Pictured are Hildy Morgan, left and Sandy Vieczorek at a past Dietrich Theater Opening Night Gala.
                                 Submitted photo

Pictured are Hildy Morgan, left and Sandy Vieczorek at a past Dietrich Theater Opening Night Gala.

Submitted photo

It’s been a tough week here at the Dietrich. The death of Sandy has left me dazed and confused, to steal a title that seemed so appropriate.

Sandy was five years younger than I am so I never even gave it a thought that this could possibly happen. It’s always the unexpected that pierces our hearts the most, isn’t it? When she had called me just about six months to the day that she had seen her doctor because she had had a few mild symptoms and he had immediately ordered a PET scan, I knew it couldn’t be good, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that a mere six months later she would be dead. Four days after the Celebration of Life at the Dietrich, I still can’t get it in my head that she is gone. How could she be?

It had seemed, at first, that she could beat the diagnosis — stage four kidney cancer. We read articles that gave her maybe a year, or two, or even ten. We latched onto the stats of rare cases as if they were truth with a capital “T.”

But as time went on, it became obvious that there would be no miracle, not too many more tomorrows, and it hurt so bad. Cancer is a mean beast that sucks away not only life, but shatters the spirit of even the bravest and the best of us. It doesn’t play fair and it leaves us in wreckage, tossed upon a sea of sorrow.

We talked about the Dietrich, about the early days, on the afternoons we spent together. Talking about it could always make her smile.

She told me how it started. I had forgotten.

“We are standing in the Interfaith office looking across the street at the run-down shell of a building that had once been the Dietrich Theater. According to her, I said, “You know, Sandy, we could bring that back. I just know we could.” And, after a moment of silence, as if she had been thinking about what I said, she replied “Okay.”

During those three frantic, hectic, terrifying, outrageous years, Sandy never lost faith and she always believed it would happen, because the town wanted the theater back and because that old building had stored thousands upon thousands of memories. George Dietrich had built a beautiful theater and everyone knew it. And they treasured it. And still do. And more than about anything else, except her beloved family, of course. Sandy loved that theater! She was always on call for Erica, always willing to help. Always thinking of new ideas for the cultural part of the programming. And absolutely loved both Shakespeare-in-the-Park and anything … absolutely anything … for children.

Working at the theater did not protect any of us from hard times, but Sandy’s was the most horrific. In November, 2004, her heart was shattered when her beloved youngest son, Randy, died of a heroin overdose. But just as she gave her all to make the Dietrich an important part of the downtown again, so she threw herself into helping publicize the fact that addiction is a disease, not a character flaw. She created Wyoming County CARES to educate teachers and students and then the town itself. She helped with Families Helping Families and worked with others to finally bring Treatment Court to the county. Her life was a life of service in every way. She was a beloved wife, mother and grandmother. Her grandchildren so adored “Nanny,” as they called her, that the night she died they all stayed with her. They would not leave her, they did not want her to go.

The town she lived in is so much richer because she was in it. From reviving the Dietrich, to helping those trapped in the nightmare of addiction, to raising a loving and productive family, Sandy was one of those rare folks who made the world a better place. She believed in the power of love, she believed in friendships, she believed people could change, and she would help anyone who asked.

We are devastated at the Dietrich because she is gone, but we are so deeply grateful that she was with us for as long as she was. She was beautiful and funny and smart and loving and believed that people could bring about positive changes if they set their minds to it. We will never see the likes of her again.