Posted on by kellyyarborough

Grandpa Reese- A Story of Amazing Grace

Today, I am thankful grateful, and blessed to have known and loved my grandfather, Kermit Walter Reese. He was born on December 12, 1919, and died on June 18, 1991. Grandpa was first and foremost a servant of God, humble, and strong.

Before I delve into his story, I am going to share a few of my favorite memories of Grandpa Reese. On any given Sunday, after lunch, if there were 12 or 30 in the house, Grandpa would always steal away to his bedroom for a nap. I have no idea how he slept with all the clamoring; but he did. Grandpa smoked a pipe, and unfiltered Camels. I loved the smell of his pipe. He even let me try it once. I coughed up a lung, because I inhaled. Grandpa loved sitting on his front porch with his children and grandchildren, even in the dead of winter, you could find him there. It makes sense to me why I love porch sitting so much. Grandpa was a hard worker and didn’t mind doing menial jobs. He knew his primary responsibility was to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel.

Grandpa made some poor choices early in his life and marriage. Choices that could’ve wrecked his life and family. However, Grandpa, like Paul, had a Damascus Road experience. He saw his great need for God, called out for mercy, and clung to the cross of Jesus. This one impactful decision changed the whole trajectory of his family, and continues to change it still today. I imagine his cry to the Lord was similar to David’s, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭51‬:‭1‬-‭4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God answered the cry of his heart that day, and Grandpa always remained humble. He knew that he could not “do life” alone. He understood that his sin had cost Jesus his very life. He felt the love and acceptance of God in a very tangible way. But Grandpa understood that there would always be times of temptation to return to his former life. He also knew that in moments of despair and desire to go back, he could call on the name of Jesus. Jesus would give him the power to resist the temptation.

There is great strength in humility and Grandpa certainly was doused with both. He never forgot his past, but he also did not allow his past to define him. He knew that he was a child of God and that God was working a complete restoration project in him. Grandpa knew that apart from Jesus he could do nothing; but by choosing to remain in Jesus, he could proclaim with great authority and strength that the power of the cross had set him free and would do the same for anyone who believes. “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”
‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5‬:‭6‬-‭10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Grandpa, I am so thankful, grateful, and blessed because of you. My life would not be what it is today if you had not fallen on your knees and begged for mercy. Never underestimate the power of a life that has been changed.

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.”
― Abraham Lincoln

Posted on by kellyyarborough

Mr. Ken- A True American Hero

A True American Hero

One day as we were out walking we struck up a conversation with our neighbor, Ken.

He had been experiencing back problems and we were concerned. He began to tell us of all the surgeries and metal he has in his body. Once he finished, I said, “Wow, you’re like the bionic man.”

His response was not expected but intrigued me, “No, I am a NAM POW.”

Now he had my attention but I’ve learned that it is a subject you tread lightly, “Really? That’s fascinating. Can you tell us about it?” I inquired.

“My helicopter went down. Everyone escaped. I was caught under the helicopter and when I finally got free, I was captured by the Viet Kong. They thrust me into a deep pit with other POWs and I remained there for about 91 days until I was able to escape.”

Because I cannot do his story justice I will stop there but what struck me the most about his entire experience was that he didn’t have to be there. He was not drafted. His brother was drafted and Ken took his brother’s name and took his brother’s place. Why? Because his brother had a family, a wife, and a new baby. Ken did eventually have to tell them he was not his brother but he waited until there was nothing the Army could do about it.

In my opinion, Ken is a true American Hero. Not only did he serve his country well, but he also did what many of us are unwilling to do, he gave up his freedom for that of his brother.

Today is a day we get to honor those who have served. I am honored to know this man as well as many others, including family who have served our great country.

To all who have served, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for choosing to give up your freedom so that I have mine. You are what America is all about…..the land of the free because of the brave #veteransday #heros #thankyou

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 2 Comments

A Woman Named Joyce

Today I am thankful, grateful and blessed for having known and loved Joyce Brown Jackson. Born December 31, 1944 died April 28, 1983. 

I cannot tell you when I met her, but what I can tell you is that I loved her at first sight.  She was magnetic.  An unmistakeable personality, a woman filled with love for life and love for her family, but more importantly, love for her Jesus. 

I met Joyce around the time her melanoma had returned. I am still not certain how my mom found out about her, but I am certainly glad she did.  

Joyce had four boys and one girl. When I first met Joyce, I didn’t know her children.  Later, I would become acquainted with them and become fond of each one. 

Mom would take me to visit with Joyce. She would drop me off, and I would spend hours with her, helping do chores, talking, and helping her cook. Honestly, I think Mom was hopeful that being part of Joyce’s journey with melanoma would help me deal with the grief of losing my daddy to melanoma. 

I spent many hours and days with Joyce.  In fact, she’s the one who taught me how to know when pasta is cooked. One day I made spaghetti for them, and when I was boiling the noodles, she said, “Take one out and throw it on the backsplash.  If it sticks, you know it’s done. If not, cook it a little longer.”  A lesson I have always remembered. 

As Joyce’s health declined, some days I would simply sit and talk to her.  She dearly loved her family, especially her Jerry. He was her strength. Oh, how she loved him.  Her children were her lifeblood.  She loved them so. But Joyce had a confident faith, and she knew God was preparing her place and would come for her when He was ready. 

She became like a second mom to me.  I loved her. I loved spending time with her.  And when she became deathly ill, her family asked me to be with them in the hospital. I was with her and her family in her final moments of life. 

I was heartbroken when she died.  At her celebration of life ceremony, a gentleman stopped me and said, “I know who you are.  You are one of Joyce’s kids.” 

I quickly responded, “Oh no, I am not one of her children.  I am just a friend of the family.” 

He said, “Oh no, she told me all about you and she considered you one of her own.”

I put my hands over my face and cried until the tears were no more. Not only was I overwhelmed at the thought that she considered me as one of her own but again I felt the searing pain of loss.

Many moons have passed since her death in 1983 but the beautiful memories of her, I will always treasure in my heart.  The lessons I learned from Joyce were to love well, live life purposefully and soak up every minute because you never know what the future holds and if the noodles don’t stick put them back in the pot. And now, looking back, I do believe that it helped me through the grief of my daddy’s death; although I didn’t see it at the time. 

Her life is a great reminder that we are born with a birthdate and an expiration date but it’s what we do with our dash that makes the difference. 

Posted on by kellyyarborough

Repurposed

Inspired by the following scripture passage and some recent furniture we have reupholstered, is the reason for today’s blog title Repurposed.

First the scripture,

“I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: “Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They’re his people, he’s their God. He’ll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good—tears gone, crying gone, pain gone—all the first order of things gone.” The Enthroned continued, “Look! I’m making everything new. Write it all down—each word dependable and accurate.””
‭‭Revelation‬ ‭21‬:‭3‬-‭5‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Remember the book of Revelation is an unveiling of what is to come. It is written by John. In this scripture are some key phrases and I am particularly fond of the paraphrasing of Eugene Peterson.

Firstly, He says, “God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women.” This makes God very personal and He is a personal God. Recall, that’s exactly what Jesus did when He came to earth. He moved in and lived among men and women. In fact, in the Book of John, he tells us that “God became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” John 1:14.

Next, is the phrase, “Death is gone for good, tears gone, crying gone-pain gone.” I don’t know about you but I am comforted by these words. Knowing that the old order of things will be gone and that we will never again be separated from those who’ve gone before us. Heaven is going to be one big reunion but it will never end.

Finally, and most importantly, “Look! I’m making everything new.” This is in the future tense. I am making. It is not past, God doesn’t say, “I have made.” It is not in the present, “I make.” It is future and it is in the process. I am making. Scripture does not say that God does he does away with the old. It says the old order of things are gone and behold He is making all things new. In other words, even now, in the present, God is remaking us. He is repurposing us until He is finished with us. When He is finished making us new, then He will call us home and not one minute beforehand.

It’s similar to the reupholstered furniture that now sits in my house. We didn’t do away with furniture that had good bones, instead, we had it recovered so that we could enjoy it. All of the components of a high-quality piece of furniture existed in this chair. The outward appearance wasn’t appealing but to discard it would’ve been foolish. In the same manner, we may be rough and shoddy on the outside but God sees our hearts. He knows everything about us and as our relationship with Him deepens, He transforms us more and more into His likeness. In other words, He repurposes us and makes us new. He doesn’t do away with us, He simply remakes us.

If you are in a place of struggle or wondering what in the world God is doing, know that wherever He has you right now is for your benefit and for His glory. He is in the process of “making all things new.”

Sammy made the chair look good
Before and After

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 1 Comment

Carrying Wet Ones In My Purse

During my formidable, growing-up years and even beyond, my grandmother was notorious for “carrying the kitchen sink” in her purse. She always had Kleenex, Wet Ones, Aspirin, Tylenol, Ibuprofen, gum, Certs, and Life-savers….you name it, she had it.

I don’t typically carry all of those items but the two most prominent items I do carry with me are gum and Wet Ones. Gum because I always chew gum and anyone who knows me, knows where their source of gum can be found. Wet Ones because there’s always some kind of mess requiring cleanup.

I’ve always known there’s great value in a woman’s purse but yesterday solidified it for me.

We were sitting in SCDMV in Greenville waiting along with the 100 other people to be helped when a beautiful young mother and her two young children sat down beside us.

I began observing her. She had brought Reese’s Cups with her to temper the children but as she unwrapped them I noticed her fingers were getting chocolatey and she had no way to clean them. In that moment, I opened my purse and took out a Wet One and handed it to her.

She graciously thanked me and said, “You must have children.”

I responded, “Yes, and my grandmother taught me to always carry Wet Ones.”

This was the beginning of a God-ordained moment. We struck up a conversation, initially just small talk. As she began to feel more comfortable with us, she shared that her husband died last year at age 35, leaving her and the two children. Her daughter 6, at the time of his untimely death and her son, 2. She was 31 when widowed. As I listened intently to her, I watched her little girl. A bright-eyed blonde who was most definitely a Daddy’s girl. In that moment, I saw myself 48 years ago. I was a bit older but not by much. I could see her fight between trying to be a child but also trying hard to be as adult as she could be to help her mom.

My heart was broken for this family. The dad’s death was sudden, without warning. A heart attack which killed him instantly. She shared her struggles for the past year because they had not been prepared with wills or anything. She talked of the difficulties with the legalities and how she hadn’t had time to grieve herself. She also shared how much her little boy regressed and stopped talking after her husband’s death and how she had sought out counseling for the children.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again. There is no such thing as coincidence but there is a such thing as God’s appointments. This is one of them. Not to mention, it also shows how God is concerned with the smallest of details in our lives. He knew my new friend would need a Wet One and He made sure I had one in my purse.

Please join me in prayer for this sweet family. They are blessed to have the love and support of family as well as community but they have hard days ahead and she needs time to grieve.

Posted on by kellyyarborough

Doubly Blessed

Sunday evening, May 5, while sitting on the front porch stoop, I spotted a rainbow. Of course I eagerly took several photos. After a few minutes Terry said, “Look! It’s a double.” Sure enough it was. While we sat there it occurred to me the many times I have read about a “double portion” in the Bible. Most often it means a double blessing or inheritance. However in the Book of Revelation it actually means a double curse.

In my case that evening I found myself praising God for giving me a double blessing, which in Old Testament times went to the firstborn.

For many years I thought living close to my family was a curse. I was expected to be available and show up for anything. If I invited my parents over, my grandparents were sure to come as well. If my aunt or sister came to town, I was expected to be there. Or as Terry would put it, “we have to go all pile up together.” For Christmas we were always expected to adhere to traditions set long ago by Mom and Ned. Sometimes it felt like a job. And sometimes I wished I didn’t live so close. I did, often times, view it as a curse.

However, God reminded me on Sunday evening that He had given me a double portion of blessing. Being close to family by being at family functions. Opportunities to serve them and to be served by them. Precious time my children spent with grandparents and great grandparents the others didn’t have. Blessing upon blessing of being able to be there for each one of them during their illnesses and deaths. What a tremendous gift God gave me! #doublerainbow🌈🌈 #doubleblessings

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 1 Comment

Be His Hands and Feet

My precious Mama drew her last breath on April 7, 2024. We have seen the mighty hand of God at work in all of this but here is a story that particularly relates to doing the right thing, at the right time for the right purpose.

Recently I’ve read the story of the Good Samaritan twice. Jesus told this parable to demonstrate how we should not neglect those who are hurting or in need of help.

Interestingly enough the two religious leaders, the priest who had likely been running the service and the Levite who had been leading worship, looked at the wounded man but neither of them stopped. They saw him hurt and wounded but didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

Nicky Gumbel points out there are three possible reasons why this occurred:

1. “We are too busy
Possibly they were in a hurry. They didn’t want to get involved in a time-consuming activity.

3. We don’t want to pollute ourselves. Touching a dead body would have made them
unclean for seven days (Numbers 19:11). They would not have been able to enter the temple during this period (Leviticus 21:1). They might have lost their turn of duty at the temple.

4. We don’t want to take a risk
Obviously, there were robbers around. This could have been a decoy for a possible ambush. “

But the Samaritan stopped. He didn’t have to. He used his own donkey. He used his own money. He didn’t wait around for help. He took action.

The thing that struck a chord with me the most is the three possible reasons why the men in the clergy didn’t stop. So often, these are the excuses I use not to help.

However, I would like to tell you a powerful story that my sister and I witnessed on April 7.

Mom was under Hospice care but she was still at The Bridge. We had made a conscious choice to leave her there if at all possible because she was so well-loved and cared for there.

We had been told the process once she died would be to call Hospice. They would come and pronounce her death and get her ready for the funeral home to pick her up.

The call was made to Hospice. However, before Hospice arrived two of Mama’s nurses came and asked if they could get her ready. They didn’t have to. They weren’t even working her hall. They could’ve waited. But they insisted. They worked with her for almost 45 minutes. Washing her, dressing her, and fixing her hair. When they completed their task we went in to see her. She was beautifully dressed in her red sweater and her hair was meticulously curled. She was lovely and aside from her mouth being agape, which Emma said she tried to close, she looked like an angel.

These two women showed more compassion and love in that single act of grace than I have ever experienced in my entire life.

Friends, please let this be a good lesson for us all. Be the hands and feet of Jesus! What you do matters when it’s done with the right motives.

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 2 Comments

Dear Ned

Dear Ned,

Today of all days I am reminded of our conversation before your first appointment with Dr Anthony. We were sitting in Chick-fil-A and Mom went to the bathroom.

You looked at me and said, “You and I both know that this is not going to end well. And you’re going to have to take care of your mother. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I know and I will” I answered. Secretly hoping we were both wrong and that God would heal him on earth.

We weren’t wrong and God made you whole on October 29, 2017. It was a grand and glorious day for you but a very sad, hard time for us, especially Mom.

Just as I promised you, I have taken care of Mom, along with a lot of help from Kristi and Terry. They have been warriors with me and I am so deeply grateful.

Taking care of Mom looked a lot different than you had in mind. I came alongside her to care for Popaw and essentially take over his healthcare to alleviate her anxiety about having to make decisions for him.

We all pitched in and helped her sell the “big house” and move to a very sweet little condo, perfect for her.

In mid-2019 it became more apparent that she was struggling more and more with short-term memory issues. In August 2020, we went to the neurologist for her first visit. He wasn’t overly concerned and said the memory loss could be related more to depression and anxiety but said they needed an MRI just to see if there were cognitive issues or something else. The MRI revealed that she has “age-related memory loss.” However, her cognitive results at that time didn’t warrant medication other than just her antidepressant.

In February 2021, we revisited her neurologist. This time proved a bit different than before. Her cognitive test revealed that she was on a decline. Although he still calls it “mild”, medication to slow the process was necessary. And so she began taking medication.

We noticed a leveling off, if you will for a while and even the neurologist was happy at her follow-up in August of 2021. But life has a way of throwing punches beyond our control. Aunt Trisha became deathly ill with pancreatic cancer and because Mom could not care for her, Aunt Trisha asked me to become her HCPOA. For the next four months, I split time between home and Winston-Salem. While I was caring for Aunt Trisha, Kristi was taking care of Mom.

But we began noticing more of a decline, and by the time we visited her neurologist again in February of 2022, he too noticed a further decline. Thinking it may be more related to depression he upped her dosage of antidepressant from 25mg to 50mg, which is still considered a low dosage. It did calm down some of the anxiety she seemed to be having and a few months leveled her memory decline.

However, there were concerns we began having, and by the end of October, we knew there were some hard decisions that we had to make.

For the past two years or so, Mom had told the three of us, collectively and individually, that if she needed assisted living she wanted to go to The Bridge because “that’s where my Daddy was”. And so in November, with Kristi’s input and blessing, I called and put her on the waitlist for The Bridge. The timeframe of the wait would be 3-4 months.

On December 27 Mom and I made another trip to see the neurologist. At that time, we told him of our plans for her to go into assisted living and he concurred that it was good timing. He also told her he was proud of her for not digging her heels in the sand and refusing to go.

After having to put Sammy down in January, Terry and I decided to sell our house. Without him there, home no longer felt like home. Plus, we had been discussing it for months beforehand.

In late February I received a call from Beth at The Bridge telling me that Mom had a place. Not only did she have a place but because two units were coming available at the same time, she could come and choose her new apartment. So, Kristi, Terry, and I went with her to pick out her place.

In the meantime, our house went under contract. Matthew got married. We took a trip out West. Came home. Moved Mom into her apartment on March 31 and moved into her sweet little condo on April 12.

It’s been a whirlwind since the beginning of January, to say the least. But it’s all good. Mom is settling in well and so are we. But when I find myself thinking of our conversation over 7 years ago, I think you always recalled the last conversation I had with Daddy before his death. You knew he’d given me a very great and overwhelming responsibility at seven. One I could not bear because I was way too young. A responsibility that God entrusted to you and now you were giving it back to me. I have not taken this opportunity lightly or tried to do it on my own, I have enlisted help and support from many. I am in no way giving up my obligation by choosing to move Mom to The Bridge. I am simply giving us all freedom to love on her and enjoy being with her and giving the good people there the opportunity to give her the best care possible.

Oh, how I wish I could just pick up the phone and call you. Just once. Just to hear you say, “You’re doing what’s best.” But in all honesty, as many as I sought in making these decisions, God has been my ultimate counselor and guide so I know it is what’s best.

I just want to say thank you for loving and caring for her so well.for 39 years. You always did what was best for her. Thank you for entrusting me to continue what you started.

Love you and miss you!

Sidebar: I began this yesterday because it would have been Ned’s 78th birthday but I couldn’t complete it until today.

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 2 Comments

25 years and counting

A story that should never get too old to be retold.

Today just seems like the appropriate day to get this blog started.  On this day, 25 years ago God blessed us with a 7lb 9oz baby girl, Amy Grace.  That very same day, God spared my life and gave me a new lease on life.  Let me explain.

Two days prior to Amy’s birth, I looked like a beached whale.  I was waddling like a duck and hadn’t slept in two weeks.  She wasn’t due for another two weeks.  I took Terry with me to by OB appointment for both moral support and to keep me from flooding the doctors office with tears.  Fortunately, Dr. Oldham saw my misery and said, “Ok.  You can either come in on Thursday the 12th or Friday the 13th and we will induce.”  Without hesitation Terry spoke up and said, “We’ll take the 12th because I don’t like the idea of having a baby on Friday the 13th.”

Upon leaving the office, I was elated.  “Only two more days of misery, ” I thought to myself, “I can deal with two days.”

We were up early on the 12th. We made our way to the hospital and at 7:00 the Pitocin drip began.  Didn’t take long for contractions to begin and by 1:45, I was 5cm dilated and contractions were steady, actually it seemed as if they were increasing not only in strength but frequency by the minute.  Around 2:15 when they checked me again, I was 8cm dilated. They called down for an epidural, but by the time it reached the room, there was no time.  By 2:35 pm, I was fully dilated and delivering.  We were elated our baby girl had arrived. We knew ahead of time the baby was a girl.  We just hadn’t told anyone, except one dear friend, mainly because I didn’t believe the ultrasound.

Our room quickly filled with family and friends to greet this new little life.  Within about 30 minutes of her delivery, I began to feel odd and had a weird painful sensation in my abdominal area.  The nurse insisted it was my uterus contracting but I said, “I don’t think so.  This is my fourth child and I’ve never had this sensation before.”  She did nothing.

Fortunately, my friends Ashley and Bryon showed up.  She came in the room and said, “You don’t look good.  What’s wrong?”  I told her about my abdominal pain and she immediately went to the nurses station and told them to get some help because my color wasn’t good.

As soon as the doctor came in and examined me, blood gushed out.  It actually felt like a chain link fence was coming out of me.  Horrified, she began packing me to stop the bleeding.  For the next few minutes, I felt almost normal and then it happened again.  This time, she packed me again, but due to the significant loss of blood, a call to have blood delivered for a transfusion was necessary.  As soon as the blood arrived, I’m guessing I looked so bad and had lost so much blood, Dr. Arcara was literally screaming at the nurse, “Squeeze the damn bag or I will.”

After a third time of packing and no control over the bleeding, it was determined I would have to have emergency surgery.  They had no idea what they would find.  I remember vaguely her asking me if I could sign the release for them if a hysterectomy was necessary.

Due to the seriousness of the bleeding, Dr. Oldham was also called in to assist Dr. Arcara. The next thing I remember is waking up to the sound of Dr. Zahn’s (the anesthesiologist) saying, “You look like Stay Puft the marshmallow man.  We had to pump you full of fluids.  You’re lucky to be alive.”

The next day, Friday the 13th, Dr. Oldham came by for rounds and said, “You had Victoria and I scared to death.  We’ve never experienced anything like that in our careers.  What happened was your cervix ripped over an artery and blood was just pumping out into your body. If not for her quick decision to do surgery, we wouldn’t have found it.  Also, they told me that during delivery, Amy had a true knot in her umbilical cord and it’s probable that if you had gone another two weeks, as she grew the knot would’ve gotten tighter and quite possibly taken her life.”

I don’t know about you but knowing that God provided, not one, but two miracles of life in a day for our family makes me feel truly blessed and humbled.  I stand in awe and wonder of his miracles and I realize that I would not be here without His grace and mercy.  My story could’ve ended on February 12, 1998 but God had bigger plans for me.  He choose to keep me here to tell my story and it is all for His glory.

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 1 Comment

A Heart-Wrenching Decision

Tap.Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of Sammy walking endlessly around the house for three hours. I would doze off from time to time, but I was attuned to his wandering until finally, it stopped. The silence was almost deafening and fear of the unknown began to set in. I lay in bed paralyzed with fear. Finally, I dared to get up.

As I entered the kitchen from our bedroom, I looked for him in his bed or laying on the rug. I even glanced at the couch thinking he may have mustered the strength to jump. He wasn’t there. I walked across the kitchen and into the hallway. There he was laying in the hallway, still and motionless. I began to cry and called for Terry. I couldn’t bring myself to pick him up.

Terry picked him up and found he was still breathing. He’d just exhausted himself with his pacing. Terry handed him to me. I hugged him and cried happy tears because he was still with us. I cried ugly tears because I knew it wouldn’t be much longer. This was his fifth day, maybe sixth day, without food and very little water. Most of the time he would slowly walk to the water bowl and stand over the bowl, gaze and dip his head enough to wet his mouth. Almost like a human at the end of life who needs to be given a wet sponge just to keep their lips moist.

I already had an obligation in Hendersonville that morning and believe me, I delayed until I could delay no more. Looking for any excuse to linger longer but I knew Terry would be with him. We had already decided the day before that he would not be left alone.

I prayed on the way up Hendersonville that God would take away the decision I knew in my heart of hearts we were going to have to make. But at the same time, I didn’t want that to be the last time I saw my little boy. The struggle was real but I had to leave it in God’s hands.

As I headed back home around 2:00 pm, I had not heard from Terry and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Honestly, I didn’t want to know, especially if the news was bad because I knew I couldn’t drive home. So, I didn’t call.

When I pulled into the garage Terry was coming outside and then I saw him, Sammy following Terry, albeit extremely slowly, to greet me. Just like he always did. I scooped him up, kissed his little head, and whispered a prayer of thanks to God.

He settled in my arms and then we just sat together as usual on the recliner. He fell asleep and seemed very settled but it only lasted for about an hour. He awakened and began pacing and wandering again.

Terry and I watched him wander about aimlessly and I asked him,
“What time does Bonnie Brae close? We can’t put him through another night of this.”

“5:30 I think.” Remembering what he was told the day.

“It’s time,” I said. He knew it. I knew it. Sammy knew it.

He called around 4:15 and they told us to come at 4:30. So, we had to walk out the door without stopping to pass go. I put Sammy in his favorite bed and carried him to the truck, crying the whole way.

Terry finished answering questions about Sammy and giving them the information needed as soon as he was off the phone we both wept for the rest of the trip. Honestly, I don’t know how even saw beyond his tears. Sammy, for the first time in two days, was so peaceful. There was not a hint of angst in him. He lay on my lap in his bed and didn’t move a muscle. He was tired and I think he knew his fight was over.

We were so emotional walking into the clinic and the receptionists were so kind and compassionate. It was obvious they felt our pain. They quickly whisked us into a room and it wasn’t long before Dr. Fitch came in.

He knew this was not a decision we had made lightly and he was not going to try to talk us out of it. Several articles I’d read over the past few days said, “You know your pet better than anyone and you’ll know when it’s time.” He did listen as I told him of the events leading up to our decision (a story for another time). He went over the formalities and explained the procedure. Stepped out of the room and gave us a few more minutes with him. Again, Sammy never moved a muscle. He lay still and quiet in his bed. He didn’t raise his head. He wasn’t nervous. He was at peace.

As the sedative was administered, Dr. Fitch had warned, he may resist and flinch a bit. Then as the sedative moves through his body, he will most likely have some muscle twitching and pee. That did not happen either. Sammy didn’t flinch when he gave him the shot. His muscles never twitched and he didn’t pee.

After about 5 minutes or so he came back into the room to administer the IV to stop his heart. I lifted him out of his bed and gave him to Dr. Fitch. He laid him on the table, Shaved a little bit of hair from his leg, and inserted the IV, while Terry and I stood beside him with our hands on his head. It didn’t take long for his heart to stop. Dr. Fitch and the vet tech hugged us and left us alone for as long as we needed. We bawled and clung onto each other, petted our boy, and kissed his head one final time.

On January 5, 2023, around 5:00 pm our Sammy boy left this earth and our hearts will never be the same. It may not have taken long for his heart to stop beating but it’s gonna take a long for our hearts to stop grieving. He was our constant companion for the past 14 years.

As much as my heart is grieving, I simply cannot imagine the grief of losing a spouse or child. The pain of loss is so much more than I am experiencing right now. I cannot imagine walking into an empty house knowing Terry would not be coming back. I cannot imagine knowing that I couldn’t pick up the phone and call my children. I cannot imagine knowing that my children would never walk through my door again. And for those whose pets are their children because they have none. For those whose pets are their constant companion because they have none. I believe their loss goes to a much deeper level that I probably don’t understand. Yet there are times in life when God chooses to use things to give you deep empathy and compassion for others, I believe this is one of them.

Sammy “little boy” Yarborough
October 22, 2008 -January 5, 2023