The Q life Grief Journey

Walking with love after loss.

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  • When The Sirens Sound

    Some people find comfort in routines, but for our family, Saturday has become something much more; it’s a tradition, a rhythm of love. For years now, my husband and I have cooked dinner and dessert on Saturdays, opening our table to any of our family members who are able to join us. It’s simple, but it’s one of the things that makes life rich.

    For Quinten, Saturday quickly became his favorite day of the week. Without fail, he would show up right at noon, the exact moment the city tests its tornado sirens. In fact, we all came to think of that siren as “the Quinten signal.” When we heard it, we knew we’d soon see him walking through the front door, ready to laugh, eat, and share stories.  He looked forward to asking everyone about their week.

    Those afternoons were filled with good food, conversation, and always, always a game of Uno after dinner. The table would be filled with playful teasing, competitive streaks, and laughter that seemed to echo long after the cards were put away.

    What I hold closest to my heart is not just the meals we shared but the joy Quinten brought with him each week. He never came just to eat; he came to be with us. He came to make memories. He came to make sure that family time was celebrated.

    Now, when I hear the sirens on Saturday, I don’t just think of the city’s test. I think of Quinten’s smile, his presence, and the way he made Saturdays sacred. These gatherings, these traditions, are the kind of treasures that keep his spirit alive in our hearts.

    It’s a reminder that family isn’t just who we are, it’s what we choose to show up for, week after week.

  • Meet Lenny and Discover His Purpose

    When I first adopted Lenny back in 2016, I thought I was just giving a little dog a second chance at life. His elderly owners had passed away, and he suddenly found himself without the people he loved. From the moment he curled into my lap, full of energy and affection, I knew he had found his home with me.

    But what I didn’t know then was that Lenny’s true purpose was still waiting down the road.

    In the fall of 2023, as Quinten faced the hardest battle of his life, he asked one simple question: could Lenny stay the night with him in his cabin? That one night turned into forever. From that moment on, Lenny never left Quinten’s side. He was his constant companion, curled up next to him, keeping him entertained with his quirky ways and offering comfort that only a loyal dog can give.

    Lenny seemed to know, instinctively, what Quinten needed most. He wasn’t just a pet; he became a steady source of warmth and reassurance in the midst of pain and uncertainty. He stayed by Quinten’s side, faithfully, lovingly, until Quinten took his final breath.

    Looking back, I realize that while I may have rescued Lenny all those years ago, he was always meant to rescue us in return. His purpose, as it turned out, was to walk with Quinten through his hardest days, to bring comfort where words could not, and to remind us all of the quiet miracles of love and loyalty.

    Lenny was more than Quinten’s dog. He was his companion, his comfort, and in so many ways, his guardian.

    Lenny and I are learning how to live without Quinten together.

  • A Summer Turned Upside Down: Quinten’s Fight Began

    Our first summer on the chicken farm, 2023, began with the promise of peaceful days and simple joys. But on June 30th, the eve of the 4th of July weekend, a phone call shattered that tranquility, forever altering our lives.

    An unfamiliar number flashed on my phone screen. Usually, I’d ignore it, but an unsettling intuition compelled me to answer. It was a nurse calling about my 34-year-old son, Quinten. Since Easter, I’d sensed something was amiss. He wasn’t himself, a subtle but persistent worry gnawing at me.

    The nurse, from a small-town hospital two hours west, explained that Quinten had arrived with a dangerously distended bladder, on the verge of rupture. After sedation, catheterization, and an ultrasound, they discovered a mass in his pelvis. Due to the holiday weekend, she advised us to retrieve him and seek care at a larger city hospital.

    The two-hour drive to pick him up was filled with apprehension. We were unprepared for the stark reality of his deteriorating health, so different from the image we held of Easter. We rushed him to a city emergency room, where initial assessments led to a referral to a urologist and discharge.

    However, the reprieve was short-lived. Within two days, Quinten was back in the emergency room, writhing in agonizing pain. A series of ER visits, primary care appointments, and urology consultations followed, a frustrating and agonizing period of uncertainty.

    It wasn’t until early September, when his kidneys began to fail, that the devastating truth emerged: Quinten had a rare and aggressive form of testicular cancer that metastasized to his lower abdomen, liver, and lungs. We were immediately referred to the OU Stephenson Cancer Center.

    Amidst this chaos, our small cabin on the farm became a sanctuary. It provided Quinten with a place to live, a space to heal, and a sense of normalcy as he endured countless treatments, fighting for his life with unwavering courage.

    Over two years have passed since that fateful phone call. Quinten’s strength and resilience were a constant source of inspiration. Each day he spent with us on the farm was a precious gift. We hold onto these moments, these shared experiences, with profound gratitude.

    We are immeasurably thankful for every day we had with him.