Remembering my Aunt Sherry
Using editorial space to eulogize a loved one is not, perhaps, considered good form in the world of journalism.
But my Aunt Sherry died last week, and she is the first of my parents’ siblings that our family has lost — and I have things to say about her life and her death.
In what has become an amusing legend to many who know the Pearls, my grandparents gave their five children rhyming first names — Larry, Gerry, Terry, Sherry and Jerry. Why they did this remains a bit of a mystery, but Sherry was the fourth in the procession, the first of the girls.
I knew Sherry to be a loving aunt. She did what Pearls do: she teased, she tickled and she freely said, I love you to the people she adored. I have memories from the early 1980s, as far back as my recollections go, of Sherry going garage sale-ing in St. Jo with my mother. None of us had money, and none of us needed it, and those were good times anyway.
I was the only Pearl grandson at that point — Sherry would later remarry, finding the love of her life in Bill, a man with two sons, all three men who truly did love my aunt. Earlier, while I was the only boy in that generation, however, I received some spoiling at the hands of Sherry. She used to take me places, never fancy or remarkable places, but she would give me her time and attention.
That matters to kids, in case any of you haven’t figured that out yet.
When she died, my first thoughts were that she had lost a battle with a leading killer of men and women: cancer. But when I reflected upon this notion, I realized that Sherry did nothing of the sort. Rather, she had won the prize of living a life filled with loved ones and good times.
And, by faith, I can safely say that at this moment, Sherry lives on in a better place, but her cancer is gone. Who wins in that story? Certainly not the disease.
It is hard to see a person exit this life at 61. It feels that our standard has risen to a longer lifespan in these modern, civilized times. But the good Lord knows things that I don’t know, and I know that living with pain is not what any of us would want.
And now, of course, at the time of her passing, is when it is natural for the family to pour praise upon her. We forget imperfections, and we hold in our minds the best version of our loved ones who are gone. And do you know what? That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I hope that when my time comes, people will extend the same loving charity toward me.
Sherry spent several years of her youth going to school in King City, so I imagine many remember her. Do so fondly. She was good-hearted, loving and enjoyed the people in her life.
On a final note, Sherry made me angry once when I was very young, when after I misbehaved she and my uncle, Gerry, conspired to tattle on me to my mother. I ended up sitting in a chair — kids today might know the treatment now as time out. I was just happy my backside was sitting in a seat, which was preferable to it being swatted with a hand of justice.
I glared at Sherry for her betrayal, and I uttered the words that have become a Pearl family punchline, “I’ll get you for this.”
I never got her back adequately. But that’s okay. Maybe in that world to come we can laugh about it once more.
