side of love is this thing that feels even bigger. Missing and being missed. The deep, aching, beautiful pain we’re left with that means someone’s life was well-lived and they made a difference during their time here. That they did it right. That they won. And I can hear Stacy laughing at it all.