My Friend Sheree

Sheree Cooney helping me prep for a garage sale a decade ago.

My friend Sheree died this week. She wasn’t supposed to but she did. Of course, Sheree frequently did things she wasn’t supposed to do.

When they found her rather aggressive AML-type cancer a few years ago, she chose an equally aggressive treatment path that included a stem cell transplant, or BMT, that surprised her treating physicians with its ravages on her physical self. One of the most aggressive host versus graft diseases they had ever seen, they said. 
But in the manner of fiercely feisty women, Sheree persisted and recovered to go on and live with joyful purpose for a good while.

Sheree was like that. An energetic spark plug of a soul who was the 12th of her Finnish parents’ children born in Oulu, Wisconsin. When her mother died in her childhood, she was raised by an older sister until she finished her schooling and moved South and left of her family to the Twin Cities. 

That’s where she met Matt, the love of her life, and ended up living across the street from us in the neighborhood we landed in thirty-four years ago. 

In another of those happy accidents of life, we stumbled into Linden Hills of Minneapolis with two young children that matched the ages of several other families on the block. With the benefit of perspective, I now recognize the utter wonder of raising my children in the company of other supportive mothers, allowing me to share the joys, frustrations, and overwhelming heavy-lifting of parenting. So much information one can’t get from books. So much to learn by first making mistakes and then moving on. 

Sheree’s kids - the Cooney kids - were just a bit older than our batch. That meant they inspired awe in our children, and a certain level of fear in the parents. Would our kids be the fearless risk takers that jumped headlong into life like the Cooneys? 

That scary thought has mellowed with time as we now know all of our kids survived our learn-by-doing parenting. At the time, however, we mothers frequently gathered on a welcoming stoop or porch, pooling boxes of Kraft Mac & Cheese for the kids, while enjoying a G&T toast that the kids were all still alive. Low bar, I recognize, but one we greeted with relief after a week of juggling demanding schedules of activities and sports and school and camps and meals and all the tasks that can fit into a family’s life. 

Sheree had more energy than most of us. Good thing, too, because she gave that energy to her kids who arrived one after another until she and Matt knew they were outnumbered with three. 

Sheree was a fierce advocate for her children - for all our children, actually. She fed breakfast for all who showed up. She welcomed three year olds who showed up at her door to just have a chat. She made certain her daughter knew she could be anything she wanted to be. And fought to protect her boys from the vagaries of growing up with the evolving enticements of the early 1990s. 

And those battles she won. Her children are a testament to her fierce and protective love for them. In fact, all our neighborhood children share that testament of her love. Her broad array of family - the nieces and nephews, great nieces and nephews - all have stories of her care and kindness. 

I will miss her kindness. Her curiosity born out of love for her friends and family. “How are you doing? What are the kids doing? Tell me about your work, your life, your loves.” She was actually deeply interested in people, always open to new ideas, new ways of seeing things. 

And yes she had opinions. Those of us who had the privilege of driving her to appointments during the cancer battles heard about the driving of others. “She goes too fast. She drives too slow. He is a nervous driver.” 

I got tagged for being too slow until I told her I was going the speed limit only because of my precious cargo. That shut down the criticism. I think she liked being precious - and she was.  

When the cancer came back, because cancer is wickedly wily in that way, she tried to fight with the latest chemo. Daily appointments even through holiday weekends. She struggled through all the impacts of the toxins until her body stopped responding. Over the weekend, she chose to go and, surrounded by the love of family, she left. 

I’ll hold onto the happy memories. The joyful times. The privilege of raising my children alongside Sheree, my fierce and feisty friend in the core group of the Lovely Ladies of Linden Hills.