The E is Silent

Why did this happen to me?

Why did I get cancer?

What’s really the story behind that “e” at the end of my name?

I have been intrigued by questions, starting with my name’s spelling. It’s “Sheryl,” but with an added “silent e” at the end of it. Because of that letter, I have been called “Shirley” my entire life.

In classrooms. Shirley.

Over the phone. Shirley.

At appointments. Shirley.

Whenever there’s an opportunity for someone to see my name in print. Shirley.

According to my mother, the “e” was added after she made her decision to not name me after the famous child star, Shirley Temple. She chose, instead, to go with her other personal favorite, “Sheryl.”

But Mom also liked Judy Garland. Why wasn’t I named after her, with an “e” tacked onto that name?

Judye.

No, I guess that wouldn’t work. Then I’d be called Ju-die.

People would probably get creeped out by the Grim Reaper kind of death association.

Or, maybe, people would mistakenly call me “Juddy,” thinking it was pronounced like “Buddy.”

(Sigh).

Anyway, again, going back to Mom’s love affair with Shirley Temple. It was all about connection to her, even if that was only achieved by approximate letters spelling my name. So…

S-h-e-r-y-l- “silent e.”

Seven’s my lucky number, huh?

Eh…

Still, why didn’t she just name me “Shirley,” and forgo all of the exacting letters, in the first place? Why did “Sheryl” with a “silent e” win out? I’ll never know for sure.

That one annoying letter. Who knew it’d spurn my future questions?

Why did I have an abused childhood?

Why did I fall prey to disordered eating and body image?

Why did I get Breast cancer?

The short, irritating answer to each question? I don’t know.

I have addressed and I am working through numerous issues, looking at backstories, explanations, unmet needs, all beyond my control. I endeavor to get healthier in body, mind and spirit. I’ve sought deeper wells of my faith, praying. I’ve strained to see purpose. And, I’ve logically accepted time and chance happen to us all.

I’ve covered the human cliché responses.

Still, there’s way too much silence, in response to my questions. At least, there is, in my opinion, anyway.

And, before I launched into a toddler temper tantrum on a grocery store floor, I remembered a statement I heard, years ago…

 “When the student is taking the test, the teacher is silent.”

Really? That’s what this is? Education and character development?

I hear your groans chiming in with mine.

This is only a test?

But it doesn’t feel that simple. After all, we’re talking about an individual’s human life experience. Certainly, that cannot be reduced to a test of character. Isn’t a person’s life worth more than merely that?

Again, I don’t know, because there is silence in the atmosphere. No satisfying explanation that soothes and gives closure.

Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch.

So, you and I are only left to ourselves, to writhe, to get educated via pain, discomfort and uncertainty?

Yep, it kinda looks that way.

Why, why, why?

Usually, as I’m ranting my why’s, I get a mental picture of a tapestry. On one side, there is this exquisite pattern. On the other, there is a mess of knots and zigzagging thread. Both sides are real; both exist. You cannot have one without the other.

Does it answer every question, struggle and dilemma?

Nope.

It’s a silent tapestry, hanging out with my silent “e.” They’re probably good friends on social media.

 (Stomping my feet) I WANT ANSWERS! I WANT ANSWERS!!!

But instead?

Confusion, angst, anger, and a bunch of other non-peaceful responses are my party guests.

What am I supposed to do with that?

Shaky answer: I don’t know, maybe just be?

It’s beyond the “silent e,” beyond the abuse, beyond cancer, beyond pain. But it’s there, even if I don’t quite know where “there” is just yet.

I am still a seeker. I ask, seek, knock. This is how I go about my life, such as it is.

And I believe there’s something to that.

The writer, Anatole Broyard, in his book on illness, encourages the reader to “find your own style,” especially when it involves a diagnosis.

And, well, we’re all diagnosed with… something.

So, okay, that’s it. I guess I continue to “be,” even if it’s this current messiness. This is my style… with a VERY loud “E” attached to the end of it.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse