I hadn't posted a blog in awhile then this past Sunday I published a segment about Hope springing eternal. It does. But sometimes it takes a round about way of springing. If you are looking for the hopeful, skip this and move on to the Jan. 4th posting.

Early, early on Tuesday morning a jogger was fatally struck by a vehicle. It took me a day to be able to write the following:

Wednesday January 7th, 2009

Sherry and I were co-workers.

Depending upon the definition of friendship, I’m not sure we were friends. Everyone liked Sherry, for sure, including me, but I’m not sure we were friends. We did not share our dreams, our disappointments or our aspirations. We revealed little personal information to each other. We didn’t share lunch or dinner. I don’t think that I ever touched her. I don’t recall shaking her hand or exchanging a hug. I don’t remember placing a hand upon her shoulder or arm and I don’t think that she ever did that to me either. We did not touch physically.

Our relationship was not based on anything physical. It was based on trust, respect and communication. Perhaps half a dozen times in one’s life you find someone that you mesh with, that’s on the same wavelength. Some ways, Sherry and I were not friends, other ways we were better than friends. I would ask to her amend her work plans and she would always agree, but I would ask, never tell, and she knew that she could always refuse. And she would, on occasion ask me to procure her something or do some small favor and she knew that I would try my best to achieve it, but she would ask, never demand. We understood each other and while we never touched physically, we certainly did on a higher level.

I had the duty to close the store on Monday night. She had been working diligently and alone for the evening and she was the last to finish her task. All the other employees had escaped home. Sherry headed back to the offices to leave her supervisor a note, saying what she had completed and where she had left off. I was in the cash room finishing up my chores but with the door open so that I could stop her before she left the building.

“Sherry, stop. I have something for you,” I said as she walked past the open door.
I got up and showed her a packet of reward certificates that had her name on them. I handed them to her.
“What are these for?” she asked.
“Because you’re special,” I said.
“No, these are because I was on Brenda’s team and we won the contest.”
We exchanged looks, and her eyes had that unusual twinkle in the corners that she got when she chuckled. I am sure that she understood that what I had said partly in jest, I also truly meant.
“Goodnight, Sherry,” I said.
“Goodnight Mr. Tim.”

Often times when a relationship ends suddenly in anger or accident or Act of God we look back on our last words, our parting words and we think how foolish, or vain, or inappropriate were those words. It is some consolation to me personally, and I think to all of us at Belk, Harrisonburg, to know, that with Sherry, the last words, spoken without forethought, were the perfect words – “Because you’re special.”

Sherry was special. She is special. And, so long as we hold her in our memory, she will be special.

Tim