Listening

I have been rescuing animals as long as I can remember & can still recall with such clarity the neighborhood children bringing me little hurt birds to "fix".  I may have been all of 5 years old when I tried to help my first little sparrow patient.

Over the years my rescue efforts have ebbed & flowed & my rescued animals have included: llamas, sheep, chickens, goats, birds, snakes, dogs, cats, chipmunks & an assortment of other creatures. 

It appears I was born this way... (no reference to Lady GaGa's song I assure you).

Rescue work is emotionally, physically & financially draining & there have been times I wanted to just walk away from it all.  The fact that so many people are very vocal about how they think animals should just fend for themselves or that those of us who take part in rescue are somewhat less than sane (or intelligent) makes what I do even more difficult at times.

It can be hard living in a society that believes if you rescue a horse, it's a noble cause but if you rescue a cat, well it's not so very noble & perhaps you should get a real life doing something meaningful.  As my nephew Nathan put it, "Why don't you get a real job?"

Fortunately God has shown me over the years that no matter what I do someone won't like or approve of it.  He also recently showed me, once again, that what I really need to focus on in life is what He has given me to do for however long He has given me to do it in regardless of what others think of my decisions.

This latest God lesson came to me in the form of a kitten, yes a kitten!  What a surprise...

I already have quite a rescue cat collection on our farm & was lamenting to God about how much work it was, how expensive it was, how I could not take in even 1 more cat, etc.  Immediately after my complaint I got a phone call about a kitten that was in danger & was asked to take it in.  It was me or nothing & doing nothing likely meant death for the kitten. 

I immediately got stressed & angry & complained out loud about how people need to take care of their own animals, how it's infair that I have to go around cleaning up after everyone else's "messes" & other righteous anger stuff--all the while feeling totally justified in my complaining.

My quick (sarcastic) "Thanks a lot God" seemed justified too. After all, I had just finished complaining to God expecting Him to fix things quickly, easily, painlessly & in my way.  Getting a phone call about yet another kitten hardly seemed like an answer or at least like an answer I was going to accept.  It seemed more like a cruel joke.

After my pity party was over God said something to me.  No, it was not audible but it came straight from His heart to mine & there was no mistaking it was from Him (it certainly wasn't from me).

In essence He said,  "Jackie, have you ever thought that maybe I am bringing these things (namely homeless cats) into your life?  Have you ever thought it's My plan for you?  Who do you think made you the way you were before you were even born?  Are you going to trust what I have in store for you or are you going to keep fighting against how I made you to be & what I made you to do?  Because of these animals you will come into contact with people you would have never met elsewhere.  Tell them about Me & bring them into your life as you do the cats.  That's My plan for you."

I can tell you that at that moment all the anger, stress & any negative thoughts about where I was at in life just vanished.  I knew that the very thing He had for me to do (at least for now) was what I was already doing & that I had His blessing & assurance it was going to be OK.  He had given me the faith to press on whether or not anyone else understood & the strength to stand up against the naysayers who would discourage me. I did not need their acceptance, I had His!

I realize now He had tried speaking to me about this very thing before but I had not been listening. Instead I had been complaining or too busy to hear or maybe even not any more accepting of what He wanted of my life than general society is. 

I can also tell you that in that moment when He spoke & I listened my life has changed & I am different than I was.  And I know without a doubt that the God of yesterday, today & tomorrow still speaks to us today.  All we have to do is listen.



          Angel, 1 or our most recent rescue kittens


Shepherdess Blog
September 7, 2012
Copyright 2012 Jackie Deems

Beatitudes For Those Who Comfort...


It has been a while since I've written a new blog, so much has happened in my life in such a short time.  The upcoming summer seemed full of promise and I had a list of projects I wanted to accomplish.

The loss of my beloved nephew, Phillip, has hit me hard.  There are so many people who are grieving Phillip's loss, so many whose journey through grief has just begun.

I continue to hear that, for some on this difficult journey, this time is being made even more difficult by those around them--those who, as they are trying to be helpful--inflict further wounds.

When I lost Richie, my only full-term child, much of the battle I had to fight was with those who would be comforters.  These people would not have intentionally hurt me, I know this, but their words stung almost as sharply and cut so deeply as if they were intended to hurt.

None of us are comfortable with grief.  In fact, many of us run from it or even just ignore it hoping it will go away if left unacknowledged.

But grief gets a firm hold and means to stay on in our hearts.  And, it should stay, actually, at least for a time.  Though it should not be a permanent guest that refuses to leave, it is a necessary part of living and loving and losing. 

After my son died I struggled with many things people--well-meaning people--said to me in their attempt to make me "better" and to get me to return back to "normal".  So I wrote "Beatitudes For Those Who Comfort" hoping it would be instrumental in helping would be comforters as they came alongside those who are grieving which also would help the bereaved in return.

I dedicate it now to Taylor, Phil's fiance, his family, those of us who love and miss Phil so very much, all those out there who are grieving a loved one's death or imminent loss, and those who would be comforters.  May you find comfort in the arms of the God of all comfort!


               BEATITUDES FOR THOSE WHO COMFORT

Blessed are those do not use tears to measure the true feelings of the bereaved.

Blessed are those who stifle the urge to say, "I understand", when they don't.

Blessed are those who do not expect the bereaved to put into the past someone who is still fresh in their hearts.

Blessed are those who do not always have a quick "comforting" answer.

Blessed are those who do not make judgments on the bereaved's closeness to God by their reaction to the loss of their loved one.

Blessed are those who hear with their hearts and not with their minds.

Blessed are those who allow the bereaved enough time to heal.

Blessed are those who admit their uncomfortableness and put it aside to help the bereaved.

Blessed are those who do not give unwanted advice.

Blessed are those who continue to call, visit and reach out when the crowd has dwindled and the wounded are left standing alone.

Blessed are those who know the worth of each person as a unique individual and do not pretend they can be replaced or forgotten.

Blessed are those who realize the fragility of bereavement and handle it with an understanding shoulder and loving heart.


Shepherdess Blog
July 18, 2012
Jackie Deems Copyright 2012
Beatitudes For Those Who Comfort
Jackie Deems Copyright 1987

How Do You Say Goodbye?

 

 

 

I remember getting the phone call on October 1, 1987 from my sister, Diana.  She had given birth to her 3rd son, Phillip, and all was well.  I drove the 6 hours to where she and her family lived and spent a couple weeks taking care of Phillip's brothers and helping my sister out around the house and with her new baby.

As my nephews got older, they would come and spend some time with us on the farm each summer.  Phil continued to visit us alone (without his brothers) every summer until he started college.  Each year I would say, "Phil, this will probably be your last year to visit us, you're getting older now and other things will become more important (understandably so)". His reply would always be, "Aunt Jackie, you always say that but I will always come back to see you.  Someday, when I'm out on my own, I want to live half way between you and Uncle Chuck and my mom and dad so I can come and visit you all the time". 

On May 16, 2012, I got another phone call about Phillip--one I honestly didn't see coming...

Phillip had been killed while riding his motorcycle.

For the past 2 weeks I have struggled with the emptiness in my life only my nephew could fill and wrestled with how to say goodbye to a 24-year-old young man who seemingly had his whole life ahead of him.  He was to be married October 5, 2012 to his childhood sweetheart, Taylor, a girl he met when he was only 15 and she was 13 years old--their wedding website still counting down the days until they would be married.  The sadness I feel for her and others close to Phil is almost overwhelming at times.

Perhaps it's more difficult to say goodbye to someone who should have said goodbye to you first.  Maybe just the sudden loss is harder to believe than if he'd been ill.  Whatever the case, saying goodbye is never easy and in this case, at least in my heart, is not necessary.

Why?

Because I can still recall with such clarity:

The little boy filled with such joy and awe over the simplest things--doing farm chores early in the morning, "helping" me make pancakes (by flipping them for me), the funny things he would say and do that made him Phillip...

The teenager spending hours on the phone with his first and only girlfriend, watching 50's monster movies together until the wee hours of the morning while we ate much too much candy...

The young man who became a police officer so he could protect those who could not protect themselves...

These and so many other memories of Phillip will be part of me until I join him in heaven someday.  So, for me to say goodbye just does not make sense.  Maybe it's just my way of coping with his loss for now.  Maybe it's because, as I get older, I understand more and more how all our lives are but a mist, a vapor that is here and gone before we know it.  Maybe it's Phil's lasting legacy to me to live life to the fullest--which he most certainly did.

How do you say goodbye to someone who is still alive in your heart?  You don't...you just don't...



Shepherdess Blog
May 30, 2012
Copyright Jackie Deems

When There Seems To Be No Miracle

I asked God to heal my son, surely He would do as I asked...

I couldn't believe that after a miscarriage and almost 3 years of trying to conceive again, God blessed me with a healthy, happy baby boy, we named Richie.  He was my whole world and I loved being a mother.

Richie had big blue eyes that expressed delight in everything he saw and experienced.  It seemed like everywhere we went someone stopped us and commented on how beautiful he was and how healthy he looked.

I remember the day when that all changed and my joy turned to unspeakable anguish.

Richie was taking his nap and I spent that time looking through his baby book which included professional pictures of him that were taken every month. As I lovingly looked through those pictures, a sense of fear suddenly gripped me and I realized that in each progressive picture I was actually giving Richie more head support (behind the scenes) instead of less.  He should have been getting stronger, not weaker, as he got older.

I immediately called Richie's pediatrician and told the nurse what I had noticed.  The sense of urgency in her voice as she said, "Bring him in immediately", made me realize this was not just an overprotective mother's imagination.

I woke Richie up, wrapped him in a blanket and drove as fast as I could to the doctor's.  They took him in immediately. As the doctor examined my little boy he said he wanted to do some bloodwork.  When I asked him why he said he wanted to rule out Muscular Dystrophy.  My mind went to work overtime, wasn't Muscular Dystrophy the disease they had that telethon for each Labor Day Weekend? 

Flashes of children in wheel chairs, on respirators--children who did not have long lives--that's what Muscular Dystrophy was.  How could my blonde-haired, blue-eyed son--the one who was always being stopped by strangers because he was so beautiful and healthy looking--have Muscular Dystrophy?

As I waited for what seemed like hours, I prayed and asked God for a miracle  "Dear Lord, please don't let Richie have Muscular Dystrophy". 

I was so engrossed in my plea to God I didn't hear the doctor come back into the room.  "Preliminary results say we aren't dealing with MD.  I believe the next step should be to take him to Children's Hospital in Chicago".  The doctor was to call and make the appointment and then get back with me. 

I left the doctor's office and went immediately to my good friend, Lisa's, house, all but collapsing in her kitchen as I stumbled through the door with Richie.  I saw the look of disbelief in her eyes as I told her, "The doctor tested Richie for Muscular Dystrophy but preliminary results seem to be pointing in another direction".

We both cried, hugged each other and held Richie.  Then we prayed to God for a miracle.

The 3-1/2 weeks it took for me to get Richie into Chicago's Children's Hospital seemed like a year.  If I just knew what it was I could deal with it--fight it head on.  After all, if it wasn't the worst--Muscular Dystrophy--how bad could it be?  Once we got to that hospital, and all the test results were in, I would have given anything to go back to that time before I knew what was wrong with my precious son.

He was given a death sentence.  The disease he had, Werdnig-Hoffman, was a rare, genetically transmitted disease for which there was not only no cure but no treatment protocol either. The doctor's parting words, "Take him home and enjoy the time you have left with him", seemed like they were being said about someone else.  How could my blonde-haired, blue-eyed, healthy looking boy be dying?

Even though there was no plan of treatment for my son's disease I spent endless hours in the library looking for answers in medical journals (this was long before computer search engines).  I also made phone call after phone call trying to find any agency that could help my son with therapy, treatments--anything.  I had to fight for my son, he could not do it for himself.

Above all I prayed and asked God continually for a miracle--a miracle of healing for my son.

I lived and breathed finding a way for my son to survive.  At night I even dreamed of ways, impossible ways, that I could have kept this from happening. 

For almost a year we struggled, my little boy and I, to keep our now almost inevitable parting from becoming a reality.  Long hospital visits were the norm and I gladly spent endless  days and nights in the hospital just to be close to my little one. If ever two hearts beat as one it was during that brief time we had together as earthly mother and son.

For almost a year I loved more intensely, fought more fiercly, prayed almost unceasingly than any other time in my life.  Yet, there seemingly was no miracle.

I was in his hospital room the morning my son quit breathing.  I refused to leave the room and prayed as the hospital personnel tried to resuscitate him. I willed him to live and I prayed again for a miracle.  Then his heart monitor came to life.  My miracle had happened. I silently thanked God.

Richie was moved into PICU and after all the monitors were hooked up I stood next to him holding his hand.  As I looked into those big blue eyes I could tell my son was not completely there.  I don't know how else to explain it but he seemed to be hovering between earth and heaven. There was a dimness in his eyes and a faraway look I had never seen before.  When he closed his eyes I knew he was gone. 

It was at that moment I knew that--for almost 2 years--I had been living a miracle.  The miracle of having my son, Richie.


For Richie
August 26, 1978-April 3, 1980

Fly high my little one,
Though you soar on broken wings,
Weighed down by handicaps,
And other earthly things.

Fly high my little one,
Till you reach heaven above,
Where every broken thing,
Is mended by His love.


Shepherdess Blog
April 11, 2012
Copyright 2012 Jackie Deems











. 

The Gift

I dreamed that God gave me 5 beautifully wrapped presents and He spoke these words as He placed them in my hands, "These gifts are not for you to keep, they are to be given to those you meet along life's way. It is up to you to decide who you will bestow them upon."

As I started my journey, my heart was filled with joyous anticipation as I began looking for those worthy of the marvelous gifts.  Surely I would meet a King or Queen or, at the very least, a Prince to bestow them upon.

Just then I saw an old man alongside the road--his head was bandaged, his eyes clouded with pain. As he held his withered hand out to me he cried, "Please help me".

I have no medical knowledge (I told myself). What else could I possibly give this dirty beggar?  Surely God did not mean for me to waste one of His precious gifts on this pitiful man.

And I went on my way, never giving him another thought.

I walked for many miles clutching the presents to me.  I hadn't really noticed before, but the gifts were becoming a bit heavy.  I hoped that soon I would meet someone worthy of these God given gifts.

Down the road I saw 3 people, a woman and 2 small children.  My spirit lifted as I anticipated finally bestowing the first of the gifts.  But, as the woman and children drew closer, I realized the woman's clothes were threadbare-the children untidy.  "Please, could you spare just a small piece of bread for my children, it's been so long since we've eaten."

"I have only enough for my journey, I couldn't possibly spare anything for you or your children", I told the woman.  And I went on my way, never looking back once.

The beautifully wrapped gifts seemed to be growing heavier with each step I took.  Those very things that once brought so much joy and anticipation now began to be a burden.

Soon, very soon, I thought, I will find someone worthy of one of these marvelous gifts.

Just then a well-dressed man approached me--surely he would be someone I could bestow a gift upon.  He said, "Can you tell me what the most precious thing in the world is?  You see, I am very wealthy but I'm not content.  I'm searching for joy that will last forever.  Do you know where I can find it"?

I clutched the presents even more tightly to me.  This man already has everything, why should I waste one of MY gifts on someone who wouldn't appreciate it any ways?

And I left him on the side of the road, alone and searching.

Time seemed to pass more slowly now, and it was days before I saw another person.

Finally, in the distance I saw a man and I ran to meet him.  The gifts had long since become a burden-the wrapping dirty and torn.  I was very disappointed that I hadn't found even one person worthy of a gift.

The sadness in the stranger's eyes was almost overwhelming and it was some time before his voice broke the silence.  "My child, how was your journey"?  Looking down at the presents He said, "I see you still have all the gifts I gave you.  I thought by now you would have given at least one away".

"Lord, there wasn't a single person I found worthy to bestow them upon. I looked hard and long but to no avail."

He said, "Suppose we open them and see what's inside.  Maybe then you could think of someone in need of their contents."

One by one I excitedly opened the gifts--secretly hoping I would be allowed to keep them.

The 1st package contained clean bandages and a cup of cool water.  I quickly tossed it aside, anxious to unwrap the next present--surely it would contain gold or silver or something of great worth.

The 2nd package had a loaf of freshly baked bread and a jar of honey in it.  Odd, I thought, that anyone would consider this a precious gift.

I impatiently tore open the wrappings of the 3rd present, hoping it would be the valuable gift I had anticipated during my long journey.  Instead, I found a Bible and I quickly laid it aside.  After all, I already had several of them at home.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as I opened the 4th gift.  In it was a parchment inscribed with 3 words: "Compassion, Encouragement and Love".

I didn't understand, so I asked the Lord, "What good are these gifts to me"?

"You've missed the point, My child.  These were gifts you were to give others but, you clung to them so tightly they were of no use to anyone--including yourself.  You have spent your life deciding who was worthy of your time and talents.  You were selective about who you called your brother.  And, Compassion, Encouragement and Love were brought out only on special occasions and, when it wasn't too inconvenient for you.  That's not how they were meant to be used, I gave you these gifts to share and now it's too late."

"How sad it makes Me to know that these very special gifts I bestowed on you were wasted.  My child, I picked them out just for you."

"You could have made such a difference in so many lives, you could have touched many for My Kingdom."

I could not meet His gaze, the tears on His cheeks pierced my very soul.

I hung my head in shame-all my excuses were hollow--there was nothing left for me to say.

It seemed like hours passed before I looked up again but, when I did, He was gone.  And on the ground lay the last unopened present.  I intended to leave it there in the road, certain I'd find its contents condemning to my very soul.

But something inside me whispered, "open it", and with trembling fingers I removed the wrappings--once dirty and torn--now shiny and new.  This 5th package contained another parchment inscribed with 3 words written especially for me: "Forgiven" and "Another Chance".


Shepherdess Blog
 December 18, 2011
Copyright 1995  Jackie Deems

WHO'S RESCUING WHO?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 kittens needed to be rescued, how hard could that be?...

I got a call from a lady who asked if I could take in 4 kittens.  It was only 1/2 hour drive to her place so I figured I'd pick up the cats and have plenty of time to get them settled in before evening. 

On  the way to pick up the cats, the air conditioning in my van seemed to be barely blowing out semi- cool air but, it was only a half hour drive.

I got lost on the way to pick up the cats and when I called for better directions the "cat lady" sounded like she was speed talking and didn't seem to know where she lived to boot.  Hmmm...maybe she was on some kind of medication.  Any ways, the 1/2 hour drive took almost 1-1/2 hours.

I finally got to her place and she showed me her cat "collection". Now, I am not one to say you can ever have too many cats and I am a bit of a collector too, I suppose. But this woman lived in a trailer park where you are allowed to have only 2 cats and she clearly had 20+ cats.   "I planted all these bushes so my cats are hidden from the other residents.  No one knows how many cats I have for sure".  OK!  Her neighbors must be blind because I could see them all. Many were black and white and did not exactly blend in with the bushes. 

Whatever the case, I wanted to get the kittens and run but she had to show me all her cats, her cat toys, beds, etc.  "I have 6, 6-week-old  kittens and their mom but you can only have 4 kittens, my daughter wants the mom and 2 of the kittens."  Whatever. I was fine with that.  "Could you take an adult cat too?  I have a female cat, Sassy, that is already spayed and is a very sweet girl." Whatever again.  And we went outside to find one of the camouflaged by bushes black and white cats.

"Sassy" was indeed camouflaged.  Actually, she was so camouflaged she was outright invisible. By now it was 90 degrees with 1,000% humidity and we were both crawling around in the bushes trying to find this wonderful, sweet, invisible cat.  Am I on Candid Camera? No! Are you sure?

I finally said I had to go, packed up the kittens in a carrier, and almost got out of the driveway before Sassy appeared.  Yay!  I think.  I put Sassy in another carrier and got the heck out of Dodge.

I only got lost 3 times before I found the freeway and headed for home. I had 1/3 tank of gas, plenty to get home, until the traffic stopped a mile up the road.  Dead stop.  No cars moving.  No exits for miles. No air conditioning. 5 hot cats in a very hot van. Did I mention the kittens were very sick with upper respiratory infections and had trouble breathing before they were put in carriers and placed in a van with no working air conditioning?

Uh oh, the kittens were starting to open mouth breathe and panting they were so hot. Not good.

I alternately watched the kittens (in a carrier in the front seat), the adult cat (in a carrier in the back of the van), my gas gauge (which seemed to inch closer to empty before my eyes) and the stopped traffic.  This is not good, something is going to die: my van, the kittens or a cat. Maybe me. This was not the best situation for someone with asthma.

"Dear Lord, please don't let anyone or anything die. I am trying to rescue cats, not kill them in the process of helping them."

The traffic started to inch forward causing a slight "breeze" (I use that term so very loosely). I knew I had to do something about these open mouth breathing kittens but was in the far left lane and no one would let me over to the side of the road. So, I opened their carrier and took out each kitten, one by one, and held the sweet babies up to the window to get some air. Hot, humid air, but moving air at least.

 Each time I opened the carrier all the kittens tried to bail out. I had to push the kittens back in the carrier, grab just one, and hold it up to the window without dropping the little terrified wiggling ball of fur with needle sharp claws. Over and over again I repeated the process: open carrier, push kittens back in, grab just one, hold kitten up to the window--don't drop the kitten!!!

I am normally a very cautious driver and take driving very seriously. For me to continually take my eyes off the road (especially in bumper to bumper slow moving traffic) was a total act of faith. But all I could think of was getting those little ones to safety and I was going to do everything in my power to get them all safely home.

What should have been a 1/2 hour drive took almost 2 hours that day, but we got home. Safely. No one died. In fact, after all was said and done no one looked any worse for the wear. Well, maybe I did but that didn't matter.

The kittens are all happy, healthy (now) and a joy to have on our farm. I hope to adopt them out but maybe, just maybe, I won't try too hard to place these 4 kittens in another home. We went through quite an ordeal together and I learned yet another valuable life lesson the day I "rescued" those kittens.

I 'm sure you've all seen the bumper sticker that reads, "God Is My Co-Pilot".  Maybe you even rolled your eyes when you read it. Well, I think, after my rescue-the-kittens-day I could have a bumper sticker made that says, "God is my Pilot".

The funny sad thing about it is that it took 4 little sick kittens to make me realize again that I truly was not the rescuer that day (and so very many other days).  God was!

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright November 2011
Jackie Deems

Better To Have Loved?

 

 

 

 

 

I thought I had gone through enough losses that I'd become almost accustomed to them...

I remember clearly the first time I saw Baby.  I was in the midst of planning a funeral for a dear friend I'd been guardian of for 10 years and one of my cats had been very sick for 2 weeks ( I had taken her to the vet's several times and was caring for her at home).  I also remember thinking to myself, "If just 1 more thing happens...".

Two coworkers showed up at my doorstep with a day old kitten and asked if I'd take it.  Evidently, the kitten's mom had abandoned it and I was her last hope for survival.  Just 1 more thing happened...

I knew the intensive care a newborn kitten would need, including feedings every 4 hours around the clock. I looked down at this pitiful creature: eyes closed, swollen belly, no fur--let's just say not remotely cute in any way.  Lack of cuteness factor aside, I knew I had to take her and hurriedly looked around for a kitten bottle and formula, then got her settled into a tiny box with blankets and a heating pad. I also knew she may not survive despite my best efforts and vowed not to get attached to her.

My sick cat was definitely taking a turn for the worse and I got her out of the cage to comfort her.  Her
fever was still high and she bit me then died moments later.  It's not bad enough she died, but biting me just before she died was concerning since we weren't sure what illness she had.

I called my doctor immediately and the nurse urged me to come in NOW to get an injection and major antibiotic.  "Cat bites can be nasty", the nurse said.  Hmmm, I was on my way to plan a funeral, I just took in a day old kitten and I should go right to the doctor's office in the midst of all that?  I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, finished getting ready to go to the funeral home, and stopped by the doctor's office to get my injection and antibiotic.

On to the funeral home, back home to feed the kitten, take the cat to the vet's for a necropsy....seems like a normal life....

Then kitten watching went into full swing: feeding her every 4 hours, making sure she kept warm enough (I woke up continually to check her), cuddling the newborn, etc. It was exhausting, especially during the funeral process, but we got into a rhythym and she thrived, became responsive to me and even a little cute.

I named her Baby, because she was such a little baby and actually began to look forward to her feedings because she would hold the bottle between her miniscule paws and look up at me (through not yet focusing eyes) as though I was the most important thing in the world. Looking back, I guess I really was her world and she was fast becoming an important part of mine. Uh oh, I was getting attached...

On to kitten play and baby meowing and all the silliness (and cuteness) that comes with kittens.  I knew she needed to interact with others her age so found another kitten that was about 6 weeks old.  What a time they had rolling around, trying to climb and just being alive.  I don't know if there's a more joyful creature than a healthy kitten nor is there anything more joyful to watch, at least in my opinion.

When she was about 6 months old Baby became sick and I spent the night with her on the couchbed giving her electrolytes and cuddling her. She would wake up during the night, look up at me with trusting eyes and purr as loudly as a jet engine.  "You can't leave me for a long time, Baby", I said to her as I held her close to me.

Baby and her friend, Cream Puff, lived in the house for quite some time and Baby always preferred my company to that of another cat's or human's.  I was her mom and no one was going to convince her otherwise.  She was my little girl and we just seemed to have a mutual admiration society going for each other.

I eventually moved the 2 girls into a cabin on our property and they loved their little clubhouse (I am allergic to cats and really wasn't supposed to have them in the house--right).  Every day I would open their door and Baby would jump onto my lap and tell me alll about what happened in my absence.  During the day both girls would run and play outside in the grass then wait for me to put them to bed at night. Again, baby would always jump onto my lap and tell me about her day, then go in to her clubhouse for the night.

For years we had our routine and each time Baby would see me outside she'd meow loudly and follow me around. She helped me garden and do chores and everything else I did on a regular basis. 

Until recently when Cream Puff died unexpectedly and Baby seemed lost and stressed.  She quit eating and I once again, began to baby her and spend a lot of time with her.  I even took her to the vet's and got medication to soothe her upset stomach.  Before long she was back to being her old self again and I brought her into the house in the evenings to be with me.  I held her and she purred as loud as a jet engine and looked up at me with trusting eyes filled with love. "You can't leave me for a long time, Baby", I reminderd her.

Last Saturday morning I went about my chores giving one of our latest rescue dogs, Lucy, some time to run on a long cable until my husband could take her for her daily walk.  After breakfast I went out to finish chores and saw that Lucy had broken her collar and was running free.  Lucy is not a big fan of our cats and I was concerned she had gotten ahold of 1 of them.  I put Lucy back in her kennel run and took inventory of my cats--Baby and Pumpkin were missing. 

I called for both of them and figured if Lucy had gotten ahold of a cat she would have brought  it to show us, kind of like our cats do when they catch a mouse. I thought she had likely just scared Baby and Pumpkin and they were in a tree hiding somewhere. I continued to call and look for the 2 cats during the day and into the evening but saw neither one.

Day 4 of calling and looking brought Pumpkin back to me.  As the week had gone by I was growing more and more concerned for Baby because I thought if she were hurt she would at least meow to let me know where she was.  I prayed she would return to me unharmed--she wasn't supposed to leave me for a long time...

Finally this morning I found Baby. Her neck had been broken (most likely by Lucy). She was hidden among the brush close to her clubhouse.  Except for the broken neck, she looked like she was napping as she had done so many times in my lap over the years. 

Baby has left me.  It was inevitable but so brutal and unexpected.  I'd hoped I would have had the honor of being there when Baby left me--many years from now.

We rescued Lucy, who was slated to be euthanized at the pound, and she killed a rescue cat. She killed a cat whose life I had saved. Not just any cat, but Baby.

You may be saying, "It's just a cat, what's the big deal"?  You're right, in the grand scheme of things losing a cat is not on the top of most people's list of difficult life experiences.  And maybe I know that better than most since I have gone through 2 miscarriages and watched my only (full term) child suffer and die from a terminal illness. I'm no stranger to loss.

But there was just something about this cat, Baby, that makes it so difficult.  She loved me and I her.  She trusted me and believed I would always take care of  her--always protect her.  Just like my son, Richie, did (who was also not supposed to leave me for a long time). And maybe, just maybe, that's why the loss of this cat is so difficult. Implicit trust and unwavering love are hard to find and even harder to let go of whether it comes in human or "furry" form. 

With God's help I know I will survive this and any other loss that comes my way until He calls me Home to reunite with those who helped me be a better person--just by their being in my life--no matter how brief the meeting.  For I believe God allows heartache in our lives to make us more loving and kind and compassionate--and for many other reasons. 

If left to myself , I would choose only good things to happen in my life--we all would. But then I think about the old saying, "Better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all".  And, I realize I am happier (and sometimes sadder too) for all the loved ones I have lost but would not change having them in my life for anything in the world. For even though I may not understand why they had to leave me "too soon", I can celebrate the fact I had them in my life at all.

Is the joy of loving worth the pain of losing?  The answer to that, at least in my life, is a resounding YES!



Shepherdess Blog
Jackie Deems
Copyright September 2011