Some dates carve themselves into memory so sharply that no calendar is needed. For Sabrina and her family, June 20th is one of those days. It marks the moment their world shifted, the day Sheila, their Mama, slipped peacefully from this life. One year later, the ache still lived in the room like a shadow, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, but always there. People say time heals, but Sabrina often wondered if time taught you to walk with the limp a little better.
The word “cancer” had come like a thief, ripping into conversations and futures with no warning. Pancreatic cancer, specifically, the kind that doctors whisper about with low voices and tired eyes. Sheila, though, refused to be defined by it. She named it “Mr. P,” as if turning the monster into a cranky neighbor she could scold. The fight was fierce and exhausting. Months of treatments blurred together, hospital walls becoming a second home, until finally, the question shifted. Was it worth continuing the fight, or was it time to go home and be wrapped in love instead of IV tubes? Sheila, who had always been the family’s compass, decided enough was enough. Home mattered more than more pain.
Sheila’s wish was simple: family, friends, laughter where it could be found, and maybe even one more trip to her beloved Florida paradise. The family tried to make it happen, booking first-class tickets and dreaming of palm trees and sunshine. But her body, worn from the battle, had other plans. She never made it to that house near her best friend Tonya, yet the joy she felt at the idea was gift enough. Photos taken at home, with familiar walls and faces, told the story better than palm trees ever could.
Those final weeks were a mix of heartbreak and holiness, days that felt impossibly long yet short. Friends rotated in and out, bringing casseroles, laughter, and quiet company. Hospice nurses showed the family how to bring comfort, but Sheila had her own lessons to give. She carved out little one-on-one moments with each of them, pulling loved ones close, speaking words they didn’t know they needed until they heard them. With Sabrina, she pressed her hand, sipped her tea, and whispered hopes for the future. She urged her to care for her boys, stay close to family, and most of all, not live in fear. That was Sheila: even in pain, she reached outside, making sure others were steadied.
The family knew photographs meant the world to her, so they dressed her carefully for a session that became priceless. Her nails were painted, her lipstick was on, and a pastel cardigan was used to soften her shoulders. She wanted to look like herself, and they wanted her to feel radiant. The camera clicked through tears and smiles, each snapshot freezing the moments most people only wish they could hold onto. Teddy bears embroidered with “Grandma was here” were tucked into the shoot, tiny gifts for grandchildren yet to come. It was bittersweet in the most profound sense, heavy and hopeful simultaneously.
When Sheila finally passed on June 20, 2017, it was in her sleep, surrounded by love, the way she had asked. Her battle with cancer ended that day, but it never felt like she had been defeated. She had chosen her ending, on her terms, filled with color, flamingos, and music at a celebration of life instead of a somber funeral. That was so very her—bright, stubborn, a little funny even in death.
Sabrina and Rob learned they were expecting a baby two days before that celebration. It was a gut punch of joy mixed with grief, a reminder of how life insists on stitching beginnings into endings. They named their son Theodore, a name heavy with meaning that carried Sheila’s love forward. And in some ways, Sabrina thought, maybe Sheila already knew. Perhaps she had smiled that secret smile, knowing life was continuing just as it should.
Sabrina still wonders how to capture Sheila in words, because how do you summarize a life that was glue for everyone around her? The truth is, you don’t. You just keep living the way she taught you, putting family first, choosing joy when sadness feels easier, wearing the bright colors, laughing at the small stuff. Sheila may have left, but she is still here, in their choices, laughter, and the whispered prayers Sabrina swears she hears when the night is too quiet. The battle ended, but Sheila, their Mama, their Grammie, was never defeated.
