I found out this week that you passed away a couple of years ago and so many memories went through my mind…

We began working together in 1998, maybe 1999, and we immediately clicked. You were only a few years older than me and had served four years in the Air Force and then went in to the Reserves. Raised in South Florida (my husband at the time was from there) and you had been stationed in California when Active Duty (where I’m from), so that immediately bonded us. Not to mention, we shared the same middle name. Things that seem trivial, but when you’re in your young 20’s, you grasp on to anything.

Sometimes deep thoughts, funny gossip about other people, sometimes about our struggles growing up, my married life, your single life, what we thought the future held for us. On one Friday night every month, our department all went to dinner, then a nightclub, and our friendship felt like it had always been there as we danced without a care in the world while drinking and laughing. Your code at work was 976 so we often laughed and said, 976 BABE (from Pretty Woman) or call you “Sha-rell”, a play on the spelling of your name which is actually pronounced Cheryl.

A conversation that always stood out to me and always lingered through your life, was your mother struggling with deep depression. I believe she took her own life at some point before we met, and you were aware that you had also been afflicted with this disease, but felt you could keep ahold of it. Often, I would see you staring off, focusing on nothing. You needed reassurance in life that you were loved, and you gave love in return, never judging.

You fell in love with Derek, who also worked with us, but his feelings were not reciprocated. Somewhere in your heart, you knew this, but you were convinced he would, if only… I remember you thinking that he would now fall in love with you. He didn’t. Yet, you would still go to him when he asked… Sometimes returning full of hope, sometimes with heartbreak.

You glowed while pregnant and all of us, except Derek, did everything we could to keep you upbeat. Not only were you struggling with being single and having a child without support from the father, but you were having a bi-racial child, and your own father was having a hard time accepting that. At work with over 100 employees, most knew who the father was and you felt judged. But, we became your support team, standing up to others, making you feel safe.

Some would say you struggled with post partum depression. Those close to you knew that you were struggling with not being loved by Derek or he accepting his child. We stepped in and did our best to make sure that child felt so much love. If you needed a babysitter, one of us would step in. My husband at the time often watched him on the weekends if you were working or had Reserves. I loved holding your baby and spoiling him the way we do other people’s kids.

Maybe a year or so later, you moved to the outskirts of Chicago to live with a friend, hoping to start fresh and not have a constant reminder of Derek not loving your newly created family. We talked almost every day and I could still hear the sadness in your voice. Being in a new place is lonely, especially when you do not have confidence in yourself. You and the baby stayed sheltered in your room, not wanting to cause a disturbance to your roommate. Slowly, the loneliness took a bigger hold and you attempted to take your own life. God wasn’t ready for you yet and when your phone rang, you answered. Immediately, the angel on the phone knew something was wrong and called 911.

A few weeks later, your angel suggested you move to Oklahoma to be near him, so he could be there for you and the baby. This man loved you so very much, always had, and although you loved him as a very dear friend, you were wanting the fireworks you had felt with Derek. Yet, he was still there for you. He would keep the baby overnight, have dinner ready for the three of you, join on walks to the park, watch cheesy tv shows with you, hold you when you cried, celebrate raises at work… Everything you wanted out of Derek.

You and the baby came back for a quick visit to see family and hopefully for Derek’s acceptance. I was no longer married, but was going through my own struggles of being a single pregnant mom. Being around you again, it didn’t feel like any time had lapsed, but that sweet baby was now around 3 and was such a good kid. Yet, we both knew that something was still missing from your life.

I had your angel’s phone number and would check in with him to see if you were okay. He assured me that you were but that you still struggled.

Time went on and the phone calls stopped. On occasion, I would google your name and you were still in Oklahoma. I found an email address for you and sent one letting you know what was going on in my life, but there was no reply. When Facebook came around, I found you and sent a friend request that went unanswered. Four years later, I sent a Facebook message saying, “I found you. Yay! Call me. Here’s my number.” Of course I stalked what I could see on your page and that baby was now a teenager, active in sports. You still looked the same with your auburn hair color and lots of black eyeliner.

To this day, each time I hear the song, “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden, I think of you. That was your song to Derek and you had even left the lyrics for him to find on his pillow case. Through the years, I would say a quiet prayer for you when the song played and wonder how you were doing. I gave up trying to reach out or google you, figuring that if you had the urge to talk, you would find me. I also knew that I was a reminder of your past, and sometimes, it is better to walk away from those people.

This week while looking through Facebook messages, I went to the Spam folder. I do this periodically to see if there is anything I missed. I laughed while I kept scrolling because there were messages from fake accounts asking if I would care for a chat, a wave emoji, and one even told me that I had beautiful feet. Then I saw the message that I sent you on November 13th, 2013, unread. I clicked on the view profile button, and I was informed that your profile wasn’t visible. Of course I was saddened that you would block me, but I also remember that you probably had to do it to escape your past, and I understood. If we had been able to talk, we would have talked about the past. When we are trying to create a new life for ourselves, talking about painful memories can take us down a hole that we may have a hard time crawling out of.

I typed your name in to Google and saw that you were listed as an Administrative Executive on LinkedIn in Wyoming of all places. LinkedIn showed that you hadn’t posted in awhile, which isn’t uncommon for most people. Back to Google and now adding in Wyoming. Up pops an announcement from a funeral home. You passed away on August 20th, 2021. No, this cannot be you. There wasn’t a full obituary so I was unable to confirm it was you, so I still had hopeful doubt. However, under the guestbook, there was one entry and it was from your angel.

He sent prayers to your son and your brother, with their names mentioned. That is when I knew it was you…

My focus became determining what happened in those missing years. In 2018, you fell in love with a man that served in the Army for 3 years, and became engaged. His obituary from September 23rd, 2019 tells the love story of you falling in love with his rugged good looks and his intelligence. It goes on to say that you two were looking forward to marrying and spending the rest of your lives together, and that he loved you fiercely, carrying that in your heart and soul forever. I’m not sure how or why he passed away, but that you were by his side. You carried that love for two days shy of 23 months. Grieving with a broken heart is hard to do for even the average person, but for you, your heart could not be fixed.

Sherrill, I looked up your son on Facebook. He looks like you. His profile picture shows him smiling with his arms around a young lady. He’s in the Army. I messaged your angel and your son through Messenger immediately upon seeing your announcement and although I do not expect them to find my words anytime soon, maybe one day, they will come across it when they need it. I also found a photo of you and your fiance standing in front of Mount Rushmore. He’s staring at the camera, while you are resting your head on his shoulder looking off. You hadn’t changed in all those years.

I cannot imagine the struggles you went through in life, that you felt you needed to fight on your own. And although you only had a year with the love of your life, I am happy that you were able to experience someone that loved you for you. I know that the loss was overwhelming and I wish that you had been strong enough to see your son start a family of his own, I understand that you felt this was your only option.

I will continue to remember you each time I hear the numbers 976 or the song by Savage Garden. I’m sorry that you struggled. I’m sorry that we didn’t keep in touch. I’m sorry that you felt this was the way out. I’m sorry that you didn’t know the impact you made on others. Thank you for being my friend all those years ago.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

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