In the early morning hours of Monday, January 12, 2026, after saying goodnight to her daughter and granddaughter, Cheryl Adams finished her nightly snack and drifted happily off to sleep to the sounds of Judge Judy dosing out justice on her laptop. A few moments later, her heart gave out, and without any struggle or pain, in the blink of an eye, she was in Heaven with her Creator, reuniting with her father and mother, and all those loved ones who'd gone before her. I was not nearly ready to be left behind.

My mom never met a stranger. Ever. She was the person who stood beside you on the toilet paper aisle of Walmart, and within a couple of minutes, you'd find yourself inexplicably telling your life story to your new best friend. It didn't matter if you knew Cheryl Adams for 5 minutes or 50 years - she made time for you, invested herself in your life, heart and soul, and was ready to slay any problem you laid at her feet. That's just who my mom was, and I'm so proud to be her daughter.

During her amazing life, my mom worked at Walter Reed Army Hospital, then for all the letters of the government - the FBI, IRS, and finally, the FAA - where she made just enough to make ends come close to meeting, sometimes. We never had it all, but we always had each other, so we had everything.

And now, it's time to say goodbye, and I never knew how expensive one 7-letter word could be for one person. Mom couldn't afford to keep any death benefits with her pension, so I'm faced with paying due respect to my own personal superhero, and just like many moments Mom found herself in, I don't know how I'm going to make it happen. What I do know is that my mom made miracles happen all the time. She made magic from literally thin air enough times in my life for me to know for a fact that, where there is a will (and a truly creative spirit), there is a way.

If you could help me say a proper goodbye to my mom, I'd be so grateful. I don't know what my life looks like without my mom by my side. I've never had to imagine that, and now I don't have a choice. I didn't get enough time with her, but forever wouldn't have felt like enough time anyway. I'm just so thankful for the 42 years I got, and I hope she knows I intend to make her proud as often as I can. Cheryl didn't live a fancy life, but she lived a big life, and she always lived on her terms. She didn't ever take more than she needed, she always took less than she deserved, and she never stopped giving, even when she definitely should have. I don't know how I'm supposed to say goodbye, so I'm not going to... I know I will see her again one day.