In the fall of 1990 I meet an amazing person. Her name was Chrisha Siebert. She was a graduating theatre stage crafter designer heading out into the great big world of professional theatre (with an eventual short stay in Ohio for grad school). Her laugh was deep and husky but strong and full of life. She’d make this wonderful little grunting noise whenever she thought something was irritating, under her breath, where you’d hear it but think to yourself, ‘did she really just do that?’
Chrisha was an ecclectic icon. She wore old keds tennis shoes before they became hip. She loved overalls and paint-crusted hats but was about as feminine as any woman I have ever met. She had a bright smile and big, gorgeous eyes that took in everything around her and said to the world in a shy ‘from under a hat’ sort of way, “I love life.”
10 years ago on this day the world became a sadder place. July 17th 1996.
I sat on the set of an independent movie, laughing and joking and wondering how we were going to solve the boredom of waiting for the next set-up to finish so we could do our 10 minutes of work for the day. We were bored and bored actors on a movie set is a nightmare for any director so we’d been banished to a room where we could eat, make stupid jokes and generally not get in anyone’s way who was doing real work.
Two days later, I sat in the same position, the same place and for the very same reasons. The News and Observer daily newspaper was tossed to one side after everyone had already rifled the sports page. A sudden sick feeling crept in my gut and I had no idea why, not an inkling, but for some reason, I picked up the front page, turned to page two and began reading the names.
The names of all those who had died on July 17th, 1996 in the explosion of Flight TWA 800.
Chrisha’s name, amongst the hundreds of others on the plane including her sister, Brenna, was on the list.
I remember the feeling that hit me when I saw her name. I felt the world tilt beneath my feet. It was like standing on a large platform, high over some massive chasm and having that platform suddenly pulled away.
The paper dropped to my feet. Rob, a friend to this day, looked over at me and his face screwed up. “Are you okay?”
I didn’t know what to say. I stood to my feet and walked into the other room. I stood there for about two minutes and my breathing felt erratic and forced. My face felt wet. Tears. Hot tears. I don’t think I moved for an hour.
She was gone.
Since that day, I’ve managed to visit her grave twice. She’s buried in her hometown of Jefferson City, Mo. It’s a beautiful hillside, overlooking a lovely pastured view. It breaks my heart every time I think about it.
I miss you, Chrisha. You are not forgotten. Ever.
Edit (added 2016): TWA Flight 800 International Memorial
I was Chrisha’s fiancé at the time of the crash. I found your entry after I Googled her name. I don’t know why I do it, as it is inevitably an exercise in masochism, but this time it wasn’t. I’d forgotten her “irritation noise” among, I am terrified to acknowledge, an increasing number of other things about her. Every day I wake up, before I even reach for my glasses, I have to confront the knowledge that I’ll never see her again. It burns away a piece of my soul each time. Thank you for making it a little easier, if only for a while.
Legion, can you please call me!
I am working on a story where I hope to honor Chrisha’s memory.
I can be reached at 816-589-7857.
Thanks for your help!!!
Jeff,
Thank you for stopping in and sharing. I remember you. Chrisha had talked about you quite a bit in our phone conversations. I actually seem to recall that we may met once (don’t remember where or when though) that may just be because of how much she talked about you.
My words are but a trifling compared to the loss you and her parents feel. I still think about her often, always fondly, especially when I’m on the set of a play during tech week or I hear a certain song. Stop by any time to share stories. Her memory is a joy to share.
Take care.
As the holidays approach for 11th time since our daughters died, it warms my soul to see that they are remembered. Rose Kennedy: “It is said, time heals all wounds, but I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue. The pain lessens, but it is never gone.”
Helen,
Thank you so much for stopping by. Chrisha gave so much of herself in life that I hope, in some small way, this lets everyone know who and what she was.
I miss her all the time and I can’t fathom how much you must miss her.
She touched many lives. I don’t want that to be forgotten.
Would you share with me who you are? What you wrote about Chrisha tells me you knew her very well. We hear from her friends often and it means so much for them to share their stories of her with us.
I was friends with Chrisha while we were at Mizzou. Her roommate, Dani, and I were good friends in high school, so I got to know her through Dani. She was one of a kind, always ready with a smile or a joke, one of my favorite college memories was of a dance the three of us went to one Saturday night,. And I always knew when she and Dani had gone out because the next morning, you could see their clothes hanging out the window (to air out the cigarette smoke!). Quite a sight. I am smiling as I remember this, and now I am in tears. For whatever reason, I decided to Google Chrisha a few months ago to see if I could find out where she was. I was so shocked and saddened to learn her and Brenna’s fate. I remember her talking about her sister-she loved her very much. My heart goes out to her parents. Please know that this is one more person that knew and will miss your daughter.
A Facebook friend tonight posted something about the Brenna Siebert Adoption Days at the Jefferson City Animal Shelter, which made me search Chrisha’s name for the first time in years. Odd…I have been thinking about her quite a bit in recent days for some reason.
Thanks for writing your post, Legion. You clearly met the same Chrisha I knew and Jeff loved (hey there Jeff). I didn’t know her terribly well, but well enough to be shell-shocked when the news came, then forever saddened by her loss. She was one of the beautiful souls.
For several years, while I still lived in the area, I would go put flowers on Chrisha & Brenna’s graves every July. You’re right; it’s a lovely spot.
Again, thanks for your post and the memories it’s fostering.
Another year gone by and it still makes my heart ache.
Then they drag it out again. Was it or wasn’t it?
The answer is still the same though. You’re not here.