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by Amy Sitze
Late at night, in a design studio in McNeal Hall, Tawana Terrell was frantic. She'd been working for hours on a project for one of her classes at the College of Design (CDes), and in her haste to meet the next day's looming deadline, she'd made mistake after mistake. To make matters worse, her errors were on expensive vellum, a thick, translucent paper used in architectural plans—and she couldn't buy more because the bookstore was closed.
The stakes were high for Terrell, who had spent 20 years raising her two sons and working various jobs before deciding to get her degree in interior design. Students aren't automatically accepted into the interior design major; they must first complete a year of classes and submit a portfolio for review. At this early stage, with no guarantee of acceptance, every project was critical.
That's when rescue came to Terrell in an unexpected form: a fellow preinterior design major with a friendly smile and a big stack of vellum. Holly Stahl, who was busy finishing her own project, saw that Terrell was struggling and offered to share her supplies. "She helped simmer me down. She showed me what she'd done and how she'd done it," Terrell recalls. "It's stressful here, and there really isn't a lot of time to help people. For her to spend 20 minutes with me, that was gold."
Thanks to Stahl's help, Terrell completed the project—and eventually passed her portfolio review and got accepted to the interior design program, a dream she'd had since she was a child. Every time the two passed in the hallway, Stahl would ask how she was doing. "She was wise beyond her years," says Terrell. "There were times when I would be discouraged, and she'd say, 'Keep going. Keep going.'"
I n December 2010, Holly Stahl told her roommates that she was going to stop saying goodbye when she left. Instead, she would say, "Love life!" as a way of reminding herself and her friends to cherish every moment.
A few weeks later, when Holly and her boyfriend were on the way home to Brookfield, Wisconsin, for the holidays, a semitrailer truck collided with his Toyota Camry on I-90. Her boyfriend was injured, but survived the crash. Holly was rushed to a nearby hospital, where she died a short time later.
Kari and John Stahl responded as any parents would: they grieved, and they continue to mourn their daughter's loss. But they also did something their generous daughter would have applauded—they started two scholarships in Holly's name, one of which went to CDes specifically to support a student who's overcome adversity.
Holly, who was diagnosed with a learning disability in grade school, knew a lot about overcoming obstacles. "She worked hard, got out of special ed by the end of her junior year of high school, and graduated with a 3.8 GPA," says Kari Stahl. In her second semester at the U of M, the girl who'd been told not to take advanced classes in high school earned a 4.0.
Their daughter's motto, "Love life," is now the Stahls' guiding philosophy. They're selling pink (Holly's favorite color) "Love life" bracelets and holding fundraisers to support additional scholarships and other philanthropic efforts in Holly's honor. "It's such a positive message to share," says Kari Stahl. "Every moment matters. You just don't realize how one second you're waiting for your child to come home and the next second she's gone. Holly never wasted any time."
When Tawana Terrell heard she'd received a scholarship, she was thrilled. But it wasn't until she met the Stahls at a scholarship luncheon that she put the pieces together: The much-needed support for her education was coming from the parents of the compassionate stranger who had lifted her spirits when she was ready to give up.
At lunch that day, she told them the story of Holly's late-night assistance and how grateful she'd been. And she thanked them not just for helping her financially, but also for keeping Holly's memory alive by supporting U of M students. "It's amazing that they're doing this," she says. "I really believe Holly would want that, because she was so sweet and kind."
Terrell hasn't experienced the heartbreak of losing a child, but she's come close. Her son, Mario, who's in his third year at the U of M's College of Education and Human Development, fought a four-year battle with cancer. "It took everything in me not to fall to pieces," she says. "Holly's parents are so strong."
The financial boost from the scholarship means the world to Terrell, but the inspiration behind it means even more. "She's still giving me that push. She's still helping me. When I feel like I'm at my breaking point, I remember Holly saying, 'Keep going. Keep going.'"
Make a gift to the Holly Christina Stahl Memorial Scholarship