Such a weekend this was. We celebrated Warren’s one year of sobriety, and how proud of him you would have been. We all attended en masse, Lisa, Devon, Bill, and even Dad. Warren stood and spoke in front of a very large crowd, something I never thought I would see. He looked grown up and confident, mature and sure of his future. I only wish you could have been alive to see this day; to know that your son is finally becoming a man. He has a long way to go yet, as we all do in our life’s journey, but I think this time his healing has become a part of him.

Our family dynamic is different now without you in it. One that you would never have approved of, but is right for us now. We’ve sort of come full circle this family, and while once your were at it’s core, we’ve begun to adjust and flex and bend in ways we never good have imagined. I love you and miss you, momma. I still feel such a gaping hole where you had been. I know you are in a place where this life no longer matters, but your passing is still so very difficult for us all. Lisa and I agree that it’s easier to face our days by pretending, by denial, if only for awhile. We know that you’re gone, but choose to not think about it. Eventually I pray that this ache will subside. Until it does, I know that God will give me, us, the comfort we need to get through. I miss you, Mom. And I still love you so much.

Coming here is hard Mom. I see your face, alive and so vibrant and my heart aches with disbelief at your passing. Even after this short time, I live in denial because it’s so much easier than accepting that you’re gone. I wished you were here. We became so close that your passing has caused a huge gaping hole in my life. I hurt when I see you and I see you everywhere. A frog statue, the clothes of yours in my closet, the jewelry I wear that once was yours. I am so sad that you are not here to celebrate your birth. I love you, I miss you so much. I’m sorry I don’t come here often enough, but you know how difficult it is for me. It is easier to just not think about you. I’m so sorry for that. I know you know how much I love you. I just wish you were here. I wished this was one big horrible joke. But it’s so unfairly not.

I see now that the 17th of each month is going to be hard to deal with.  Many have told me that time heals and perhaps so however I’m in no hurry.

 I miss you BABY!!!!

 Bill

One thing is for sure, my mom didn’t back away from things that made your heart thump. Here she is after her ride with Julia on the Breezy. I bet she had a blast.

I went to the Perrin Arts and Crafts festival today with my neighbor Natacha, just like last year, and then we toodled down to the quilt shop down 2210. You and I took that same trip this time last year, and you bought that really pretty coral and silver necklace.  Rather than tell you all my tales and woes of Devon’s grades and sudden desire to misbehave; rather than regale you with my stories of the new pup - I sat there remembering last year.

We had just found out about your cancer, and you were still pretty well over all. You were buying Devon’s go cart and we were planning for Christmas.

Thanksgiving is around the corner. This will be my first Thanksgiving ever without my mom. I thought the Thanksgiving after Ma’s death would be hard, and it was. This one will be too. I asked the breeder if we could pick Cassie up the Monday of the week of Thanksgiving. I think it would help us all to have some joy in the house too.

I wish you were here. I wish you were well. I felt you come to visit me in my dreams yesterday. I wished I could have paid better attention. By the time my fog brain realized what was going on, you had left. I promise to pay better attention.

Come see me again. I miss you more than ever.

I wanted to publicly mention the efforts the founder of PanCan (Pamela Acosta Marquardt) and her organization went to after my mother passed away. Immediately there was a post here from Pam with an offer for purple ribbons. I had no idea that the ribbons would be prefolded, and have safety pins in them. She asked how many, I said two hundred, and instantly they were shipped out. Included in that box, was a hand full of donation envelopes, cards explaining PanCan, a sympathy card signed by Pam, and a note about the purple ribbons in a nice frame to sit out at the reception table. That’s a lot of stuff. We really appreciate the ribbons and all the effort taken to help us bring awareness of this killer disease. I had no idea that the offer of ribbons would be so…organized…but it was certainly appreciated! I hope all cancer awareness and research foundations are as thoughtful and giving. I really expected to get some ribbon, and would need to get all the other stuff myself. I was so very pleasantly surprised! May you all be blessed over there at PanCan! 

I was bopping along feeling pretty good Monday when BJ brought in some chicken strips from Chicken Express for my Cub Scout Pack meeting that night. He let me know that he bought himself a giant box of okra. I immediately remembered a conversation I had with mom less than a month ago about okra. She always made the BEST fried okra. It didn’t have that cornmeal coating so popular at fast food joints. No siree, Bob. This was chicken fried steak coating, super crunchy, and totally awesome. She went into great detail that day about how she made it so good, and all the little secrets she had to make it super crunchy. I didn’t write it down.

So, Monday when BJ brought in that okra, I remembered telling mom I had some fresh okra from my neighbor’s garden in my freezer. And then, I panicked. I can’t call mom and ask her to repeat her methods. Why didn’t I write it down?! I knew she was so very sick. What was I thinking? I remember us just talking away. I was cleaning the counter off, and wiping down the sink. How stupid to not write it down.

 I miss mom. I miss our hour long conversations about nothing and everything. If I had it all to do over again, I’d write stuff down. 

Thanks so much for coming yesterday. I met so many of you in too short of time, but your fond memories of my mother mean so much to us. I didn’t get to speak long enough with each of you, and I apologize. I hugged a lot of necks, but not all and I’m sorry for that too. If I missed you somehow, please know that we appreciate you coming and my mother would be so pleased.

One thing is for sure, I think by popular vote I rank the highest in the ‘you look like your mother’ department.

God bless you all, and thanks again for coming, for donating to my mother’s memorial fund, or to PanCan. Each donation is so very much appreciated and we cannot thank you enough. The medical bills left behind a killer cancer is sometimes as devastating as the cancer itself. We appreciate your continued support.

For those of you who do not know me, my name is Shelly Haffly. I am Sherry’s oldest daughter. I am honored and blessed to have you all here. Mom would be amazed and overwhelmed at the outpouring of love and support we’ve had from all her many friends these past few weeks. People she hasn’t seen in many years. Friends from long ago and different times in her life have responded with such love. She really would be surprised by the names and number of people. For all of my mother’s confidence, inside she was truly humble. Never would she believe that so many people loved her so dearly. Thank you.

Sharon Elizabeth Dillard, or as you know her - Sherry D. - was born in Beaumont Texas, on a brisk cold day on January 6, 1946. Her daddy, Ken Dillard, was a handsome young navy man; her mother, a dainty drop dead gorgeous beauty named Ruth. She was full of smiles and laughter and curly red hair. She, with her brother Kenny, and sister Debby, would run the countryside in the swamps of south Texas. She was a fearless leader even then and probably cost her siblings more than their fair share of whoopin’s. She would use her keen negotiating skills to get them to do what she wanted, and when they didn’t, she pulled out the big guns and would tauntingly sing “On a hill….far away…stood an old rugged cross….” And Kenny would always give in.

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My days are spent in circles. How about you? I am sad that my category is now Shelly’s Thoughts and not Shelly’s Updates. I waited to post more so the Services announcement would sticky to the top.

Did I mention I ache so? 

I wrote a eulogy for my mom. I am too young, she was too young, for those words to be uttered through my mouth. My sister, only 32, must be even more devastated.

Did I mention I ache so?