Coke, Stan's wife emailed me this to share with you all:
To all Stan’s NESBA Buddies,
I finally acquired the strength to go on the threads and read what all of you have said about Stan. I promise you that he had the very same feelings about all of you. He spoke of everyone he encountered during his NESBA excursions with admiration and respect. My only regret is that I never made it out to the track with him. We always planned that I would, but the schedule never allowed for it.
I want to thank you all for your wonderful, and heartfelt words. You should know that you meant just as much, possibly more, to him. He cherished his “Track Weekends” like a kid going to Disney World, and he held those friendships in the highest regard.
The knowledge that keeps me going… what I have held on to during this entire ordeal, is that very few of us will get that “last sentence” we hope for. How will the last sentence of our lives begin? It’s something some of us think about, and others avoid. I know from the deepest part of my heart of hearts that if given a blank page to write out what he wanted his last sentence to read, one of Stan’s choices would have been:
“There I was, doing 138 into turn 8 at Barber….”
That one would have had the big red circle around it with a couple of stars next to it. If the Lord was going to take him with a stroke, it would have been far more painful had he gone raking leaves in the backyard or sitting in the recliner watching TV. God knew that would be too cruel for a man so much larger than life. Nope, God took him doing what he loved. Stan is still back there on turn 8, as he should be. Looking back at all you alpha males with that great big, “I just passed your little asses” grin on his face. Stan got his last sentence.
Carmela M. Braxton