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? 

We plan to have a memorial service for mom at Lake Fork Baptist Church on Sunday, October 26 at 2:00 p.m. We invite you all to come and rejoice in the life that was mom. Dress is casual because mom would want you comfortable, so wear your jeans.

We respectfully request no flowers or food. If you would like to help, you can donate to my mother’s memorial fund, or donate to pancreatic cancer research at the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network, http://www.pancan.org

May the Lord bless you and keep you until we meet…Shelly

Friday, October 17 at 8:55 a.m. my mother took a trip home. She passed quickly, with rapid breath. I envision her running to her maker with child-like glee. Smiling, and full of excitement over this next adventure.

Some may say that the cancer beat her, but I would whole-heartedly disagree. She won. She won the battle by returning home whole. She wins this time again, and the cancer will be left behind. That’s not a loss. She fought the good fight, she won the race. Victory is hers, in Jesus.

May the saints rejoice at her return.

I love you momma. 

Dawn settled over the lake this morning and mom and I set to work doing our morning chores. She providing the looks only a mother could give an inept child struggling to do the impossible, and me using every fiber of my being to do what needs doing. She asked rather clearly if today was the day. I said I didn’t know, and returned the question back to her. She said she thinks so.

Her strength is gone, and she can say very little. Her pain continues to increase probably more than we even know. Her legs, knees and shoulder sockets are very painful she says. Her breaths are shallow and we had her on oxygen all night. She wanted it off this morning so we did as she asked.

Her heart continues to beat strong and with a good pulse. She can clearly whisper “I love you” in response to our constant stream of I Love You’s. We cannot say them enough, or hear them often enough. Our time is short we know, but having her here with us is somehow more comforting than we care to admit to one another. Right now our lives are centered around her needs. The world has stood still for us, with no TV or outside communication besides an occasional phone call to find out about mom’s condition.

Bill and I tiptoe around the house for fear of disturbing her or somehow being disrespectful. We begin to chatter about nonsense and quickly catch ourselves and quiet. It seems rude or cold-hearted to have conversation, or be entertained by TV when the person you love is slowly dying. We are quiet so as not to disturb her spirit. We keep constant vigil by her side. We never want to leave her alone.

It’s sad and oppressive, this death watch. Slowly, slowly she’s leaving us in a most excruciating, debilitating way and all we can really do is watch. Is it time? I pray that it soon is so that this once lively, mighty, fighting spirit can be set free on angel’s wings.

Go home, momma, go home. It’s time.

Today I turn 42. I feel older. Hell, I even look older. But today, these things don’t matter. Instead of cake and ice cream. presents and parties, I’m sitting in Yantis Texas watching my mother die. Happy Birthday to me.

She took a turn for the worse today, just when I thought she might get a little better. We bought a pile of baby food and have been feeding her through a syringe. I really thought she might regain some strength. That turns out to not be the case. She is almost incoherent now. Mumbling frequently in her sleep to some unknown entity, restless, and yet semi-comatose at the same time. Her pallor is gray and ghostlike. What keeps her hanging on I don’t know, but knowing her demeanor, probably just sheer will. She’s a feisty old broad, always has been, with a will and determination that defies even God it seems.

She’s saved. She’s a Christian. Her home will be with God, but this death is her last final struggle at who, exactly, is in control of her life. She hollers out “no” quite frequently, yelling at the spirits calling her name.

She’s mad. Mad at God, life, and all those who abandoned her, hurt her, and abused her throughout her tumultuous life. She’s mad at God for reducing her to this shell of a being, this weak and totally dependent creature. She, the one who fought for independence in everything she’s done is totally dependent on me and Bill to provide her nourishment and more. Her dignity has been stripped away like a band-aid on a scabby wound.

I pray for her soul. I pray that she finds peace. I pray that she can come to terms with God and go swiftly. I pray that this prolonged, unnecessary suffering and pain will end.

It’s my birthday and I’m praying that my mother dies today.

…my mom was in the biggest struggle she had encountered in her 20 year old life. She’d rodeoed, water skied, ate a million donuts. But on this day 42 years ago she was on the final leg of a 39 hour bought of labor. Prior to that pregnancy, she weighed a whopping 90 pounds. At full term she weighed 125 pounds. Inside of her was a 10 pound monster with no desire to come out. Why the doctor didn’t do a c-section is beyond me, but there she was struggling in vain to get me out of there. Every time they dosed her up with some medication, I’d relax too. We just all relaxed together. My grandmother’s (we called her Ma) legs were the size of tree stumps. She never left mom’s side. She was a tiny woman too and normally had the smallest ankles you’d ever seen, but not on this day. I think they finally squeezed me out of there by wrapping a sheet around her and doing the pushing for her.

I’m sure every October 14 is a nightmare memory for my mother. I arrived right on time by doctor’s orders at around 1:00 a.m. October 15. The only thing the doctor told her at the time was….I told you she’d be here on the 15th.

This is mom’s favorite part of the story….I was so fat that normal new born dresses wouldn’t fit. I had no neck. Ma had gone out to buy me one of those super fancy expensive dresses at Nieman’s. They tried putting it on me and couldn’t button the top two buttons. She always liked reminding me that I was a porker and ruined her figure.

Amazingly, after all that…she had more children. Induced of course.