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.

Thanks to those of you who have donated on mom’s behalf. While flowers and food are wonderful and appreciated, their house is so tiny and their storage so few that we have quickly run out of room to put things.

Mom is doing a bit better today. We have started using a syringe to put food in to try and get her nurishment. We also give her water the same way. Most often she is sleeping but will break through occasionally with some lucid moments. These we treasure dearly. We ask for continued prayers for her and the family, that she can cross over with peace when God comes calling, and that we’ll all be ready when it comes.

Thanks again to you all for your diligient, unending prayers and support.

Mom awoke this Monday morning more fully aware of her surroundings, and able to communicate on a deep level - with very few words. The words she did say were obvious that she knew she was fast approaching the end. She’s still so worried about us, about Bill, and the unfairness of being taken so soon, and in such a horrific, debilitating way.

My heart aches for this strong powerful woman. I had rather her be too doped up to know how bad off she is. Now this morning dawns and she knows just how much she has lost of her former self. I pray that God can comfort her when she’s so angry at being taken down like this. I pray that he decides to just do this more swiftly. I can’t imagine that she’s in any condition to learn any more lessons or listen to him any better. Why can they not just have that conversation on the other side?

She’s madder than hell at the strength she’s lost. The once powerful right arm that could bowl with a 16 pound ball all night, or sling cast after cast all day is giving out on her. She hates being this way. She wanted to go out the way she lived her life, full speed.

I look around at all her stuff, her unfinished projects and reminence about my own. What does it all mean, really? It only means something to you, no one else, not in the same way. None of this stuff - work, cars, projects - mean anything in the end. Even the relationships you have with other people really don’t mean much either. Not when it all boils down to that one final moment. At that time, there’s only one thing that matters. What kind of relationship did you build with God?

It’s about to become the most important thing ever.

My mom loves you guys. It dawns on me how different we each know her, the special parts of herself that she shared with each of us; how delicate our memories all intertwine. My mom’s life with us all is like a rubicks cube. Complicated, varied, yet all a part of the same puzzle.

She took on the world with gusto, everyday a challenge to be met head on.  She used to barrel race back when she was young. Rode the fastest horse she could find (Cha-Cha, Charger and Cricket) and loved every minute of it. She would water ski in the bayou’s of south Texas dodging alligators, snakes and cypress stumps with her daddy at the helm of the boat. She rode bulls too, back before they allowed girls to do so, just to show the guys she could. She drove fast cars, rode fast horses and eventually got the fastest boats. In spirit she was 10 feet tall and bullet proof.

In her middle life she was an artist. She painted some fantastic ocean scenes. I own all the originals. Her most breathtaking one is hanging in my bedroom, it’s colors an assortment of blues, teals, browns, and oranges. I think it was her best ever, and I’m proud to have it. Perhaps they were never oceans scenes at all, but instead the future skies over Lake Fork. Whatever the case, she was talented and should have kept it up.

She started fishing later in life, about the age I am now. She read every book, magazine, paper, article, talked to every guide, fished every cove, and learned everything she could. She appeared on the fishing scene at Fork during it’s heyday and ran a good shop.  She insisted on teaching other women the joy of the outdoors, and yet there’s still so few of us old gals running boats at 80 mph across the top of the water like she did. That life was hard on an old red-headed whitey but she loved every second out on the water, even on those frigid cold days when most intelligent souls were huddled around a heated recliner.

She retired from that life to find a different kind of race. A race towards her Master. The ride was a lot shorter than we thought but it was no different than the others. Full steam ahead, full of gusto. She loved her God and always has. The one constant in her life, the only one to never leave her. She met her Sonshine sisters at work, and she loves each of them with the same fierce passion she does us kids, and each of the friends she’s met along the way. She loves loyally. She loves deeply. She loves us all.