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Cindy Crain will always be part of The NSP family

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Cindy Crain never worked on Mondays, so Tuesday mornings were our time to connect. She’d come in early, and it would be just the two of us in the office. She’d pull up a chair and regale me with stories of her weekend, her time spent with her crazy Park View friends, and then ask what was new with me.

She’d suggest story ideas, and wonder if I had covered such-and-such event. She was one of my connections to a younger generation of NSP readers, and yes, there was always a little local gossip involved.

My Tuesday mornings will never be the same.

Like many workplaces, The NSP is like a family. We laugh, cry, rejoice and grieve together. This week, we mourn the unexpected loss of a dear, dear friend.

Words cannot describe the immense sense of grief that permeated our office Wednesday morning after we learned of Cindy’s unexpected death.

A vibrant, fun-loving and full-of-life mother and wife who had touched an entire community has been taken way too soon, and now, that community is left to pick up the pieces.

While we were all aware of the autoimmune disease and other health issues that Cindy had been battling since early last spring, no one saw this coming.

Her journey had been “one step forward and two steps back” over the past few months, but we all expected that journey to end with her return to work at some point in time.

Never, ever did we expect to be attending a funeral this week.

A tweet that I posted Wednesday morning included a photo of her empty desk. I wrote:

“We have an empty chair in our office and a hole in our hearts this morning. The NS community lost a wonderful human being last night with the passing of Cindy Crain. How do you write about something like this? I don't know, but I will try. Our love to the entire Crain family.”

This column is my attempt to do just that, and to illustrate the impact that Cindy had not only on our office, but the North Scott community as a whole, and me personally.

It’s hard to believe that Cindy had been a member of our NSP family for just six-and-a-half years. It seems like she’s been our circulation manager/office manager forever, and maybe that’s because her outgoing personality was bigger than life.

While some people would consider myself, Bill or Mark the face of The NSP, I would beg to differ. It was Cindy who interacted with the most customers. It was her sweet voice they heard on the other end of the line when calling our office, and her smiling face that greeted them when they walked in the front door.

With an ever-present smile and a mostly indestructible positive attitude, she was our resident problem solver, idea generator and sounding board. She seemed to know everybody. No task was too big or too small for Cindy to tackle, and her goal was always to make the paper look good.

In a nutshell, she was our go-to girl, and in no way is that a sexist remark. In fact, if you took it that way, Cindy would be the first to laugh you right out the door. Oh, how we will miss that contagious and distinctive laugh, along with the mischievous glint in her eye, and sarcastic quips.

My NSP co-workers and I aren’t the only ones grieving this week. Cindy loved her community, and touched it in many ways. She was part of a Park View posse of families that had an incredibly tight bond, and I can’t imagine the loss that they are all feeling as well.

She was an active member of the Park View Women’s Club, and when her three daughters attended Neil Armstrong, she took great pride in helping with the school yearbooks and any other project or event that popped up.

If there was a family in need, Cindy always seemed to be the first to know about it, and at the head of the line when it came to help. Her smile, which was as big as her heart, could light up a room. Today, the North Scott world is a considerably dimmer place.

While I will miss Cindy’s presence in my life as a co-worker, it’s my friend that I will miss the most.

I will forever miss her stories of being a wife and mom, and the front-row seat I enjoyed as she fulfilled those duties with love, laughter and grace.

The Crains are a crazy clan, and her stories sometimes bordered on being hilariously unbelievable. She never put her kids on pedestals, was always looking for teaching moments, and parented with honesty and high expectations.

Oh, how she loved her daughters, and so do I. We all enjoyed it when the Crain girls popped into The NSP, but no one more than me. The three of them, Aundrea, Reese and Taylor, would make a beeline to my office. We’d throw balls around the room, and count how many tosses we could make before someone dropped it.

I’d egg them on, get them riled up about their mom, sarcastically sympathize with them on how rough they had it at home, and then we’d debate which one was Cindy’s favorite.

Sometimes, the laughter in my office would be so loud Cindy would have to come in and quiet the ruckus, and eventually the fun would stop when she would open the door and say, ‘OK, out. Scott has to get to work.’”

We all knew who really called the shots, both at home and in the office.

I always told Cindy how much I loved her girls, and her response was always along the lines of, “Well then, I think you should take them shopping for clothes,” or “Maybe they could go on vacation with you and Beth.”

Briefly, I considered it.

Never was Cindy’s role as a mom more pronounced than when Cory went on his sometimes-yearlong deployments. She loved her husband dearly, and she was so proud of his service to our country.

The life of a military wife is not to be envied, but Cindy filled that role with immense pride, unconditional love and positive vibes.

She was the glue that kept the Crain family together. In Cory’s absence — and it could be jokingly argued that even when he was home — she was mom, dance mom, chauffeur, boss, head cook and chief bottle washer.

I would often tell her I felt sorry for Cory, living with four strong-willed women, and her response was always, “Dude, don’t. He’s got it too good.”

In reality, Cory would probably agree.

You never had to wonder what was on Cindy’s mind. Her life was an open book, and the pages were filled with honesty and humor. It was a must-read, and I often told her, “You just can’t make this stuff up.”

When she started facing more pain and fatigue last summer from the horrible autoimmune disease that eventually took her life, she fought it head on.

She remained positive and strong, and as I look back through our text messages over the past few months, those attributes, along with a heavy dose of humor, came through loud and clear, even while dealing with extremely painful allergic reactions to medications that put her back in the hospital.

Her final day in the office was Sept. 16, but it seems like just yesterday. I would check in with her often via text, and on Oct. 27 she was out and about with Aundrea, and wanted to stop by and see me.

I was on my way back from Cedar Rapids, and I told her I’d stop by the house to visit. A few days later, Cory ended up taking her to University Hospitals in Iowa City, and she never came home.

I feel so bad I wasn’t in town that day.

Last Wednesday morning, I texted Aundrea, and that was followed by a tear-filled phone call. Because visitors were limited, she hadn’t seen Cindy for nearly two weeks, and she and her sisters had to tell their mom goodbye by phone the night before.

My heart aches for them.

A little more than 12 hours after Cindy had died, I met Aundrea in The NSP parking lot. She was in Eldridge, and wanted to pick up her mom’s personal belongings. I gave her a hug, and then realized that Reese and Taylor were in the back seat.

I grabbed Taylor’s hand, looked them both in the eye, and told them what they already knew all too well. Their mom was so special, and she touched a lot of lives.

In my text to Aundrea last Wednesday morning, I told her that my heart was broken in pieces for her entire family, and that we had all lost a dear, dear friend.

Her initial response was simple: “Thank you, Scott. She loved you so much.”

In reality, Cindy loved everybody, and everybody loved Cindy. She was always a ray of sunshine in a sometimes dark and gloomy world. More importantly, however, she was our friend, and we will all miss her dearly.

Beth and I will continue to keep Cory, Aundrea, Reese and Taylor in our prayers. They will always be part of The NSP family, and my door will always be open to them.

cynthia crain

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