The first thing I think about is her aura. Sherri had a golden aura, like a sunrise—quiet, calm, and bright, full of promise.
The first time I saw her in person was on our first date. It was at Seasons 52 on the perimeter in North Atlanta. I was sitting at the bar eagerly awaiting to finally meet her.

When I turned and saw her, I was struck by her refined, elegant presence and her physical beauty. I felt her aura immediately. I knew in that instant through her smile that there was something extraordinary about her. Yes, she was physically beautiful, but it was always so much more than that.

Long before I saw her face, I had already come to know her character through months of writing to each other through emails as we seemed so busy with life to meet. She had strength, depth, and a goodness that shined from within. I had read it in every email she wrote and this aura I felt proved it.

Her life shaped the strength that all of us came to admire. Born in Vietnam during the war in a U.S Army Hospital. She was raised in a family that through all the setbacks they never gave up on each other. Losing both of her parents in tragic accidents at a young age, she still rose above every hardship. She worked full time, cared for her siblings, and earned both her undergraduate and graduate degrees paying for her schooling herself. She never bragged about any of it as that wasn’t Sherri. She was a woman of action not words. Extraordinary in every way, yet humble enough to rarely speak of herself.

Sherri was the most patient person I have ever known, and when I say patient, I mean years, hell she was married to me. She saw the good in people even when others could not. She listened beyond words. That was one of her greatest gifts. No matter the country, culture, or language, people felt her kindness, her serenity, and her goodness. Animals felt it too. Every creature we had, naturally found their way to her. She made every living thing feel safe but she was also tough.

She was very tough, but always fair. That fairness is why she rose in positions at State Farm, where she led hundreds by her daily example of servant leadership. I still smile thinking about a day in Las Vegas working for State Farm. She was handling an accident claim for Andre the Giant. I think we all have heard of him but if you haven’t, he was a world-famous professional wrestler that stood 7 foot 10 and weighed 500 pounds. His Rolls-Royce had been hit, and he was furious that the rental car did not match the kind of vehicle he was used to driving. He demanded to come into the office and deal with her face-to-face. That poor fellow had no idea who he was dealing with. Our Sherri, never intimidated by anyone, calmly handled the situation and sent him on his way satisfied, I assume with a regular car that he was due. That was her—steady, fearless, fair, and always in command without ever raising her voice. She was strong without ever making a person feel small.

She had vision in everything she did—whether it was leadership, fashion, family, or the way she could see the ripple effects of decisions four and five levels deep. I used to say if I had known Sherri when I first came into the military, I would have been a four-star general, because she had that rare ability to bring people together and lead them without ever needing the title. She was the matriarch of our family.

I relied on her so much. To smooth things, I roughed up. To make it all better for us all. Everyone asked her without knowing to do that for them. She was our Sage. She just made us better.
In the hardest chapter of her life and her life was hard; she showed us all what true strength and love looked like.

I do not think you can fully understand her character until you understand what she endured in her final years. The pain she carried, the stoicism she showed, the way she kept smiling even in the most horrific moments and through it all she was still thinking and doing for others.

When her body was gone, she endured for her family to be here for as long as she could; she never never gave up. In the middle of her own suffering, she gave counsel from the bed side and listened to all of her friends and family while telling them everything would be ok. For the last year she could not walk, Her mouth was disfigured from the malignancies. She suffered six broken bones from the pressure, eleven hospital stays and surgeries, every movement was painful but she was always smiling. The last picture I have of her was with a Reese’s peanut butter cup and her smile the day before she died.

Sherri was my Briar Rose, my partner, my example of grace, toughness, fairness, beauty, and vision. She had a way of making people feel seen, heard, and loved.

Her life was not only beautiful in how she lived it, but in how she lifted every one of us around her.

And though her physical presence is gone, her aura—the same golden aura I felt the first time I saw her—still rises with us
and will always rise with us every new day.

May she rest in peace.