Adah Geneva Sherrill

Through My Eyes by Helen Sherrill Smith

My first awareness of Adah was when she was in Junior High and I was in sixth grade. We had been living in the country for two years or so, which may be why I have no earlier memories. At that time she was living with an Aunt and Uncle, Lindy and Maro Harris, who lived up Frew Hollow, over a mile from town. Adah was a sturdy, athletic girl, a leader in school sports and an enforcer of fairness and good sportsmanship. Most attractive in appearance, and had a pleasant, outgoing personality.

We were not close then. I was one of the 'Kids', leaning more to skinniness, bookishness, and shyness, so we had little in common. But by the time we were both in High School, the situation had changed somewhat. We were living just across the street from each other, walked to school together, visited in the evening, played cards, made fudge, tried out new hairdo's, even found the time to study together. The fact that she had a younger brother near my age, and I had two older ones, might have had some influence on all that evening visiting, too.

As sometimes happens, two people who have been acquaintances for a long time can suddenly begin to see one another in a different light; so with Lewis and Adah. A new relationship began, a true love story which held them bonded each to the other until Adah's untimely death tore them apart.

When they were married, to us she became truly a part of our family. She seemed as dear to us, and I believe, we to her, as any blood relatives could have been. We shared both sorrows and joys, each as happy to see the other family prosper as to prosper ourselves. Their children were my parents’ first grandchildren, our first nieces and nephew; we found them fascinating little people to be loved and treasured.

We looked forward to each new birth; my mother always made little gowns and other garments with delicate embroidered and crocheted trim, other items were added, as money was available. Adah was the total mother, she found her greatest joy in welcoming each child, surrounding it with love and care and nurture, while still making sure that all the others in the family were being nourished with good food, kept warm and sheltered, with guidance in morality and values; and always the knowledge that each child was an important part of the family circle.

Sherrill grandparents helped, as did adoring aunts, with new school dresses, Easter finery, hair care (all those perms and curlers and braids on tender little heads) Halloween costumes all labours of love. Grandmother Sherrill turned out lovely little dresses, coats, capes, slips; her sewing machine was often busy. Grandpa tended more to share some of his paycheck to make sure there was food on the table, when times were bad. We only wished we could do more to help. Our mother attended Adah in every childbirth, doing all she could to ease the pain, sharing the joy of each new life.

Both Adah and Lewis knew good times and bad, they often shared lives of quiet desperation. But my long and close relationship with them left me in no doubt that they also shared a love for each other which only grew stronger and deeper with time.

Bad bad times came when the house in which they had lived for so long that it really seemed like home to all of them was sold, causing a move.

An offered opportunity to manage a Gun club for the Lorenz family, located in the Sangamon bottoms a few miles out of Beardstown, made the future look bright. Living quarters would be spacious and pleasant, a yearly income assured. Hopes and plans lightened hearts, made it seem to be dreams come true. Suddenly, everything was lost! There had, of course, been no legal contracts signed; another employee somehow persuaded the club owners that he would be better for the position (which could not have been true). Words cannot tell the pain, depression and despair into which these parents were plunged. Add to this the facts that Adah was having an unusually difficult pregnancy, and that the only housing available to them was a very small house in a not very desirable location.

Nevertheless, the move was made; life went on, more crowded and uncomfortable than ever before. The children seemed to take the changes in stride, and Lewis' natural optimism helped him to consider this a temporary setback. Not so for Adah, depression had gripped her, lowering her spirits and weakening her strong will.

When the birth began, Dr. Munson was called, Lewis' mother brought down to attend as she had with every child. Things were moving slowly, but steadily along, when the convulsions of eclampsia began. All efforts were in vain; her life suddenly was gone. The baby was delivered, but never drew breath.

Unbelievable! How court such a dreadful thing be? These children needed their mother, Lewis needed his beloved and loving wife, and we all needed her! The entire village was shaken by this tragedy; even those of deep religious belief found it difficult to accept such a loss.

When notified of the deaths, I came from California, tears falling all the way. Much as I loved my brother, I felt the children needed their mother so that it might have been better had he been the one taken from us.

Heartsick over this great loss, our efforts must be turned to her shocked and grieving husband and children. We were all apprehensive as to whether Lewis would survive this blow, or worse, whether he would even want to do so. And, of course, our deep concern for the wellbeing of that house full of stricken children. I would stay with them, to do what I could to help. We were all in shock, but little by little picked up the strands of daily life, although with heavy hearts.

Looking back, I wonder why I did not cope with it all better. Part of it might have been the change from two people living in sunny California, to ten people living in a very crowded little house in cold wintry Illinois. But of course the greatest problem was the grief, the apprehension, and the compassion for these people whom I loved so very much.

During my father's last illness, I had learned that while one could not sing to hide silent weeping; the voice trembles. But one could whistle, while going about one's work with the tears falling all the while. Now I learned to not wear glasses, which I had thought necessary for years; one can let tears fall unheeded without them. Thus the sadness can often go unnoticed.

The two smallest girls were so very different. Merry Ann, the youngest, Just nineteen months old, had always been very close to her oldest sister, Barbara Jean, so the focus of her world did not change so much. An adorable child, with a doll like face, honey colored hair, a sunny smile. She was loving, undemanding, easily led. How deeply damaged by their family tragedy was hard to tell; in her world she was surrounded by familiar people who showered her with love and attention. I sometimes wonder if her deeper needs might not have been ignored, simply because she seemed such a happy child.

Carol Dianne, who was three years and three months old when their mother died, appeared to be the most disturbed by the changed situation. ~ She had been Daddy's girl since Merry was born, and he still gave her lots | of attention, but perhaps she was so closely attuned to him that she sensed his deep despair, which, added to her own grief, was more than she could cope with. Always-a big-eyed pensive child, she became my helper dishes, cleaning- whatever I did, she helped. And talked, and talked, and talked. We covered many subjects; her fancy led us into some strange and wondrous areas. My theory was that using the imagination stretches the mind. And a busy mind would not be grappling with the terror of thinking that if someone you loved could just disappear and life be so changed, why would you not be fearful that it might happen again, to someone else you loved? Whatever, her emotional stress was acted out by a reluctance to move away from babyhood, which irritated her older siblings. This in turn caused her to cling ever more closely to her fathers loving arms. When she reached school age, leaving the security of home was a fearful experience. She accepted it with time, but that small fearful child was hidden, not gone.

Marilyn Kay was a strikingly beautiful child from birth. The only one in the family with a wealth of dark glossy hair and sparkling black eyes, she was the middle one of the little girls. She seemed to be a happy child, impetuous, headlong, liked to run and play and explore the nearby creek, stretching always to try to keep up with the two next older sisters. She seemed to adjust to the changes in her life; I now wonder if we might not have let ourselves be deceived by her apparent adjustment into believing things were better for her than they really were.

Karen Lee, as beautifully blonde as her younger sister was dark, had in her earliest days stretched to the utmost trying to keep up with the next older sister, but soon realized this was a lost cause. She compensated by living as precise and controlled a life as was possible, given this environment of lots of lively active children and limited space. Always neat, trim, precise, she kept her own possessions in order, and woe to anyone who bothered them without permission! Karen spent lots of time after her mother's death living at her Grandmother Sherrill's house with her aunt, uncle, and cousin Dennis, who was only a few months older. Less confusion and more individual attention seemed to serve her needs at just that time.

We had Merry, the pixie, Carol, the wistful waif, Marilyn, the Indian maiden, Karen, the snow princess; Sandra Sue could only have been called the human dynamo. A born leader, she was the engineer at the dam building, the crew boss in the catching of minnows and tadpoles, the foreman of sandcastle construction. A gregarious, outgoing tomboy one day, a bright studious searcher of knowledge the next. She appeared to decide to just not let her life be blighted by this tragedy, to put it behind her and get on with life. Emotional, happy, exciting most of the time a real joy.

Shirley was at the peak of young girlhood, bright, eager to taste all the good things of life; poring over fashion catalogues, dreaming of good things to come, willing to work to make dreams come true. Not all that interested in school, looking forward to finding a job and realizing some hopes and dreams. She and Barbara teased, played laughed, shared confidences, squabbled, and thoroughly enjoyed a good relationship most of the time.

Barbara had always been her mother's standby, a strong dependable right hand. This role usually falls to the eldest daughter, who has little choice in the matter, it seems. As an eldest myself, I know that it often seems unfair to have to carry this responsibility, with no say in the matter. She had left school, knowing that their mother's poor health left her in no condition to cope with family needs at that time. Stunned by the mother's passing, she still was totally concerned with striving for continuity in the lives of the family. Young, hopeful, with dreams of her own future, she nevertheless accepted an ongoing responsibility for her younger sisters.

Richard, only son, must have felt that the strong center of his life vanished with his mother's death. Theirs had been such a strong, loving tie, one could almost believe that it was a visible cord fastening them in a special bonding. He was steady, dependable, highly intelligent, stubborn, independent; also reserved and not very forthcoming about his inner feelings. When he left home to make a career for himself in the military, it seemed his best chance to escape the lack of opportunity in Browning. Little did we know that break would be a permanent one, that the relationship would change to such a fragile one, the family bonds so nearly nonexistent.

But life went on, every one survived, all have careers, there have been marriages, children, and grandchildren, making for constant change. Always Lewis was there, always concerned, always involved. Sometimes provoked, sometimes critical, always loving. He devoted his life to making a home for them, where they were always welcome, taught them his morals and his values trying always to fill the void caused by the loss of their mother and his wife. He did this so very well, and he was so very proud of each and every one of them. Their mother would have been proud of them, and so proud of him!