Like many people I am having a difficult time processing the death of my friend Sherry Anne Clancy.
I first met Sherry when everyone in town knew her as Ann Clancy, department head of the Highlands University Office of Public Information, a job she held for several years, and one she did with care, attention to detail, and creative flare. Prior to coming to Highlands she had worked at a non-profit in a southern state, I’m not sure which one.
I don’t know why her position at the university was terminated, all I know is that same day she appeared at the door of my office looking slightly stunned and confused. “I’ve just been let go,” she said.
Let go? I didn’t understand her termination any more than she did. We sat and talked for a while, discussing options. The conclusion we came to is that she was unlikely to find a job of equal pay and equal opportunities, not in Las Vegas.
I thought she would move on, go somewhere her skills could be put to use, but she didn’t. She liked Las Vegas, dare I say loved Las Vegas? She had made many friends here, and her home in the country was here, a place she enjoyed, a place where she and her housemate felt… safe.
Time was not kind to Sherry. After NMHU she had two or three different jobs, all of which she was over qualified and underpaid for. She continued to delve into her savings to stay afloat.
When I was at the Optic as general manager, Sherry Anne applied for the open position of advertising sales manager. Because of our friendship, bless her heart, she was subjected to more extensive interviews than other applicants. In the interest of fairness I made sure her application was sent blind to the then regional manager of advertising at the Optic's sister newspaper in Los Alamos along with several others. Her qualifications set her apart. Sherry’s hiring came about as a consequence of that process, not because she was my friend.
She brought skills to the job that helped reestablish client relationships that had been stagnant or had disappeared altogether. The most critical skill she possessed was the ability to listen. I recall one day when she came back with an ad from a client who had up to that time pretty much refused to advertise with the Optic. When I asked her how in the world she got the ad she grinned. “I told the client that I didn’t mind listening to the bitching, but I wasn’t there to talk about a past I couldn’t do anything about, I was there to talk about how to get customers in the door. I think the owner was so surprise they gave me the ad.”
That client became a regular advertiser.
When I left the Optic Sherry Anne was still there. She remained in the job for a time and then decided to move on.
During that period two traumatizing things happened: she learned she had cancer and had to undergo months of chemo, and she put her home on the market knowing she could no longer carry that big a debt. Miracle of miracles, a buyer came along relieving her of the debt and the stress, and miracle of miracles again, her cancer treatments were successful.
Whether from other sources or from the sale of the property Sherry was able to buy a house in town, on a quiet street where she felt... safe.
Her job with the city was a rocky road of uncertainty, as she was shuffled from one position to another, one department to another, until she went to utilities, a place she found comfortable and agreeable. She liked her co-workers and while it might not have been the most challenging job she ever held, it was one that gave her a sense of security.
I don’t pretend to know all there is to know about Sherry Anne, our friendship was one of long standing, but not one of great confidences. She was basically shy, which people who didn’t know her might find surprising. She held jobs where she had to really “be out there,” in the public eye. At the university she had a department full of creative people to manage. She was responsible for supervising the design and content for publications and advertising, and for supplying information about the university to media. She collaborated with the webmaster in the continuing development of NMHU’s website. It was a demanding and energizing job, and she loved it.
One of her other jobs was for Lincare, a company that provides health devices (like oxygen tanks) for in home use by clients. Again, a job where she had to be constantly on the move and making contacts with strangers.
And then there was her job with the Optic. Cold calling in ad sales is the name of the game. She had no hesitancy in taking on the job and no hesitancy in making those cold calls, even when she was given the cold shoulder. Persistence was her middle name (some would call it being stubborn). So, despite her shyness she managed to be successful at demanding jobs.
The jobs she held at the city were demanding as well, but each was in a structured environment with specific job requirements in a place where she could feel… safe.
Art was deeply important to Sherry. She was a creative spirit by nature and when she put brush to canvas color and vibrancy erupted. I would call much of her work abstract, but I think it was for her another safe place, one where she could express herself without boundaries. No one can tell a painter how paint, or a sculptor how to sculpt. It comes from within and only the artist can express that deep down feeling, thought, or desire. It was in her art that Sherry expressed pain, sadness, uncertainty, and joy. She was a sensitive person and her art shows that.
Unfortunately there was a life I did not know about, a life in which she felt deep obligation to a person who needed her, a life unimaginable to most of us, a life in which she was a prisoner of her own compassion. Did she suspect the instability of the person she saw every day was undergoing a seismic shift? As friends could we have done something before an eruption of rage or blind terror culminated in the tragedy we are all trying to take in despite a lingering stunned disbelief?
The Sherry Anne I remember would say, “Wait! Don’t go there. Don’t think about the ‘what ifs.’ Don’t be angry. I’m out of it now; I’m at peace for the first time in a long time. It’s Tamara who needs help. Please, please, see that she gets it.”
That’s the Sherry Anne I remember, I hope it’s the Sherry Anne you remember as well.
I include here a piece Sherry Anne submitted for publication in the June issue of Happenstance. It is a memorial to her father who died last May. It is a small indication of Sherry Anne Clancy, a wonderful writer, compassionate and loving daughter, a great friend and a deeply caring person.
Goodbye Dad
by Sherry Anne Clancy
My wonderful, handsome, generous father Wayland Dean Clancy died on May 22, 2010, although to me it seems like it was just yesterday. He was a kind and giving person who did a lot of volunteer work, especially in the deaf community, being that my mother is deaf. I miss him so much, and it seems to me now like I will never stop missing him. He was a tall, skinny guy with a good sense of humor and he always took pride in his appearance.
Like other Leos, he was a real ham, and was in all the plays at his retirement community. Once he was even brave and silly enough to dress as a woman in one of the plays. He was so creative he could often improvise some of his lines, which made everyone laugh. He was not afraid to do new things. One thing I really respect him for was that he made sure that everything was set up to provide for my mother before he died. That’s just the kind of man he was.
My grief at times about his loss feels completely overwhelming. He was pretty sick toward the end, so I know at least he’s in a better place and is no longer suffering. But I miss him so much and cry whenever I think about him. I’ve done a lot to try and deal with my loss of him and to try and deal with his death. One thing was to make little a area in my bedroom where I put some of his belongings, kind of like a shrine, where I put his awards, a memento tray from his service in the Navy and a barometer that belonged to his mother.
I also do crazy little things that help me feel closer to him, like wear his socks and his pajamas. My mother seems to be handling his death a lot better than me. Maybe because she knows he was suffering at the end. My mom, sister and I were together when we removed his oxygen, because the nurse said he would go soon after and we didn’t want him to suffer any more. He had quit smoking, but not soon enough. I try to do all the things suggested by grief counselors, like remember the good times, talk to a counselor, and I’m trying to do those things. It doesn’t help as much as I’d like.
I read a book a friend of mine wrote about the loss of her mother, and that helped somewhat. But really, I just want my Dad back – now.
Dad
You were the best
and most generous
of fathers
an engineer by trade
an actor by heart
a fine and humble soul
full of love and light
humility and honor
You are missed by more
people than you know
Sherry Anne, give your dad a hug from me.
Preview
