This July, my family gathered to celebrate what would have been my sister, Michele’s, 48th birthday. Together, we laughed at the many memories of her ditzy sayings, shared stories about her mischievous childhood, and recounted her antics as a top-notch prankster. We smiled at how she made countless women feel beautiful, both inside and out on their special days as a makeup artist and hairstylist.
Sheli, as she was known as a child, had a way of making people lean into their fun side. With her, it felt natural to be silly, to laugh loudly, and pull people close for the tightest hugs. We celebrated all of that while also choking up about not being able to heal her pain.
For years, we watched the light fade from her eyes as mental illness and substance use robbed her of that bubbly personality. Each of us, in our own way, tried helping.
We thought maybe she just needed more support, so we threw ourselves into taking care of things that she found too overwhelming – getting her to doctors’ appointments, cleaning spoiled food from her home, or helping her find a place to live. By far, the most painful part of this journey was watching Michele’s daughter struggle while knowing she had a mother who had ached to give birth to her little girl, but left her alone and terrified as she fought her demons.
In desperation, I demanded she seek counseling, threatening to cut off all contact until she did. I was convinced this tough love approach would work. I just had to stick with it. Be strong.
Sadly, the voices in Shel’s head always won. They were relentless. In her last months, she was completely sober as she was off the prescription medications and alcohol, which while destructive to her life, helped keep the voices in her head at bay. With nothing to take the edge off the constant barrage of voices, her weight plummeted to eighty-four pounds and doctors warned her of potential organ failure.
Navigating a broken mental health system isn’t something I would wish upon any family. Call after call, trying to find help, but being told she didn’t qualify for programs, even after multiple hospital holds, was heartbreaking. Watching overworked behavioral healthcare professionals try to do their best only added to the frustration. We were all living in crisis. Trying to survive, but unable to envision a world where we could all thrive. 
In April of 2024, I was the last person to see my sister. She rarely left her apartment, but I ran into her at the grocery store. Her tiny frame looked more childlike than that of an adult woman.
I hugged her and encouraged her to come to our house for dinner. At that moment, a friend walked by and I said hello. Michele lifted her head, and for a second, I saw her: My sister. A light flashed in her eyes as she waved hello with a smile. That was the girl I grew up with, my constant companion, the only person with whom I share the same memories.
And just like that, she was gone.
Despite our two-decades-plus journey watching her slip away, the grief was overwhelming. Were it not for my family, friends, and the power of our beautiful community, I’m not sure where I would be. As I worked to swim to the surface of my grief, I heard a familiar message. It’s one I’d often shared with others during their lowest points: Give back. Giving back is the best way to lift yourself.
And so, I turned to a trusted organization – the York County Community Foundation. My fellow community builders had the answers I needed. My family learned of the option to establish a fund in Michele’s honor and that we’d have up to five years to fully fund it. Knowing that, it helped take the pressure off and allowed us to treat the fund as a part of our healing process.
Michele’s Rae of Hope Fund was born in 2024. We hope Michele’s story reaches others and helps raise awareness about mental health, substance use, and the impact of these illnesses on families. Our goal is to award grants to nonprofits that are working to help fill the many gaps in our healthcare system.
I’m grateful to my friends at YCCF for being a true partner in this journey. None of us can predict the challenges we’ll face in life. Knowing there is an organization like the Foundation that has the connections and heart to lift our community through those challenging times has brought my family — and hopefully others who experienced tremendous loss — a small “rae of hope” for the future.
Tribute and pictures provided by Nicole Shaffer.
You can donate to this fund or to any of the funds at YCCF, by visiting the donation page of our website.
