Very real realities…

A few days ago, I posted asking for prayers for my family and another family.

I can only share the details of ours and need to hold private the details of the other family.

This week, my sister had to make the decision to put down their cat of 18 years.

Her name was Miss Pettibones, and the entire family knew her.

She was THE guardian and protector of my nephews.

If we stayed over and slept in either of the boys’ beds — which often happened — she came in every night and morning to let us know we did not belong there. If we camped out on the floor slumber-party style (especially when the boys were little and I was much younger), she would still come in for nightly inspections.

She was with my sister when they were a young family.

She saw my sister through the passing of her late husband, Cary.

And somehow, Cary’s cat Pickles has survived her.

But Miss Pettibones was always my nephews’ cat.

She decided that.

She allowed them to haul her around upside down in their arms. She tolerated laundry baskets becoming “zoo cages” while the boys proudly announced they had captured a lion. Fitting, honestly, because she was a purebred Maine Coon with KC papers — sizable, furry, and very much a lioness.

She was mischievous.

She threw her weight around.

But she was gentle with the boys.

Never once lashing out at them.

She was deeply loved, and my sister’s house will feel different without her in it.

She had been battling cancer for a long time and had made what felt like miraculous recoveries more than once, but this was her time.

So she went peacefully, held in my sister’s arms.

And while all of that was unfolding, life continued moving around us.

Today my husband and I had a shopping trip planned. The goal was simple enough: find my graduation dress and pick up what we needed for our Alaskan cruise — a trip celebrating my nephew’s high school graduation.

A joyful milestone.

A new beginning.

But sitting at dinner later that evening, I couldn’t help but feel the silence underneath everything else.

That strange heaviness that settles into a room while the rest of the world keeps moving normally around you.

People laughing.

Ordering dinner.

Talking about ordinary things.

Completely unaware that somewhere nearby, one family is celebrating the beginning of a life stepping into independence while another family is facing unimaginable heartbreak.

How do you hold both at the same time?

How do you celebrate one life beginning to unfold while another may be ending far too soon?

Because the same afternoon my sister and nephews said goodbye to Miss Pettibones, we learned of another tragedy involving a friend of my nephew’s.

Our hearts broke for that family.

For my nephew.

For a situation that feels painfully senseless.

I won’t go into further detail out of respect for the family involved.

But this one hit closer to home.

Maybe because Mother’s Day is only days away.

Maybe because I’ve been confronting my own journey — or lack of one — as a mother this side of heaven.

Maybe because lately we’ve been wrestling deeply with what it actually means to love our neighbors and be part of a community.

That word — community — feels especially heavy this week.

But maybe that’s exactly the point.

As we celebrate accomplishments and milestones in life, we also recognize it took a community to help get us there.

People who showed up quietly.

People who stayed.

People who grieved with us.

People who celebrated with us.

People who carried us through disappointment, loss, exhaustion, uncertainty, and joy.

I’m grateful for our community.

For those of you who have shown up in both extraordinary and ordinary ways.

In quiet moments.

In moments of sorrow.

In moments of celebration.

You’ve stood with us in valleys and cheered for us from mountaintops.

And maybe that is part of being human.

Learning how to hold joy and grief in the same hands.

Learning how to keep showing up for one another.

Especially then.

Please keep this family in your prayers. I wish I could direct you on what to pray for but I’m at a loss. I ask you to pray for God’s will to be done and for all involved to see His peace, grace, love, and comfort.