It was a Sunday morning in early May when I got a call from my Dad. He asked if I was sitting down as he had something to tell me. Immediately, my heart sank and my mind went racing. Was his cancer back? Was someone else sick? Was it my Grandma? What he told me next, I was not at all expecting. He told me the story of a couple of teenagers, still in high school, who had a baby. That baby, my sister, was put up for adoption shortly after she was born. He cried, I cried. Then he went on. Her name is Sherri. I stopped him there. Her name is Sherri, my name is Kerri. Sherri and Kerri. I thought that was a funny coincidence. She was married and had four kids. Then he told me that one of her daughter’s shared the exact same name as one of mine. That stopped me in my tracks. We named our kids the same thing? This was stuff you hear about on Lifetime or TLC. This was not real life. But it was. It was my real life. I had a sister named Sherri and she was real and wanted to know me. Know us. Know our family.
A lot has happened since that initial call from my dad and subsequent sister Facebook stalking. I have hugged Sherri and her girls. I have sat in a room with ALL 4 of my siblings (It was awesome and weird all at the same time) and I saw my Dad, complete. The hole in his heart was shrinking and his kids were all together. His secret was out and nobody flinched.
I still don’t know why Sherri was placed in my path at that exact moment but I am glad she was. Happy Sisterversary to my beautiful, big sister, Sherri.
