The Cast of HairStory Tries to Process the Loss of Shamia Terry

"I have some news I have to tell you."

The text cut through my post-color-purple-screening lunch with the Harrisburg Chapter of the Links, Incorporated. I texted that I'd call after the event, but the ominous feeling the message had produced hung in the air. I left the restaurant and made the call.

"Shamia died."

It was unbelievable. We had just celebrated her 32nd birthday together. She was so filled with hope for the future. She had found herself on stage. She knew her purpose. We spoke right before Christmas about her doing my hair when she got over this cold or bronchitis thing she had.

Donations for Shamia

But it was RSV and Shamia had asthma. There was no getting over it.

Shamia's heart broke under the weight of this disease that most people know little about. It took her from us way too soon. And when we spoke we joked about being glad we hadn't thrown our masks away, because it was getting "hard out here in these streets" with Flu, Covid, and RSV in the air.

Shamia was a nurse. She helped people regardless of their ailment, or even how mean they were. She was open to coming to take care of my father, but he refused care. She told me she gave a sponge bath to a white supremacist who said,

"You shouldn't be touching me! I used to kill n*gg*rs like you!"

She lovingly said, "You ain't got the strength to kill nobody, now. Stop that foolishness so I can keep your behind clean." She went on and cleaned the mean man's behind.

Don't get me wrong. You clearly knew when you had crossed the line with her. Trying to hurt her baby, Niya was a surefire way to get yourself in a mess of trouble. (I'll just leave that there.) Don't mess with her money, her food, or her family. PERIODT. That sister was scared of nothing.

Shamia was fearless. She had never acted before but at the audition, I instantly was taken by her voice. Low and raspy, with a southern drawl. She could go from sex goddess to preacher woman without taking a breath. Honestly, Shamia played both those roles well on stage and in life. She was sexy, and she was spiritual.

Shamia was a fashion icon. But it wasn't just the nails, cute clothes, and eyelashes that made her this. Shamia had her own hair story. It is the reason her hair was red in the play and the reason she kept it red all the time. I'm not going to tell you her story now; There's a reason for that too...

A few weeks after the show, we gathered at the home of one of our dancer/actors, Sharon Williams. Shamia grabbed my hands and said she felt something in her spirit. She cried as she told me her prophecy,

"The Lord is going to bless HairStory! You're going to rise and I'm going to rise with you!"

Shamia had found herself, her purpose, and her spark on the stage and I am honored that HairStory started this journey for her. That Summer she performed at the Harrisburg Fringe Festival and she was in improv and playback theatre classes.

As the theater community prepares an event to mourn her loss and celebrate her life, I am working on Shamia's hair story, which I can add to the script. HairStory will rise and rise, and she will rise with us.

If you would like to donate to help with the sudden and unexpected expenses of Shamia's funeral, please click the donation link below.

Donate Now