Kerry Ann

Just over 18 months ago, I got a call from Kerry, “I’m in the fight of my life.  I was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.”  I’m forcing myself to be calm, not scream about the unfairness of it, just stay in the moment with her as she tells me her story.

She is one of my dearest friends, a former colleague who sat with me through way too many boring principal and assistant principal meetings trying not to crack each other up with the inanity of it all.  Of course, we were highly unsuccessful.  She always had this mischievous gleam in her eye and a smile that could light up the universe.  From the moment we met, we felt like kindred souls thrown together to weather whatever entered our paths.

After 30 years in education, she retired in June of 2017.  About six months later after inexplicably losing weight, she got the diagnosis.  She was 58 years old.  Too young.  No family history.  Random.  My own sense of it is that she was under tremendous stress and had to retire.  She just didn’t have the energy to continue.  I think she’d been sick a long time but it was hidden deep in her body.  Bottom line.  It just sucked.

But, this girl was a true warrior and, blessedly, married to a man’s man who turned out to be the most loving and compassionate caregiver I have ever witnessed.  They faced all the doctor’s appointments and chemo treatments together as a team.

When she lost her gorgeous blond hair, she got a wig that made her look like she was 20 again.  Head scarves?  I swear she had one for every outfit.  As she lost weight, she went shopping in Bloomingdales or Nordstroms.

Team Kerry set goals.  “I just want to be able to live through summer.”  “I want to get up to my family’s cabin in Wisconsin one more time.”  Two months before she passed, she flew to her daughter’s law school graduation in Orlando and from there to see the birth of her second grandchild in Illinois.

The woman was heroic.  Down to only 76 pounds, she dressed to the nines for that graduation and wore high heels that I haven’t been able to wear in about three decades.  Even as her health was deteriorating, she maintained that beautiful smile and twinkle in her eye.

In February, she and her Steve flew to the west coast of Florida to visit us and then on to Marco Island where she met her daughters.  She was all about the beach.  While she was there she texted me pictures of her with her girls, all in their skimpy bathing suits.  She just didn’t care about vanity.  She didn’t care that people were staring at her.  She was thrilled to have a few days on the beach with her girls, knowing that in all probability, it would be their last.

For her, it was all about joy.  Grabbing those moments and holding them close.  And, yes, she sought out the Mayo Clinic and immunotherapy and other treatments that may have added days, months, even years to her life.  But, realistically, she knew the chances were pretty small.

Earlier this year, she said she knew she was living on borrowed time.  And, on July 21st, the time ran out.  A few days before, she had her daughter call me.  She wanted to FaceTime.  Stupidly, I protested saying I’d just gotten up and hadn’t brushed my hair.

 But, of course, I did and there she was lying in bed at her beloved Shady Side home overlooking the West River, barely able to whisper, “I just want to tell you how much I love you….we’ll always be sisters.”  “Oh, yes,” I replied, “we will meet again, my love.”

And she left us.  She left a legacy of a life well lived and a legacy of how to face the worst adversity with grace, courage, dignity and honesty.  One in a million.  I miss you, girlfriend.