Loss

Love Like Josh

January 12, 2022 by Nancy 53 Comments

I’m not sure I can write about this but it’s become clear that until I do, I won’t be able to write much of anything. Beyond heartbreaking to us was the loss of our grandson, Joshua James Beller, on September 4^th of last year. Josh was born with cerebral palsy and lived to be almost sixteen before he simply didn’t wake up on that sunny, fall morning. It seemed as if God said, “This boy’s had enough and I’m bringing him home.” While we rejoice that Josh is with Jesus and free of his earthly body, the shock and grief of losing him continues to be a part of each day.

It’s so true that grief and relief are close companions. Some days, at unexpected times, it just washes over me that Josh is missing from our family and the tears come. Other days relief springs up, reminding me that he doesn’t have to struggle with his inability to talk or walk anymore.

Joelle and Will at the grand reopening of Wolverine Wake Up

What helped our family so much was the amazing support of the community of Parker, CO. Josh was a sophomore at Chaparral High School there and part of an inspiring group of special needs students. The day before he passed away, he applied for and got a job at the school’s Wolverine Wake Up Coffee Bar. With the help of his language therapist, Josh was able to respond to the interview questions on his computerized “talker.” Since it could also be programmed so Josh could push a button to say, “Hi, I’m Josh, welcome to Wolverine Wake Up,” Josh got the job as greeter! By all reports he came home that day so proud and excited that he had a job.

Word spread rapidly through the school that Josh had passed away. The Significant Special Needs Class decided to wear green T-shirts, the color denoting cerebral palsy, the following Thursday. Soon the whole high school decided to wear green to their ballgames that week to honor Josh. Then one of Chap’s competing high schools, Legend, heard about Josh and they all wore green to their ballgames too!

When Josh’s mom, Joelle, and his older brother, Charlie, went over to the volleyball game that Thursday night, the Chap Superfans began chanting, “Love like Josh! Love like Josh!” and friends of Josh’s twin brother, Will, wore green T-shirts with “Love like Josh” printed on the back. Later more T-shirts and wrist bands saying “Love like Josh” were created and sold in Josh’s memory to raise funds for The Cerebral Palsy Foundation.

Beyond the school, neighbors offered housing to us, brought food, and openly shared their stories of how much Josh meant to them. He inspired all who knew him to be the best they could be because he worked so hard at being the best Josh he could be each and every day. As a friend wrote to us, “Josh developed the fruit of the Spirit in everyone in his family, and that is his legacy” (Galatians 5:22-23). Clearly, that’s so true.

Our favorite photo of Josh with Charlie, taken by Will in 2017

And of course, from the first moment until now, God has been ever present, offering comfort and hope in the midst of our despair. He gifted Joelle with a beautiful vision of Josh in heaven, standing behind a bright light and pointing down while saying, “Mom! This is Him! This is Jesus! He’s right here!” He continues to comfort us every moment of this journey with the peace of God which passeth all understanding (Philippians 4:7 KJV).

I know without a doubt that when I get to heaven a handsome young man is going to walk up to me and say, “Hi, Grancy,” and I’ll know it’s Josh. I’m saving my first dance for him.

We miss you and love you, Josh. And we will do our best to “Love like Josh” the rest of our days.

Friendships and “Furships”

February 26, 2020 by Nancy 20 Comments

How would we get through life without our friends—or the fur friends we love so much? This has been a sad and silent week in our home. We had to say goodbye to our sweet cat, Molly, last week. I never realized how much her meows—with different intonations for each communication—had become such a part of the soundtrack of our lives for the past 16 years until they were gone. The silence is deafening.

Her physical absence is agonizing, too. She’s not by the door asking to go out on the deck. She’s not getting me up to feed her, or sitting on my lap early in the morning as I have my quiet time. (I’ve actually had to set an alarm this week.) She’s not sidling up to my husband Jim for some extra pats in front of the fire, or jumping from his lap to mine and back again as the three of us settle in to watch TV in the evening. She’s simply not here. And we miss our fur friend.

This is when the human friendships we have mean more than ever, however! Those friends with pets, or who have been loved by pets in the past, truly know the pain of losing a fur friend who was part of the rhythm of daily life. The first day Molly was gone a neighbor stopped by with a card, a bottle of wine, and the time to just sit and talk about Molly for a bit. A true friend.

Messages from friends on Facebook were so kind: “My heart breaks for you.” “She was such a sweet kitty.” “I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Please know that I know losing a pet doesn’t compare to losing a sibling, a parent, or a spouse. But it is a loss nonetheless, and it’s so sweet when friends come alongside to acknowledge it. A friend from afar texted, “Many, many of my best friends have had fur, and many of my best memories are of them. I’m sorry you have lost your friend. You’ll have your memories forever.” So true.

Pet therapy from my friend Beth's collie, Maisie, and her fur friend Duchess. — Pet therapy from my friend Beth’s collie, Maisie, and her fur friend Duchess.

The long phone calls that included laughter, the notes and cards that came in the mail, the friend who invited me over for some sympathy licks from her dog, all of it helped this week. And all of it underscored the fact that we need one another.

It didn’t surprise me to read that a new book by science journalist Lydia Denworth, Friendship: The Evolution, Biology, and Extraordinary Power of Life’s Fundamental Bond, includes research proving that friendship is not only good for our emotional health but for our physical health as well. Bottom line: People with at least one good friend tend to live longer, happier lives. No surprise, but good to have the scientific confirmation.

So cherish your human friends and your fur friends—nurture your friendships and your “furships.” Give of yourself generously, and you will be so very blessed in return.

My Beau

April 25, 2018 by Nancy 24 Comments

He had me at hello. From the moment I took him out of the cage at the adoption center at PetSmart and he wrapped his front paws around my neck and snuggled his head under my chin, I knew he was my cat. What I didn’t know was that he was a one-woman cat, and I would be his woman.

At PetSmart his name was Jellybean, but that just didn’t seem to fit. I had gone cat shopping because I read an article that a solo cat might become depressed. I’d looked over at our cat, Molly, and assessed she was. What she needed was a beau! So Jellybean became Beau Brummett.

As it turned out, the two cats never really bonded, and truth be told, Beau bullied Molly a bit. But for 13 years they enjoyed one another’s company from a distance, established their own rules about whose couch was whose, and had a workable détente.

We had to let go of Beau three weeks ago, and I’m just now able to write about him. It’s been a heartbreaking loss, not just because I loved him, but because he loved me so completely and so unconditionally, and there was nothing I could do to save him. The third round of cancer was too much for all of us. He was only fourteen and a half so it seemed too soon to see him go, yet it was time.

This won’t be one of those tributes touting perfection, however. Beau’s biggest character flaw was that he was afraid of small children, possibly the victim of being carried around in a neck hold by a toddler before we adopted him. As a result, he was labeled “the mean cat” by all of our grandkids because if he couldn’t avoid them, he hissed at them. I know their parents wondered why we kept him around.

We did because of who he was the rest of time. Part Maine Coon, Beau came when called, was trainable, and loyal beyond description. He was the most excellent of cats in terms of his cat-like characteristics. Curious to a fault, he got shut up in the pantry more than once while checking out the supply of cat food. He would be the first to jump into an empty box and found Christmas boxes especially fascinating.

And he was a quick learner. Just one leap off the second-story deck in an attempt to catch a hummingbird and he decided not to do that again!

He was the most affectionate animal I’ve ever been around. Often he would come up to me and put his front paws on my legs, look up at me with those big golden eyes, and want me to pick him up. I was putty in his paws, so most of the time when I was home he was in my arms, perched over my shoulder, or on my lap—even when I was at the computer.

We had two official snuggle times, right before my husband Jim and I went to sleep and first thing in the morning. He never missed one of them, and usually waited in the hallway from about 9:30 PM on to remind me it was time to go snuggle. Any wonder my arms have felt achingly empty? (Jim reminds me that he is willing to snuggle any time, but apologizes for not being fuzzy enough!)

I don’t know what else to say. I miss him. It hurts. I’ve always been sensitive to the grief people feel when losing a pet, but will be even more so now. I don’t want to compare this in any way to the deeper grief of losing a family member or close friend, but I did lose a close and loving companion. No doubt about it.

I’ve cried my way through three PetSmarts and the Humane Society where I went just to visit the cats. I don’t know why. There isn’t a cat alive who could replace Beau, and I know that. Besides it’s too soon to even try to love another cat. Somehow I just had to look.

And while Molly won’t snuggle (please! she just can’t be bothered) her “personal assistant” purr-sonality has her following me all over the house, and she is blossoming now that the whole house is hers. We love her, too, and she deserves to be queen for a while.

When I was praying over Beau for healing, and yes I did, I heard the Lord remind me, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” To comfort me in my grief, He’s whispered, “Think of what a great gift he was to you, not what a great loss you feel now.” OK, Lord, I’ll try. But he was my buddy. My Beau.

To those readers who think they don’t like cats, may I say it’s just like any other bias. Get to know just one well, and you will change your opinion.

Lee’s Lantana

August 1, 2013 by Nancy 26 Comments

The down side of volunteering with older adults, and getting to know and love them, is that the chances are pretty high you will also have to say goodbye to them in this earthly life and be separated from them for a while. Such was my loss when Lee (short for Leora Jane), one of the residents of an assisted living facility who faithfully attended my weekly Bible study for over two years, died suddenly this month.

I was on vacation when Lee died, but a friend who was filling in for me for the summer called to let me know. I was so glad to find out about a memorial service that was to be held for Lee and to be able to attend when we returned. There I learned so much more about her life than just the last few years spent in assisted living.

Lee loved sitting outside the facility in her wheelchair. Every Wednesday when I arrived, except on the most blustery of days, she would be by the front door. She always greeted me warmly. With her gray pixie haircut, bright blue eyes, and big smile it was a greeting I grew to love. “I’ll be back to get you!” I’d say as I rushed inside to set up for our gathering.

Once our time was over, I knew Lee couldn’t wait to get back outside, so I’d push her back to claim her spot by the front door. One day I noticed a huge pot of beautiful yellow flowers near her spot. “Oh, Lee, those are gorgeous. I’ve never seen them before. Do you know what they are?”

“I don’t,” she replied, “but I’ll find out for you.”

The next week the flowers were still there. Lee still didn’t know what they were, but she’d found out who to ask, so together we learned that the bright, yellow blossoms we both enjoyed so much were lantana. Lee, lantana and laughter, three things that will forever go together for me. The laughter came when I tried to maneuver Lee back out through the heavy front doors and would forget from week to week that taking her over the threshold backwards was the best way to keep from dumping her out! Fortunately I never did dump her, but my awkward wheelchair piloting gave us both some laughs. And we never parted without a hug, after which she would pat my hand and say, “Thank you. I love you.” And I would say, “I love you, too.”

The chaplain who led Lee’s memorial service did a wonderful job. We all got to share our favorite memories. I learned from her family that she hated raisins and wondered how many times I’d served her oatmeal raisin cookies in class. She never complained. The chaplain said, “Lee would want all of us leaving here today with a smile on our faces and a smile in our hearts,” and I knew that was true. I also knew she was now embracing eternal life joyfully, and was with the husband and son she had lost and grieved. Still the tears spilled down my face. I wasn’t crying for Lee, but for my own loss.

After the service, I decided to stop by Home Depot for a couple of things we needed for Saturday chores, in spite of being overdressed and needing to keep my sunglasses on to hide my red eyes and mascara smears. As I walked into the garden area I stopped in awe. Right before me were two very long rows of hanging baskets, all yellow lantana. I know they weren’t there earlier in the season.

It didn’t take me long to put two of the baskets in my cart, justifying that they could replace two that hadn’t done well in the summer heat. Now I get to look at yellow lantana from my office window every day and thank the Lord for my friend, Lee. They not only remind me of her, they remind me that love is always worth the risk, even when it hurts.