Right around the corner, just around the bend
My heart on my sleeve about losing Wendy Pilcher.
You lived right around the corner and just around the bend.
Last week, when they told us, I reread my screen and thought, “Please tell me this is a joke. Please let me read this again and realize I didn’t read what I thought I did. Please no. Just please no.”
It can’t be real. Weren't we just texting about cookies? We went right around the corner and just around the bend to your house to pick up the cookies you baked for Ash and Laina’s wedding. We were both sad you and Mike would not to be able to attend, but you were only going on vacation. Soon, you’d be back. We didn’t say that kind of goodbye.
The day after we heard, I couldn’t stop crying. I still can’t. I thought about going to your house and just sitting on the steps to cry. But you wouldn’t be there and now it’s just a house. I drove right around the corner, but I had to stop at the store. I couldn’t make myself drive around the bend.
Right around the corner and just around the bend, just beyond your house, was my parents’ house. I could always see your yard on my way to take the kids for “Gammie day” on Tuesdays. After I dropped the kids off, it was only 10 minutes before I would see you at MOPS for the short season I lasted. I truly did try. I gave my 100%. I saw something coming in the bigger context and couldn’t stay. But you. You stayed. What I saw coming actually happened but you made it new. You pioneered the shift to All Moms so that Jesus could be always present at the table for these young moms. You pioneering overcomer you. You were fearless in your compassion.
You were fearless in most things.
Our babies grew and our strollers showed up at Warm Beach Camp as you and Jeanie brought something beautiful out of nothing. Your sweat and grit put the sparkle on every ornament of The Lights of Christmas. Over time, Rich and I came in to give the camp kids a place to be on stage and a purpose for being in The Lights. As outsiders, we needed so much help, permission, and encouragement. You were never far away. And it grew, and our kids grew and we grew too. But all those years, if we needed support you were always right around the corner or just around the bend.
Life continued. Our history continued to be made. In the years that followed there was a season when mistakes were made by people we loved. Painful and public. But you and Mike continued to love and serve. It could have made you bitter, but instead it made you tender. Instead of turning inward, you took note and lived above it by serving more humbly than ever.
You sat at our table for Thanksgiving and we sat at yours as our children launched. We were family missing our families.
It was from your driveway that a group you gathered went caroling. We sang to neighbors you personally knew. Some were going through pain or just needing encouragement. We ended in our neighborhood and finally at our house. After all, we were only right around the corner and just around the bend.
Was it just last month our headlight was out? “Mike will fix it. Just call him.” So, not for the first time, we drove right around the corner and just around the bend to his spotless garage at your house. He was truly happy to help. Happy to be “voluntold” as we joked about it. His kindness was always cheerful and practical. He was consistent.
You were an amazingly fast walker. I loved it. For a season, you’d drive right around the corner and just around the bend to pick me up for a walk with you and Yvonne. Later, when we headed to Nashville to celebrate a child’s wedding, you were always walking ahead to scout things out for the group.
And when you took this last walk, and you left us behind where we couldn’t get to you, I wanted to scream “STOP! Come back! You’re too far ahead!”
But today, on a walk of my own, I caught a glimpse of the sun shining through the trees at a spot ahead of the bend in front of me. All my life, this kind of scene has made me excited. It glows with a glorious invitation to come discover what’s just beyond me. Such a glimpse always inspires me to climb that hill, walk further, explore, discover, be curious - to go find out what is there beyond what I can see. The light itself makes it feel like an invitation to something glorious.
This time, when I saw it through my sorrow, the Lord whispered, “It’s ok, dear one. You can’t see where she is from where you are. She simply walked faster than you. But she’s here with Me. She’s only right around the corner and just around the bend.”
©2026 Lydia D Crouch
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