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SHARING SHERRI
I believe in stories. This one is about my sister Sherri. “Something’s wrong with the computer system,” the pilot announced. “We’ve got some technicians looking at it and we’ll hopefully be off the ground real soon.” My dad and I looked at each other and sighed. We were in a plane in Washington D.C. heading to Florida. For this part of the trip my Dad and I were separated with him sitting in the row ahead of me. My heart started beating crazy fast. I just wanted to be in the air. Then I wondered what, exactly, my hurry was. I mean, after all, I was heading to Florida to watch my younger sister die. My sister Sherri was two years younger than me. I was born two days before Christmas and she was born two days after Christmas. We couldn’t be more different. I loved school, she hated it. I loved movies, she thought of Paul Newman as “the salad dressing guy.” I loved Johnny Cash, she … also loved Johnny Cash. I mean, seriously – who doesn’t love Johnny Cash? And like most siblings, as we got older we became friends, got into arguments, didn’t talk for awhile and became friends again. And now, after just turning 41 a couple weeks ago, she was lying in a hospital room in Florida taking her final breaths. After an hour of sitting, sighing and squirming the plane took off. We landed in Florida and rushed to the hospital. It was midnight. We were met by my mom, my older sister Misty, my older brother Jerry, and his wife Christie. We all went in the room to see Sherri. Sherri went to the hospital with a severe case of the flu. Then she got double pneumonia and became confused as to where she was and what was going on. The doctors were having trouble getting the fluid out of her lungs and put her under sedation. Then she was diagnosed with Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Then she had a stroke and the doctors told us she would never be able to form words again. Then they informed us that she was brain dead and the ventilator was the only thing keeping her alive. This all happened in the span of a week. We took turns holding her hand and kissing her forehead. We hugged each other. They removed the ventilator. At 2:08 a.m. she was gone. My baby sister was gone. We all went into the waiting room and told our favorite Sherri stories. I believe in stories. My sister had gotten us a place to sleep at this giant house near the hospital. It was kind of like a bed and breakfast except the rooms were much more like hotel rooms. In our room my dad and I were assigned a bed and my brother and his wife got the bed next to us. Christie said, “Just so you know, I snore.” I assured her that was the least of our concerns and we all nodded off. An hour later a noise woke me up. It sounded like a puma and a chainsaw had a baby. And that baby was loudly devouring a shrieking monkey. Assuming it was my dad I elbowed him in the ribs. “Let’s get out of here,” said my Dad. “OK,” I replied. We grabbed our pillows, left the room and went in search of a place to sleep. We went downstairs to the main lounge area where there was a couch and a big comfy chair. But as luck would have it, the heater on the first floor wasn’t working and this particular night was freezing in Florida. We went back up to the second floor. It was like a scene from a sad “Mission Impossible” episode – my dad and I sneaking through this strange house in the dark, pillows tucked under our arms. I found a small computer room. There would barely be room enough for me on the floor but it was dark and quiet. I told my Dad I was going to crash in there. He mentioned he would go back downstairs and deal with the cold. I threw my pillow on the floor and was figuring out how to contort my body around the desk when my Dad ran back around the corner. “Jimmy!” he screamed. “The Promised Land!” He led me through a few hallways until we ended up at the second floor lounge. It was a huge room with a big screen TV and two very comfortable-looking couches. It was beautiful. Without saying a word we plopped down on our chosen couches and immediately dozed off. It was 5 a.m. At 9 a.m. my Dad shook me awake, telling me that someone had just walked in, looked at us and walked back out. Afraid we would somehow get in trouble we trekked back to our room. Jerry heard us come in and immediately started laughing. Christie was asleep and the noise, thank God, was gone. “Christie woke me up a little while ago, telling me you guys were gone,” said Jerry. “She felt so bad and kept saying ‘I tried to warn ‘em, baby. I tried to warn ‘em.’” “She warned us she snored,” I said. “She didn’t warn us she was an alien. The correct warning should have been – Run. Run as far as you can and don’t look back.” My brother laughed. Then he laid his head down and nodded off. I closed my eyes as well hoping for another few hours of sleep. Then the noise started again. “I’m out!” my Dad screamed. He grabbed his pillow and split. I stayed. I thought about the time in high school I danced like Michael Jackson at a prom show and when I was done Sherri screamed out “That’s my brother!!!!” Eventually I fell asleep. Even with the noise. The next day we told the story of Christie’s snoring and me and my Dad’s adventuring through the strange wilderness armed with pillows to the rest of the family. They laughed until they cried. We told that story the next day and laughed just as hard. I told that story just the other day and still laughed. That story helped so much. It reminded us of laughter and joy in the face of pain and sorrow. Every time I see Christie I thank her for having that wonderful snore. I believe that stories keep people alive. And I plan on doing my part to make sure Sherri lives a very long time.
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