Sheryl Lynn Braswell

Sherry and I grew up in a simpler world in a family of creatives. Some played musical instruments or painted. Our parents instilled a love of reading at an early age. Every month or so, we would go to a bookstore on Hardy Street. We had similar reading interests so when I chose three books and she chose three books, it was like getting six new books — which we always finished within a week. It is no wonder we both became writers.

We grew up next to a set of grandparents, great grandparents, and an aunt and uncle. Many other cousins, relatives and friends lived nearby and most of us went to 38th Avenue Baptist Church. Cousins from Pensacola came up for a week or two every summer.

In high school and part of college, a Friday night often meant going to a Lutheran coffeehouse on Hardy Street and a First Baptist coffeehouse near downtown on Saturday night. It was a great way to hang out with friends of both sexes in a safe environment with unobtrusive chaperones.

At home, whether living there or returning for a visit, we often put together jigsaw puzzles with our mother.

As writers, we sometimes struggled to articulate our feelings verbally. People have different love languages; that doesn’t make one better, just different. My experience is that Sherry expressed love with the heart of a servant more so than words.

A good example is when our mother needed to move from Pensacola. Based on location, available space and other factors, moving in with Sherry made the most sense out of the available options. She took on that responsibility. The move also required someone to drive a U-Haul truck from Pensacola to San Antonio. I was available. Sherry drove all the way from San Antonio to pick me up in northern Louisiana (an extra 8 hours of driving), then on to Pensacola. No complaining, just pragmatic and doing what needed to be done. That’s the Sherry I remember and miss the most.