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Connections

MORE GRIEF MORE GRIEVING

What came next seems so cruel, it could only be the stuff of bad dreams and worse fiction writers. Two Poudre High School students would die in the same week. Days after the PHS student body learned one of their own committed suicide, they were devastated by the death of another classmate.      Senior Taylor Petersen from Wellington died May 9, 2005 after he was removed from life support following a ruptured spleen caused by an undiagnosed case of mononucleosis. The same reporter who wrote about Nick’s death for The Coloradoan, Courtney Lingle, talked to Taylor’s parents. In the midst of their shocked sadness, Becky Muth and Ricci Petersen took the high road by encouraging their son’s friends to carry on with their May 21 graduation.     Courtney interviewed WJHS’s Dr. Durand again to see how her staff was holding up after the death of another hometown son too soon after Nick Gaucher’s. Alicia agreed both losses had taken their toll, but also that the community would get through this.      “Luckily,” she said, “people stick together.”     How in the world do you manage grief? Recently retired PSD School Psychologist Margaret LeMasters1 worked her 25-years of connections within the district to find us a guiding light in her colleague Kelly Glick. Kelly was on the team that devised the response to Nick Gaucher's death. 1Margaret was a supportive resource throughout this book’s birthing process. That she would pass away on Mar. 30, 2022 after many years of managing a brutal illness, was another reminder to get to it! From her beautiful online obituary: Margaret devoted her entire adult life to helping God’s kids. She was especially fond of helping the misfits and outcasts of society. She had a huge heart, an infectious smile, and was ridiculously funny. Many people who knew Margaret have remarked “she saved my life” and that “she literally helped thousands of people.”      Ms. Glick is an LCSW (Licensed Clinical Social Worker) who has worked as a mental health specialist for K-12 schools in Fort Collins since August 2000. According to her LinkedIn profile, she’s in the process of formulating a new role as PSD's Mental Health Education and Connections Specialist: “I am working with community allies and PSD staff, parents, and students on projects like preventing suicide, bringing regulation and mindfulness tools to classrooms, and helping schools to become trauma-responsive.” That she lists system change, trauma-responsive education, equity, team and partnership building, and learning as current passions, well, Kelly Glick’s our woman. I agree with Margaret’s accompanying notes, “Her observations are spot on. Above all, we try to learn from every crisis event we work to improve how we support students and staff in the worst of times.” Here’s PSD’s Kelly Glick on supporting grieving students:  1)    Connection      Sometimes groups of kids need direction, but most of the time, they need a safe space to connect with those who share their grief.  When kids gather that don’t know each other well, it’s important for an adult to be able to start conversations about common feelings or memories.  Often we get in the way of connection if we are too controlling.  Kids are amazing.  They cry together and come up with unbelievably creative ways to honor the person who died.  Teenagers just want to be with their friends, so if one family can open their basement and check in on them and communicate with other parents, this is a gift.  One thing I have learned from a book is that the quality of a child’s support system is more predictive of trauma-related outcomes than the actual number or qualities of traumas they have suffered.  As adults, that means our job is to foster as many safe and positive connections with a child’s supports as opposed to forcing a child to talk to us or another professional.  (That doesn’t mean that we don’t offer to talk, however.)  Sometimes our job is to support the adults as they support the kids. 2)    Be Real      We talk too much sometimes.  We don’t necessarily have to direct things, but we do need to be a silent force that holds grief with kids as we sit next to them.  Being genuine is important.  Saying what really happened (with permission) allows kids to talk about subjects they need to talk about.  If we show fear or hesitation, they will think it is not okay to ask hard questions.  We don’t have to tiptoe around their feelings or our words.  Kids pick up on feelings and body language, and they know more than we realize.  They need a place to process gory details and gut-wrenching thoughts.  If we take ownership of our feelings of sadness or awkwardness or distress, they will be able to do the same.  3)    Movement Stress hormones are real.  If administrators and parents don’t incorporate movement into the right moment of a grief response, things can become chaotic and out of control.  Stress does not feel good in the body.  Kids of all ages need breaks from grieving to walk, run, jump, do yoga—whatever is feasible given the situation.  When kids move, they laugh and bond and they re-regulate.  They become more in control of their emotions and their bodies and are able to start the hard work of attending to school or continuing to grieve (or both).  4)    Grief cycles Grief is individualized, and it is predictable.  Kids of all ages go through cycles in the initial stages of a crisis.  It often looks like shock, fear, sadness, silliness, hunger, activity, tiredness.  Sometimes it looks like crying in a group, laughing, eating, alone time, repeat.  Being aware of these cycles and identifying them allows you to support kids and anticipate needs.  Kids are wise in the ways they grieve, and adults often suffer from trying to “intellectualize their way through” these cycles in their own lives.  Allow these cycles to happen as long as they are safe and helpful. Remember and plan ahead for anniversaries and special dates. 5)    Know when to lead and when to follow  There are times during a crisis response when adults have to lead.  People don’t always have the ability to say what they need.  This is especially true early on.  They need to be led and told more than asked.  However, kids demonstrate what they need.  When they crawl in bed with their parents, they need to be allowed to do that.  When they need to cry, they do that.  When they need to bounce around, they show you.  We need to take kids’ cues into consideration in every decision we make when responding.  We can’t stop teens from congregating, but we can provide them a safe and comfortable place to do that.   Working together with staff, kids, and parents to identify who might need individual attention, who is triggered with past grief and trauma, who is internalizing, who is struggling with suicidal ideation…these are vital collaborations and conversations.  And we need to ask our kids what felt okay—was it talking? Playing? Being active? Being with friends?  These are more helpful questions than asking what someone needs.  Adults need to be comfortable with chaos in these situations and comfortable with making decisions as needed.  You can apologize later for those decisions if you need to.  The need to take and relinquish control ebbs and flows all day through a response.  Adults often jump to problem solving or the need to do something.  You can’t skip the emotions part.  Allow people to be in pain, and just be there with them.  Allow them to just be in pain with each other. I asked another LCSW for another take on grief and loss. Doug Wenger and I have invested hours upon hours in discussing the human condition, and I know we’re both richer as a result.   Doug’s stance on life and death starts with the acknowledgement that grief is complex and very much an individual experience. He writes:   Despite knowing that grief and loss is one of the certain things in our lives in one capacity or another, we still do not do a good job of embracing it and allowing it to be part of our lives.  Rather, we resist it, push it away, try to forget about it, and move on. This leads us to a place of suffering. Many of us experience suffering at the beginning of grief, and it is natural to do so. It is also natural not to suffer, because grief is not a one-size-fits-all experience.     At times there seems to be judgment in grief; we wonder and worry if someone doesn’t cry, or want to go to the casket to see a dead corpse lying there for all to look at. This doesn’t mean they’re not grieving, or not sad, or anything else. It just means they are grieving in their own way.       Some people feel it’s best to “just move on” when a death occurs. Most workplaces provide three days for you to grieve, then it’s back to work you go. I understand there may be a job to do. I think, though, we could honor this process a bit more, given that it’s a certainty we will all have this experience at one time or another in our lives.       I was in middle school when my uncle passed away. I remember my grandmother was never quite the same afterwards: this was her son she lost to leukemia.  I also remember my dad and his siblings saying, “She needs to move on.”  I know they meant well, and that they would say this because it was hard to see their mother in such a sad state, experiencing so much emotional pain.       I believe people are inherently good and have good intentions, so even when someone wants me to just move on, I know it is because they care, not because they don’t.     The thing is, “moving on” is basically living on. We are shaped by the events in our lives, whether they are good, bad, or indifferent. They leave an imprint and become part of who we are going forward, and at times even shape who we become. Some will carry their life experiences like a torch for all to see; others will keep theirs hidden so no one even knows it’s there. Some may vacillate between the two. Either way, our past is present in our memories and thoughts, to be experienced from time to time.       Oftentimes it seems people are more comfortable or would prefer we didn’t carry a torch at all. This may make it easier for them to forget that our physical existence is time-limited; that grief is natural and happens to all of us. If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind, and therefore it doesn’t have to be faced. This resistance of reality just leads to greater suffering. At the same time, we don’t have to be a strict realist and simply say, “Well, everyone dies.” A combination of the acceptance of the reality of life and having loving compassion for ourselves and other people is a much healthier way to go through this life process.     I never want the grief and loss I experience to go away. I embrace it when the thoughts arise as my time to spend with those who are no longer present in physical form.  It’s said we are made up of the carbon that formed the universe and we go back to that state when we die.  It is the cycle of life.       I also would never want to live a life without grief and loss, as it is a fulfilling life to have felt such profound love. It’s like a beautiful bouquet of flowers; they are still nice to have even though they are going to die. In fact, it’s more pleasurable to take in their beauty while they are here, because you know they are temporary.      The same can be said for those we love and care about. Take in their beauty, and enjoy all that they are now, and honor the grief and loss you experience when they’re gone. They are forever a part of who we are going forward in one way or another.  There’s so much to know and love about Doug, but at the very top of the list is to know and love that his spouse is also devoted to helping others in the throes of grief.      Jennifer Wenger is a hospice nurse. She agrees with Doug and Kelly about the very varied nature of grief, and how reactions can be all over the place from person to person and even within the same person at different times.     “It evolves out of nowhere at times,” Jennifer said. “It’s often suppressed and not acknowledged, which may result in a grief that comes out years later.”      Jennifer has seen it all—anger, crying, sadness, withdrawing, anxiety—and she’s felt it all. “Being emotionally supportive to families can be difficult, especially when situations bring up my own personal grief,” she said.     One of the hardest things for a hospice nurse is one of the hardest things for everybody, including the person actively dying. “Death can occur every day or sometimes not for weeks,” she said. “The not knowing can be grueling.”      And the knowing can be grueling.

Whiteheads at Wedding.jpg

IT'S A WHOLE NEW BALL GAME

​When the Gaucher women and I sat down with Nate Cooley in 2015 at our favorite watering hole in Wellington, Nick had already been gone 10-years. Even though a decade had passed, talking about his best friend’s passing wasn’t any easier. “I had so many memories just ‘cause it’s been tough growing up without him and I put them in the back of my mind,” Nate said right off the bat.     “You were a huge part of Nick’s life,” Tammy told Nate. “Nick loved you like a brother, and you were important to him. I know you loved him, too, and I proudly tell people that you named your son in his honor. You are strong, a fighter, and a survivor. Just like Whitney.”     At 15, Nate decided he’s gotta be bigger, do better, because, “Your life is still going.”     At 20, Nate lost his dad in a car accident.      “Losing Nick and Dad made me a better person,” Nate said. “I look for positives.”  You don’t have to be a card-carrying churchgoer to believe in signs. If you’re one who does, you know the comfort they provide. If you don’t, well, so be it. None of us still breathing really knows, not for sure, so to each his/her/their own. Personally, I think signs are all around us, and that we’re too dense (double entendre definitely intended) to see what’s right in front of us. To wit, I say, and to Whit, I’ve said, if you think it’s a sign, it probably is.      Nate has an equally commonsense approach to death: “It’s bound to happen to each of us, so we gotta make every day count. They’ll be there, waiting. I think it’s more of a release than anything else.”      As a result of Nick’s death, the three females in Nick’s friend group experienced a desire similar to Nate’s to be better, to do more good. “His death made me think about how I was and how I acted,” Morgan said. “I chose to be a better person, because I want to see him in heaven.”     They also developed early on a special skill for spotting silver linings. As Laurel observed, “Unfortunately that was the event that brought everyone together.”  Isn’t everyone and everything connected? As in really and truly, always and forever, amen?         I heard it first in kindergarten catechism: “God is here, God is there, God is everywhere.”         And then again in scientism, a la Albert Einstein, “A human being is part of a whole, called by us the ‘Universe’—a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”      It was he of the big brain who also said, “Energy cannot be created or destroyed, it can only be changed from one form to another.”      If I could ask Einstein one question, it’d be the same thing I’d ask Jesus, Mohamed, Gandhi, any of the greats who have gone before us. I’d pose it to the not-so-greats, as well: “Where were we before we were born, and where do we go after we die?”       It’s beyond me that humankind has been on this planet for so long and still not a one of us alive and breathing beings knows the answer to that fundamental question. Not to get all stream of consciousness on you, but imagine how quickly everything—every single (and married) thing—would change if suddenly the so-called veil between here and there, between now and then, between alive and dead, was suddenly lifted, gone, totally kaput?     One thing’s for sure: there would be no “Other Side.” There would be no sides, no “other,” either, at least not as we currently understand them.      Sure sounds a lot like heaven to me.      Is heaven a place? A space?  A place in space? All I know is it wouldn’t be, couldn’t be heaven without those for whom we grieve.

BACK TO COURAGE PARK WE WILL GO

It’s hallowed ground now. The little patch of land responsible for some mighty healing summons courage from deep within Mother Earth and sends it straight up into the feet, through the legs, then upward into the hearts and souls of those needing a shot for what ails.    Nick’s groundbreaking courage led the way for a couple of other Wellies to be honored alongside him at Courage Park. Here’s their story: THE WELLINGTON, June 17, 2009 – COURAGEOUS STUDENTS RECOGNIZED by Brenda Rader Mross, The Wellington   It has been four years since Wellington Junior High School gave out its first and only Courage Award.      The award originated out of the administration’s desire to honor the exceptional courage demonstrated by the late Nick Gaucher, a WJHS ninth-grader with cancer who inspired many.  The 2005 Courage Award went to Nick’s best friend, Nathan Cooley, in celebration of the courage it takes to be a friend through life and death. Nathan graduated from Poudre High School in 2008, along with many of Nick’s Wellington classmates.      This year, two ninth-graders won Courage Awards for the remarkable bravery they exhibited in the face of their own serious health issues. Johnathon Lumpkin has had brain cancer for six years, and Guillermo Orozco suffered a stroke earlier this year.     Wellington Principal Alicia Durand presented the awards to Johnathon and Guillermo in a ceremony held the day before the school year ended.     “We have not handed out a Courage Award in four years, not because other students didn’t demonstrate courage, but none demonstrated that special kind of courage — the courage it takes to stand tall despite life’s obstacles and work hard no matter what,” she said.      Durand, a fellow cancer survivor, described Johnathon as, “kind, considerate, and a fighter.”   “Johnathon struggles with pain on a daily basis and yet has walked in our Sudan Walk — 10 miles — all three years with us,” she noted. “If he can do it, we all can.”      While Johnathon is outgoing and often joking with adults and students at WJHS, Guillermo is quiet but equally resolute.      “Guillermo will do anything he wants to do because of his strong, unbending will,” Durand stated. “He will not feel sorry for himself, but he works constantly.”      According to Durand, the real story is that these two young men were extraordinary before the onset of their incredible physical challenges.      Johnathon already had cancer when his family enrolled him at Wellington as their school of choice — a decision that put the staff to the test.      “We were afraid to take Johnathon because we had just survived Nick Gaucher’s death,” Durand confessed. “But we knew that Johnathon belonged at WJHS. We didn’t need to worry: he shined with us!” Calling Johnathon a standout for the junior high, Durand keyed in on the 15-year-old’s distinctive wit. His mother confirmed that funniness runs in the family.      “Our doctor told us, ‘Your family’s sense of humor got him where he is,’” said Stacey Procopio of her son’s battle against cancer that started in fourth grade.      Procopio said her then-nine-year-old complained so often about having headaches that he was constantly doing couch time in the nurse’s office at Tavelli Elementary School. After 20-plus trips to various physicians, who were convinced Johnathon was “making it up,” five minutes with Dr. Patrick Arnold at Eye Center of Northern Colorado gave the family validation that something was wrong, perhaps dreadfully wrong.     “The very next day Johnathon was having what was supposed to be a three-hour surgery to remove a cyst,” remembered Procopio. “Ten hours later, we are hearing he has this fist-sized brain tumor.”      For the next 21 weeks, Johnathon was at Children’s Hospital, completely blind and screaming incessantly, in what Procopio termed a “black box coma.” Seven weeks of daily radiation followed by 52 weeks of chemotherapy left Johnathon practically lifeless.      “He had to relearn everything: how to blink, how to raise his arms,” his mother said. “When he got into a wheelchair, they didn’t think he’d walk again.”      Johnathon’s weight dropped to 43 pounds. Treatments left his skin jaundiced, but his attitude remained determined. Not only did he walk again, Johnathon played football during seventh and eighth grades. In fact, Procopio said the only time she saw Johnathon cry was last year when he learned he couldn’t play football at Poudre. Guillermo so gets that.      This nearly 6-foot-2-inch wide receiver had a great debut on the gridiron for the Impalas. When asked about hobbies, Guillermo replied, “Just football.” His mother Denise Orozco verified that her son’s favorite thing to do — besides playing football — is watching reruns of classic games.      Durand said Guillermo was a quiet, athletic young man before that mid-January day when he told friends at lunch he had a headache and collapsed.      “When we got him in the hallway and I held his hand waiting for the ambulance to come, I hoped that Guillermo would be able to participate in football at Poudre,” recalled Durand. “That’s all he was waiting for after a successful season as a freshman. He loves football, and he loves Poudre.”      Guillermo will have surgery again this summer, but he continues to study at home and plans on suiting up for PHS.      “Guillermo was born with a massive tangled artery in the brain that caused the stroke,” his mother explained. “Some live all their lives with it. Guillermo had been to an allergy specialist because of headaches, but we had no idea.”      Then Denise Orozco got the phone call every parent fears: “Your son passed out and is on his way to the hospital.”      Guillermo remains paralyzed on his right side, but feeling is returning in his face and arms. Orozco credits the positive attitude of her “angel baby” and only son — Guillermo wasn’t planned and has four sisters — for his relatively quick recovery.      “He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t eat or go to the bathroom,” she said. “I’m grateful now for silly things like him putting his shirt on.”      Durand doesn’t doubt both young men will transition well to Poudre and beyond.      “Johnathon and Guillermo have taught us so much about patience, perseverance and never underestimating the will of a human being,” she said.      In return, the mothers praised Durand and WJHS but agreed the road to recovery has been hard.      “Guillermo went from Mr. Popular to having no friends at all,” Orozco said.      Procopio wishes people would “quit talking to Johnathon likes he’s 5. He’s slower, but he’s not unintelligent.”      Johnathon said this about Nick Gaucher’s brand of courage: “He just kept on going even though he knew he was going to die.”      About confronting his own death, Johnathon said: “Cool! Now I’ll get to see what Jesus really looks like!” Procopio said her son’s two inoperable tumors will not prevent him from attending Poudre. Rather, he’s learning Braille and how to use a cane, something he joked will remain in his locker at all times.      The Orozco family lives near the Gauchers in Wellington. Guillermo thinks Nick would want to be remembered “as just another kid.     Both boys thrived at Wellington and became men. Guillermo circled back to PSD where he became a custodian.    Sadly, Johnathon’s mom Stacey died Jan. 19, 2017. Courage Park stands still, sign and all, although the bench now lives at the Whiteheads’ place.

SIGNS

​One day, truly just out of the blue and just because, Cindy Drysdale made what she called a random hair appointment. “I was tired of having an ‘old lady hairstyle,’” she joshed.     What happened next lends credence to the realtor’s mantra, “Location, location, location.”    When Cindy sat down at Trios Aveda Salon in Fort Collins, both she and her stylist had the feeling they somehow knew each other. “You look so familiar,” Stacey Tomjack told Cindy. The women shared an aha moment when they realized it was the Tomjacks who bought the Drysdales’ house on Tradition Drive in Fort Collins a couple of years earlier.    “We have some of stuff you need to see,” Stacey said.     Behind the stairs in the crawlspace at Cindy’s and Bob’s old place, was a forlorn box. Within was a veritable treasure trove of memorabilia Cindy couldn’t believe she and the kids left behind and hadn’t yet missed. “There was Bob’s letter jacket, several medals, and some keeper photographs,” Cindy said. “It was, I believe, indirectly, a sign.” In 2014, Cindy’s folks’ basement northeast of Ault flooded. Cindy’s daughter Kim helped her sort through the paraphernalia that was stockpiled in the corner. Lo and behold, Bob’s widow and his oldest daughter rediscovered more overlooked mementos they couldn’t part with then and still can’t now: Bob’s caps, his ties, his karate equipment. Also in the stash was a stack of blue postcards bound together by rotted rubber bands. Attendees at Bob’s funeral were prompted to write on their card, “Something I remember about Bob Drysdale is…”     Out of hundreds of cards, the first Cindy happened to look at was from Debbie Whitehead, the mother of Cody Whitehead. As you know, Cody was one of Bob’s many wrestlers, but what you don’t know is that Cody continues to play a leading role in this real life story so full of soulful signs that even those living it are constantly filled with awe. And “Awww.”     To Cindy, pulling the Whitehead family’s name literally out of the blue was another sign, pure and simple. Signs. Are they really real connections, merely coincidences, or just plain BS? Thank goodness (most) drivers (most of the time) agree (most) traffic signs aren’t up for interpretation. Actual and factual is where it’s at, right?    Back in the last century, we drank the left-brain vs. right-brain Kool-Aid. Culturally many still believe the former are more coherent, more rational thinkers, whereas our less trustworthy intuition and emotions stem from the right-brain. The antidote has long been available for this poisonous over-simplification: whole-brain thinking. There’s a whole lotta science here (another topic I would put on my “Discuss with Bob” list), but it makes sense that even sensible decisions, and, yes, harebrained ones, too, are more whole-brained than previously thought.      Thought processes require a balance of both sides of the brain. Our capacity to reason relies heavily on our ability to access and process our emotions. So when someone criticizes you for believing in signs by saying, “Dude, it’s only a sign because you want it to be and you’re attaching meaning to it,” politely invite them to bug off.     Besides, since when is meaning a bad thing? Somebody had to first decide to call a door a door, right? Seems to me mutual understanding is the key to successful communications and an invaluable commodity in super short supply these “daze.”    A sign is a sign if you think it is. When we first started meeting during the summer of 2013 to flesh out this project—at Wellington Middle School, of course—Cindy fingered three random Lego blocks arbitrarily abandoned on an otherwise empty tabletop. “Makes me think of Bob,” she said. “He liked to build with K’NEX.”    K’NEX is the popular rod and connector building system that uses wheels, pulleys, and gears to fuel elaborate creations like roller coasters. Lincoln Logs was another “Bobby hobby,” Cindy said, and also part of the K’NEX product line. I didn’t realize the inventor of Lincoln Logs in 1916 was John Lloyd Wright, the son of the famous American architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Since I’m already veering off on this tangent, it’s thought-provoking, too, that Joel Glickman came up with the idea for K’NEX while sitting at an overcrowded, noisy wedding. He started tinkering with some straws and, voila!      Bob was a kindred soul; somebody who loved creating.    “He pushed himself a lot,” Cindy observed. “He pushed me a lot, and still pushes me a lot. Before we met, I used to be so quiet, people wondered if I had a wooden leg or glass eye. ‘She’s really quiet,’ they would say. ‘She doesn’t like anyone.’”    Bob did for Cindy what he did for everyone who came into his world: he brought out the best in her, making her the Cindy D. she was born to be.     Letting go is our life’s work. Practicing detachment and non-attachment are tenets of most major religions. Very few have achieved the state of Zen. An inability to let go indicates neither fault nor failure, only that you’re human.    We already know how human Bob Drysdale was. Several contributors have illustrated that while Bob was good, really good, at shaking things off, at the same time, he struggled to let go. Ah, the paradox of being a being in a material world composed of opposites, where hot and cold seem like two completely different things, yet in all actuality, they are both temperatures and therefore extremes of the same thing. To me, these natural connections are intriguing beyond words.    What’s beyond intriguing is how human Bob continues to be from the intriguing beyond.       A longtime paraprofessional at Beattie Elementary School in Fort Collins, Cindy Drysdale-Kaufman said she and a now-retired custodian she knew only as “Larry” were chatting it up one day. As is so often the case with those who knew Bob, the subject naturally came around to her dearly departed spouse and what a fun-loving practical joker he was. And still is?    Larry was working over at Wellington Junior High School, hanging blinds in Bob’s old classroom. Larry said the job wasn’t hard, but it did become challenging. Screws were popping up and out, and the television set kept coming on.     In the beginning when Vicky Jordan returned to WJHS to take over for Bob after he died, the TV was on every morning, and every morning, she would enter Bob’s classroom with a cheery “Hi Bob!” and shut it off.     Bob and Vicky pranked each other when he was still alive by hiding pizza crusts in each other’s rooms. That spring, Vicky continued to find them in her desk drawers. When she came back on the first day of school the next fall, a full year after Bob passed away, Vicky entered the classroom with her traditional “Good morning, Bob!” greeting and was astonished to see a pizza crust sitting on her desk.    Alicia Durand has also witnessed the phenomenon of the TV turning itself on and off. “Oh, it happens about every three nights or so,” she said. “I’ll be working in my office (down the hall from Bob’s classroom), and I see the blue light (from the TV). I smile every single time it happens. There is definitely a connection to this room.”     Doors opening and slamming shut. Lights snapping on, then off. These are other booby, I mean, Bobby traps Alicia has witnessed.     In the principal’s office, there’s a file cabinet with skirting around the bottom to hide a mass of media Alicia’s amassed while keeping it accessible. Alicia was startled to return to her office one day and see a cassette tape lying in the middle of the floor. She could see “Bob Drysdale” was written on the case, and so she knew the cassette within had recorded music for Bob’s memorial on it. What she didn’t know was how in the world it had traveled from its safe-keeping spot.     Also in Alicia’s hideaway is a VHS tape in honor of, dedicated to, and all about Bob. Alicia makes sure every new student, every person new to Wellington, sees that video.                                    There have been numerous side trips on the journey to growing this book.1 Early on Tammy, Whitney, Alicia, and I took an expedition down to a Denver hotel hosting John Edward, who Wikipedia describes as an American television personality, author, and a self-proclaimed “psychic medium.” While none of us got read, the signs along the way—and I’m not talking about those posted roadside—made the outing worthwhile.    It was gloomy and unsettled that day, which made the flocks of birds that seemed to be erratically migrating down I-25 with us appear equally unpredictable, and, yeah, by that I mean flighty.     Shortly after we took off, Dr. Durand announced she found a Bob Drysdale patch smack dab in the middle of the floor in her office, and could offer no explanation as to how it got there.  1Originally part of another chapter that ended up in the round file, I’m now hereby resurrecting this next part.      Conversation stopped when Nick’s song, Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, came on at 4:40 p.m. As we pulled in to park, Whitney was telling us about losing an earring in Vegas, and when I opened the car door, there was an earring on the asphalt. Not THE earring, but still.      That the one and only open parking space was by Ghost Plate & Tap added to what was already feeling atmospheric. (I Googled the restaurant just now to see if it is still open, and was surprised to read a Facebook post from the day we were there, May 20, 2013, that they were closing on May 24, 2013.)     Sure we were disappointed not to connect with Bob, Paul, or Nick through J.E. that night, but when it was all over and Tammy turned the radio on and Nick’s song was playing again, that was it for us, the validation we were seeking.     Like John Edward says, “Communicate. Appreciate. Validate.”    Done, done, and done.      I’ve seen John Edward twice before. The first time was on Sept. 16, 2007 at a different Denver hotel. My friend Jon Gilbert and I were the last to be read in a room of 400 where only eight were chosen.    The medium was looking for someone who lost a son in surgery. He counted the rows back aloud and kept looking straight at me. I just stared back defiantly as this definitely does not apply to this mother of two daughters. Next thing I know Jon stands up and I’m thinking, “But your two sons are still alive!” Apparently the message was from Jon’s brother’s son whose death on a surgical table years ago turned Tom into a doubting Thomas. Jeff wanted Uncle Jon to tell his father Tom that he, Jeff, is okay.     John asked Jon about someone with a “B” name to his side. Jon hemmed and hawed, so I said, “Well, my name is Brenda, and I am standing right here beside you!” The crowd guffawed in gratitude for the comic relief. John Edward asked me about a female above me who died of congestive heart failure or a systematic organ shutdown.     “Now this is really out of the blue…,” he continued, “but are you involved in politics or running in a national election? Do you know someone who is?”     Jeri Thompson, widow of Fred Thompson who was running for president, is my first cousin. I’ll spare you the long story about dysfunctional family dynamics since it’s one I don’t understand either. The short story is that I only found out about this relationship myself a few weeks prior. “If you can get this, I’ll be amazed!” I blurted out to the medium, who responded with something that made the crowd LOL but neither Jon nor I caught what he said, unfortunately.     The reading and the evening ended with a mention of our dogs’ crossing over.    I believe Mollie Kehn, my maternal grandmother and for whom my firstborn daughter is named, was the communicator. Mollie died in 1996, the year Jeri and Fred reportedly met in line at a Kroger grocery store. They were married in 2002 until Fred’s death in 2015.     On Feb. 20, 2011, my sisters Lori and Beverly, Beverly’s friend Mary, and I saw John Edward in Lincoln, NE. Mom died three weeks earlier, so we were hoping and praying to hear from her and/or Dad, who preceded her in death by 11-months. While we didn’t get directly read, one of the readings resonated with us.     A father with an “R” name came through. He imparted to John that there were three days between his death and an important date, a birthday, and that the middle name of his grandchild is his surname. He wanted to acknowledge a family member’s upcoming surgery. “You had to renew your license, right?” John probed, prompted presumably from The Other Side. Then John added, “Tell them I am better now that I’ve passed.”     Our dad is Robert. My daughters’ middle names are Rader, Dad’s surname and my maiden name. Robert Rader died Feb. 11, 2010, three days after my birthday on Feb. 8. I had arthroscopic knee surgery on Mar. 2, 2011. I discovered my driver’s license had expired on my birthday the year Dad died but not till a month later when I was asked for my ID after writing a check.    “If you weren’t read, this whole night was a reading for you,” John Edward said in wrapping up. “You want to move forward but you seek direction from the outside. You don’t need me. You have all of that. I don’t bring anything to you. I’m only Captain of the Obvious.”    He closed with, “Let people know you love them while they’re still here.”    There’s no time like the present. Your take is on mediumship is as valid as the validation every person at all three events was seeking. My take is no matter what you or I think, everyone there wanted the same thing: to know we are still connected to those who appear lost to us.  Jon Gilbert is more than a footnote in my life, but here’s one in his honor: it was during our second book meeting in 2013 that Jon called with the news he had colon cancer. He died two years later.

CONNECTING THE CONNECTIONS

Watching, as life goes on, Bill Ernest commented, has been interesting.     When Cindy Drysdale got remarried, Bill said it would’ve been especially interesting to watch the guy’s (meaning Bob’s) reaction. “Matt looks a fair amount like Bob,” Bill observed.      Cindy agreed. “Matt reminds me of Bob,” she said.      How meant to be is it that Cindy Drysdale and Matt Kaufman met at a local school, where their kids were in the same class?      A couple of years after the accident, Cindy said she found herself really wanting to help people who were hurting. “There were times when I didn’t think I could go on,” she said. “I lost, and I know what it’s like.”     Matt was going through a divorce and was learning firsthand about loss the hard way—alone as a newly single father of two small children.      “I saw him at school, and we talked,” Cindy said. “We were friends for a long time first.”     While Cindy’s youngest Ben said he was too young at the time to “really know the difference,” Cindy’s oldest Kim admitted it was hard seeing her mom with someone other than Bob. “But I wanted her to be happy,” she said.     Cindy’s middle child Erin was, as a child, caught up in the middle and confessed to sometimes secretly hating both of them. “At times I was thinking: ‘Who are you? Why are you taking my mother away?’” Erin said.      That was then; this is now: Erin smiled when she described how she and Matt arrived at her grandparents’ home to help cut down some trees and both emerged from their respective vehicles wearing Rocky Mountain High School track shirts. The Kaufmans and Drysdales knew each other before they knew each other; they just didn’t know they knew each other until they really knew each other. Ben and Matt’s daughter McKenzie went to Beattie Elementary School together, and Cindy has the Kindergarten photo to prove it. In fact, in the classroom picture, Ben and McKenzie are standing side-by-side. The two were born three days apart. Matt’s son Mason is a mere year younger, and so all three attended Rocky Mountain High School together.      Being classmates makes for a special, lifelong connection. Eric Marine, who was the driver of the other car hit in the same accident—his wife Kirsten was also killed and his son Nicholas (who is the same age as Erin) was injured—went to high school with Bill and Sandy Ernest. The Ernests, Marines, and Drysdales have all since become good friends.      Bill said Bob would’ve gotten a hoot out of Cindy’s and Bob’s daughter Kim marrying a Campana since Bob coached against all of them when they were at what was then Lincoln Junior High School. When the boys graduated to the next level of wrestling, Bob was one of their coaches at Poudre High School. Mike Campana, and his brothers Tony and Gino, are the developers of Jessup Farm Artisan Village in Fort Collins. Located near the intersection of Prospect Avenue and Timberline Road, the property sat vacant for a decade before the Campanas bought it in 2011. A coffee house, a bakery, a restaurant, a craft brewery, a clothing and home furnishings shop, a fitness center, and a barbershop and social club are among the retailers nestled amid rebuilt chicken coops, a loafing shed, a saddle shop, an old barn, and a farmhouse. Surrounding it all is a neighborhood with some 1,100 homes.      If the name Gino Campana rings another bell, could be you’re remembering him as a former Fort Collins city councilman, or perhaps as a current up-and-comer in the Republican Party. Former President Donald Trump had chosen Mr. C. to chair the Public Buildings Reform Board, a nonpartisan panel charged with lightening the federal government’s real estate load, but Mr. T.’s term expired after getting mired down with impeachment proceedings and the Jan. 6, 2021 insurrection on Capitol Hill.   The Campana brothers’ company, Bellisimo, employed a certain Ben Drysdale at one point early in his career. Bellisimo also back in the day helped a 3.6-acre community garden take root.      Anne Genson is the one getting her hands dirty at Sproutin’ Up, which has since outgrown its original digs. Anne is the former director for the Poudre Valley Health System’s Healthy Kids Club and a teacher at—you guessed it—Wellington Middle School. She and her husband Todd, also a WMS teacher, run Sproutin’ Up on what Anne calls “our forever farm.” Anne and crew cultivate more than 4,000-pounds of vegetables and fruit annually—everything from carrots and strawberries to onions and peppers—half of which is donated to families in need in an eight-foot cart Matt Kaufman welded together. Until recently, that is, when Anne said they grew so much produce they popped all the tires!       “We’ve had several Wellington students go through our Internship Program,” Anne said. “Summer interns learn customer service and job skills, how to write a resume and conduct themselves in an interview, plus they have the opportunity to earn up to $600.”     The teens also develop a salsa recipe with produce they grew. They name the product, design the label, and split the earnings from the fruits of their labors amongst themselves.   Both Mr. and Mrs. Genson teach at WMHS. Anne and my daughter Molly Walker coach the school’s Unified Basketball team.     “Originally, these kids’ response to fresh produce was, ‘Mom won’t buy that, it’s too expensive,’” Anne said. “I set out to disprove that idea. Now we have a successful, non-profit operation that benefits an intergenerational market.”     Sproutin’ Up has been growin’ up since its first farmer’s market appearance, which didn’t amount to a hill of beans. The initial yield, Anne said, was a total of 15 snap peas. Today, thanks to Sproutin’ Up, dozens and dozens of Wellington Middle School students have been raised with a fresh attitude where eating healthy is concerned.  You might recall that the first person outside of the Gaucher family Whitney called after Paul’s accident on Aug. 11, 2012 was Cindy Drysdale-Kaufman. I hope you also remember reading my newspaper column as to how these two women met as paras at Beattie Elementary School before realizing they’d crossed paths before. It was that same piece that inspired this book. During our first meeting en masse on June 6, 2013 at Wellington Junior High School, then-principal Alicia Durand made this connection: “You know who Bob Drysdale was like? Paul Gaucher! Both were always, always willing.”       Both were beloved, and both died tragically in vehicle accidents.      “We were at The Boot (a now defunct restaurant across from the CSU campus) celebrating Ben’s birthday,” Cindy recalled. “I came (to the Gauchers’ house), and sat with Whitney while Tammy was at the hospital.”     Another connection: Ben Drysdale was born on Aug. 11, 1994.       That Paul Gaucher was born on and died on the 11th of the month seems somehow noteworthy. I don’t know a lot about numerology, but since my own father died on Feb. 11, 2010, I’d already done a little investigating into the number 11.      Numerology.com identifies 11 as one of the three master numbers, along with 22 and 33, that hold a tremendous amount of power and meaning. Eleven is a messenger of the universe, a bringer of spiritual awareness, and a devout supporter of humankind. It’s the number 11’s duty to use this gift of awareness to deliver cosmic truths that encourage humanity. The website attaches these personality traits to those for whom 11 is significant: they tend to be charismatic, cooperative, leaders.     Paul would’ve probably eye-rolled at that last bit writ, but then again maybe not. If we have eyes to roll in the afterlife, I’m certain his brother Tom is still rolling his.  Before I met Tom, I met Tom’s wife, Nick’s Aunt Nancy. It was Memorial Day weekend in 2013, and the traveling replica of the Vietnam memorial wall was on display at Spring Canyon Community Park in Fort Collins. I was among the 70 volunteers who took their turns reading aloud the 58,261 names on the wall. It was set up so three volunteers split up each hour. I read for 20-minutes starting at 5 p.m. that Sunday. Nancy Gaucher was the woman who read before me.      About halfway through my stint, clouds formed and the wind kicked in. For the 200 or so of us gathered, it was as if the dead were somehow present and letting us know they appreciated being accounted for. Our professional paths didn’t cross, but Tom’s and mine did run parallel for a spell. Tom and his dad contributed columns to both The Coloradoan newspaper and the now-defunct Business World magazine. My first job in Fort Collins was with the latter in 1986. Thankfully for owner Connie Pfeiffenberger, my tenure was short-lived. I may have cut my teeth in radio, but silver-tongued, I am not. There was nothing at all shiny about Brenda Rader, who as a salesperson was a dull gray. The Gaucher father-son duo, on the other hand, was solid gold with a client list of more than 150.     Nancy Gaucher loaned me a file folder of Bg Software pieces, including a newsletter. “Even if it doesn't connect into the book, you'll get a kick out of seeing the articles,” Nancy emailed. “I'm sure Bob wrote them or at least was the final editor. Tom was a terrible writer and speller!”     Nancy was right. Bob’s writing is good; so is his spelling. The content is entertaining, too, considering how young personal computing was at the time. We are talking “The DOS Ages” here, people! An October 1994 BW magazine feature reported that Bob started the company in 1984 after monitoring IBM’s launch of the first PC. Bob told writer Becky Orr that he had a hunch it would be the wave of the future. Bob learned computer basics in the military, while training on the mammoth mainframes that spit out I/O (Input/Output) cards.      Becky also talked to Tom, who told her how plenty of people have a healthy fear of even touching the keys of a PC. “I call it core meltdown syndrome,” he said.      A Jan. 31, 1994 Coloradoan column appropriately titled “Computers” chided readers for sharing software. “This is called software piracy. It should be called what it is: theft.” Bob closes the article with equally strong words: “So the next time the urge hits you to make that extra copy of a program to give to a friend, let him buy his own copy. After all, who wants a thief for a friend?”      And from the Bg Software Update Winter 1993 newsletter, a forever fragment that stands the test of time: “DO backup your data. Failure to do so is the BIGGEST mistake you can make. Things often go bump in the night. Things often go wrong in the daytime too. Power outages, brownouts, power surges, equipment failure, and the ever present operator error can do wonders on your data. This is especially true when you wonder what happened to it. You only have to lose your data once to make you a believer in backing up.”       Backing up, Tom wasn’t the only Gaucher whose work history overlapped my own. Future firefighter Paul Gaucher was leaving the employ of Foothills Fashion Mall as a security guard just as I was starting there as marketing director. It wasn’t until after Paul passed that Tammy and I put 2 + 2 together to come up with 1989.     That dream of mine in which the Gauchers’ residence was part house/part mall seems more significant somehow.      Post-2020, most everything does.

COMMUNITY CONNECTIONS

I don’t live in Wellington but trash-talk it, and I’ll defend it like a lifelong resident. Community can be about proximity and geography, but the closeness created by connection—the things we share—is what makes this community “home.” Wellington is a place where people feel like they belong, and we’ve all seen the horrors that can happen when someone feels disconnected, like they don’t belong.          The Wellington tradition is interlaced with the legacies of Bob, Nick, and Paul about whom tales are told and retold. You didn’t have to know ‘em to love ‘em. The very essences of Mr. Drysdale and the Gaucher guys live on in the hearts of storytellers, in the halls of WMHS, and within these pages.       We. Are. Connected.       No matter your religious belief or your nonbelief, only a fool or conspiracy theorist disputes the science that we are connected to others, to everything seen, and to what remains unseen, too, including coronaviruses.       Because our connections with Bob, Nick, and Paul survived their deaths, perhaps what the poets and songsters have been trying to tell us is true: that heaven is closer than we think.       Oprah sings a similar tune: “We’re all connected. I know that because I’ve talked to thousands of people…And we’re all yearning for the same thing—to be seen and heard and valued and to know that our lives matter. And hopefully there’s something beyond this moment going on. There’s something deeper, more mysterious going on. I have been able to discern that and come to know this in a way that’s very powerful for me, and helps me have a deeper appreciation for how I am connected to the lives of others by simply paying attention to that (truth) every day. I wasn’t just interviewing people on television, but actually making profound connections with the human spirit. My ability to do that was and is the success of the Oprah show…” Since some of what I call connection, some might one-off as coincidence, and since Bob Drysdale was such a science guy and I’m committed to digging in deep here, I thought why not dust off a venerable voice from beyond the grave to help make my case?       Psychiatrist Carl Jung believed there are such things as meaningful coincidences that reaffirm what you’ve been thinking. He called them synchronicities. Honestly now, haven’t you ever felt as if a coincidence wasn’t merely a coincidence but something more? A Jungian synchronicity is a meaningful coincidence of two or more events where something other than the probability of chance is involved. (If reading that made your head hurt, try rereading it as many times as I have.)       Trying to explain the unexplainable is hard, even for Jung, who wrote that he got terribly stuck on the statistics stuff while working on synchronicity because it required tremendous concentration which took too much out of him: “I feel as though I’m gripping my way through a dense fog.” (Statistics had the same effect on me in college, Dr. J.!) Jung hoped someone else would pick up where he left off, gathering more evidence that such events are real and play a really important role in our lives.       As a serendipitist—one who finds valuable or agreeable things not sought for—this believer in luck and accidents is not that someone, but this much I know: The more you look for connections in coincidences, the more synchronicity you see. Martha Beck, a life coach and longtime contributor to Oprah’s now-defunct magazine O, explained synchronicity much better than me or, in my opinion, Jung. In her September 2016 column, Martha pondered: “I do think that something more than chance is at work in the universe. While reality usually babbles in the meaningless music of randomness, it sometimes speaks to us in a language we understand. Why? Maybe because our small consciousness is intimately bound up with consciousness writ large, and we may need a little nod from a force that’s greater and wiser than we are…consider the possibility that you could be connected to everything in the universe, and everything in the universe could be connected to you, and meaning flows between the two in a mysterious constant stream.” We’re smackdab back where we started; contemplating the mysteries of life. Before we call this a wrap, I invite you to wrap your head around a few more connections and coincidences, signs and synchronicities.  In 2016, the same summer Martha B. penned her O piece, the Gaucher women, Cindy Drysdale-Kaufman, Alicia, and I met at WMS. Alicia shared the news that she’d be retiring in the next couple of years, and we all once again considered whether this book was in reality as compelling as we believed.       Any wavering stopped when an “Imagine” sign popped off the wall. The following summer, I followed through on Alicia’s suggestion that I interview one of her new hires.       Andy Shaw was golfing in the school’s annual fundraising tourney when he offhandedly lamented to WMS Registrar Peggy Hunter how he had been struggling for ten years to find a job in PSD. Andy and Peggy’s daughter went to high school together. At the time, Mr. Shaw was teaching sixth grade in Lamar in Colorado’s southeast corner. “We’ve got two openings right now,” she replied.       He applied.       Andy had been invited to golf that propitious day by his former college roommate Phil Underwood, WMS’s P.E. teacher before he took a similar position at the high school level at Rocky Mountain.        “I was meant to be here (at WMS),” Andy told me. “I’m ecstatic to be here where Mr. Drysdale taught.”       Andy Shaw was one of the trio of Poudre High School wrestlers who road-tripped to PA with Bob in 1999.       “We were a little back heavy with three heavyweights and Mr. Drysdale in a rented Buick LeSabre,” Andy mused. “We drove all night and got there a full day before starts.” Mr. D. left his charges in the camp’s capable hands, and headed off for the wedding as intended with an “Alright, boys. See you in two days.”       The journey home was the exact opposite: meaningful, meandering. Andy labeled it “another week of vacation for us.” There were three Halls of Fame Bob wanted the teenage athletes to see: Pro Football, Wrestling, and Rock and Roll. Andy laughed about getting waterlogged as the foursome dashed from the far reaches of a lot with zero places to park. “It was pouring rain, just cats and dogs, and off he went, running faster than me,” Andy said.        Another day had the just-right sizzle for the cool water rides at Cedar Point Amusement Park in Sandusky, OH. And, oh, that view from the Sears Tower in Chicago! It was definitely the highpoint of the trip, although for Andy the highlight may have been lunch in Omaha. Andy smiled nonstop as he relived how he got serenaded by a-half-dozen Hooters Girls on his 18th birthday.       “Everything we did was just pure fun,” he said. “Mr. Drysdale would goof around with us on the street, making us trip.”       Andy’s goofy grin became a grimace. “I was the last one to get dropped off,” he said, almost deferentially. “He gave me a handshake and brotherly pat on the back. He shook my dad’s hand, too. That was the last time I saw him.”       The PHS football team was at practice when Andy heard about Bob’s accident. A support session was already set up in the gym. “I didn’t believe it at first,” he said. “It was an eye-opener. You’re here one day, the next day…you don’t know.”       A Blevins Junior High School attendee, Andy never had a class with Mr. Drysdale whose reputation preceded him, but Mr. Shaw knew: 1) that was the way he wanted to be; and 2) that a teacher was what he wanted to be.       “I modeled myself consciously after Mr. Drysdale. I feel him when I’m coaching wrestling,” Andy stated, owning that he, too, is a sarcastic joker who believes pushups have a place in the classroom along with many of wrestling’s life lessons. “I wanna touch kids’ lives. It’s nice when kids say, ‘I look forward to being in your class, Mr. Shaw.’”       They mean it. The Wellington student body presented Andy Shaw with the Drysdale Award in May 2018.  In mid-January 2021, Tammy and her daughter Whitney and my daughter Molly and me, were blessed with what we consider another “connectidence,” my made-up word for a connection too cool to be commonplace coincidence.       We four were meeting up for lunch at The Wellington Grill when who do we see already seated but Dr. Alicia Durand along with her sister and nephew. The trio had just toured the new WMHS site, and en route to the restaurant, did a drive-by past the Gauchers’ house.       We hadn’t met since that day in 2016 when an animated Imagine sign became our literal sign to waver no more.       Also that day, Whit shared that their family adopted a kitty named Bella. Maybe only crazy cat ladies like me care but my sisters Christine’s and Sally’s beloved cat had just died.       Her name? Bella.                                 WORKING TO SEW (SIC) SEEDS OF LOVE  Me being me, and me being easily distracted by pennies on the street and the wealth of words in the thesaurus online, I’m still waffling even as I’m wading through the final folder of the last of my book notes.       I guess second-guessing myself is second nature to me. Am I really the best person to be doing this? I’m sure my work will disappoint some; others will feel left out, including those who chose not to respond when I called and called again. And again.       No matter.       Of course it matters.       Wellington Middle-High School opening in the Fall of 2022 is motivation, sure, as was this kick-in-the-pants horoscope: “You’ll knuckle down to a project you thought would already be in your rearview. Better late than never. Giving up isn’t an option to you. For this reason, life’s timing, however far-off of your own it may seem, won’t disappoint.”        Then Janice Glenn died.       Janice was a paraprofessional at the Eyestone Elementary School Library for 27-years. Janice was also a talented seamstress.       As one who seems to stress over her never-quite-right seams, I was elated to discover my fellow library friend was more than happy to take on my darned darning tasks. Over the years, Janice hemmed while I hawed about how my mending needs mending. Janice made quilts from my daughters’ only-worn-once school and event t-shirts. She reupholstered the bench seat in my grandpa’s pickup truck. She recovered the cushions for our outdoor patio set. Mrs. G. made curtains for Erin’s bedroom window from the scarves left behind when my daughter moved to California.       At Janice’s memorial service on Aug. 1, 2021, I learned my family is among scores of others whose homes are decorated with this sweet soul’s work.       Mrs. Glenn’s sewing room was her happy place, her family said, and it was to her happy place Janice went when she found out on July 1, 2021 that her cancer discovered the week prior was stage 4 pancreatic. Talking through their tears, her people had us all wishing we could be more like Janice: their strong, non-judgmental, easy-going, supportive, loving matriarch who was always busy creating her day-to-day life fully, who then got busy dying.       Janice Glenn wasn’t rich or famous, but she was the wealthiest woman I knew. No more needling needed. Authoring this book is a burden, and it’s a blessing. Another blessed connection from Janice’s service: Mark Gabbert, who coached with Bob Drysdale at Wellington and sees him still in rainbows, was one of several Wellingtonites asked to say a few words. Mark also coached Whitney Gaucher, alongside his daughter, in basketball.

LOOSE ENDS TIED

One of the last columns I wrote for The Coloradoan was about Nick Gaucher, which appears in its entirety in the book. The very last column is one I share now, not out of self-indulgence, but because it’s connected to Alicia Durand. Mark’s her brother.  FORT COLLINS COLORADOAN, July 23, 2015 – THREE MEN EMBODY THE THREE     MUSKETEERS    There exists within la ville that is Fort Collins, a friendship, rare in this day and age, between three men who were but boys when they met. Though they never adorned feathered caps, nor brandished swords, or bandied vows, Richard, Steve, and Mark are modern-day Three Musketeers. They have demonstrated – in heart, mind, body, and soul – the declaration Alexandre Dumas’s 17th century French trio is famous for: “All for one and one for all, united we stand, divided we fall.”       Nolte, Dellenbach, and Durand are tightlipped about their swashbuckling adventures as part of Poudre High School’s Class of 1977. Richard’s mom, Rosa Nolte, described them as “a little bit wild ‘n’ crazy.” No matter; the tale worthy of your time and mine happened after they went their merry ways to different Colorado colleges.    Richard Nolte has no recall of the accident that changed the then-23-year-old’s life for good. He won’t say “for bad,” even though a traumatic brain injury is just about the worst. “It is what it is,” he shrugged. “It was totally my fault. I had these big ol’, huge, honkin’ speakers in the back of my car, and one of ‘em hit me in the head.”     Rosa is traumatized still. “Every time the phone rings…,” she said, shaking her head, still without words more than 40-years later. “If it weren’t for Steve and Mark…”    Steve Dellenbach and Mark Durand rushed to the third Musketeer’s bedside as soon as they got the call from Richard’s parents. There they stayed, on and off, throughout Richard’s three-month coma, and for what has become a life-long rehabilitation process.      And if the shoe – or the tall, shiny black boot – were on the other foot? “I would’ve made my best attempt to be there for them,” Richard said. “Having friends around you, oh yeah, that helps. I wasn’t lucky then, but I am lucky to have such good friends.”    As Dumas penned, “Life’s too damn short, too damn long to continue without someone at your side.”    The pre-accident Richard was a football player in high school and a soccer star in college, who was getting ready to go back to Western State in Gunnison to get his Master’s in Geology. “I was in pretty good shape,” he said. “I would hike all day; long-haired, wearing bandanas. Man, I was a warrior!”    A musketeer. One of three.     Richard said it’s still all about the physical. Despite having had to relearn “everything,” he’s cycled more than 26,000-miles on his stationary bike. He walks with a walker and does squats. “I have double-vision when I read,” he explained.    “I could never do what he’s done,” Steve said. “I don’t know how he does it, but he hasn’t given up, so why would I?”    “He’s got a drive that doesn’t stop,” Mark said. “He maintains his sense of humor, and the hope he’s going to get better.”    Dumas again: “The merit of all things lies in their difficulty.”    The trio has and continues to occasionally attend parties and sporting events, even if that means carrying Richard.    Since Mark lives in Vietnam, much of the day-to-day falls on Steve, who’s known for bringing treats to the nursing home where Richard lives.     Let me guess…Three Musketeers bars? Richard Nolte, 61, died Aug. 22, 2020. His mom preceded him in death on Dec. 15, 2016. I loved how his obituary read in part: “He never lost hope, and up until his death, he was plotting his unique way forward…The trouper has moved on.”     Alicia emailed me: “Very sad. The piece you wrote will be at his funeral as will Mark and Steve, who are doing it all as Richard has no family left. Richard has a lot of friends and all will celebrate a very tough man!”     Okay, this is a form of informative indulgence: Seventeen months later, the Quinleys also had a pandemic marriage, an “elopement” on the beach with the Golden Gate Bridge as their backdrop.1 There were ten of us there including Erin and Dan, unless you counted the curious and elated onlookers, celebrating the young couples and congratulating themselves for being in the right place at the right time at Crissy Field at that moment.     I share because I’ve always tried to treat my daughters as evenly as possible, and because I loved how Shendo, their Buddhist officiant, invited us to “be present by taking in the moment, because the moment, and the ceremony, will be over before you know it.”     Again I wrote my toast in advance: “What to say to your daughter on her wedding day? This is especially challenging for me, Erin, because, man oh man, we do love our words, don’t we? Reading them, writing them, speaking them…even when you were in preschool, you got it: language is one of the most powerful ways to channel human connection, and human connection is the basis of human civilization.  1Erin’s sister Molly and Nick’s cousin Ben were married on June 26, 2020.      Erin’s love of language makes what she said in junior high all the more funny: ‘I don’t like it when people use unproper English.’ Thank goodness, Erin’s always been really good at owning her own words.       Erin is also a very kind person, one who allows her mom to tell the same stories over and over again.      There are so many good ones, but I’ll share the very first one on Day One: Erin was born on a sunny Palm Sunday in 1992. She was due on Easter, but came a full week early. Talk about kind, right? And right from the start! Labor began in the middle of the night, but her midday arrival was quick, as in ten-minutes after we arrived at the hospital. Two nurses whisked our baby away before Jim and I even got a glimpse. I gripped Jim’s arm, hard, when we heard one say, ‘Would you look at that afro?’ I don’t think either of us exhaled till we heard the other respond, ‘And it’s such a beautiful shade of red!’      Erin immediately demonstrated her strong self by rebounding from an initial APGAR score of 1 to a robust 8 five-minutes later.       I don’t know anyone more empathetic than Erin, who is a champion of social justice, inclusion, and diversity. Thanks to you, I have enlightened many as to why Black Lives Matter when in 2013 I also asked, ‘But don’t all lives matter?’      Today, it’s our ten lives that matter, primarily the two we’re here to celebrate. What I love most about your relationship, Erin and Dan, is that words and empathy are at the core. ‘Dan and I were just talking about that,’ Erin often says, and it lights me up each and every time I hear it.        Here’s to a lifetime of light and love for us all, and especially for Mr. and Mrs. Quinley!”      Not bad, I know, but Molly’s emotional toast took the cake, right before the newlyweds cut the cake: “I know how different we are, Erin, as the kids at school were always reminding us: from our bodies to our hair to our personalities. But I’m so glad that you are my sister; that we are sisters. I love you so much, Erin, and wish you and Dan all the happiness in the world.”       That Molly and Erin were both crying made it all the sweeter for their mom.   Much as I hate having my picture taken, like most MOBs (Mothers of the Bride), I love seeing the photographic evidence of these two very special occasions. We were blessed to have friends of the family, Scott and Susie Wiebers, serve as our official photogs for the Walker Wedding 2020. Scott enlisted a friend of his to help, Judy Stachursky. I didn’t find out until after we met that Judy was a PFA firefighter who knew Paul Gaucher, as she said, “literally in passing. We worked at different stations, so we’d do all kinds of time trades, overtime shifts, swaps, and transfers. Paul was legendary for practical jokes.”    Judy first met Paul and Tammy at a fourth grade basketball game in which their sons were playing. The Wiebers’ boy Ben was also on the team.     Ben again!     I tell Tammy often how she’s survived what would break me. I have another dear friend to whom I say the same as she has also managed to thrive in the aftermath of losing a son.     While ours is a connection that predates my community columnist era, I later wrote about her son Jonathan Heston, a young Marine.     Kristin (Heston) Whitchurch and I vowed to stay in touch after my daughters “graduated” from taking piano lessons from her, so spontaneous calls, texts, emails, and visits were the norm. It was her text on Mar. 29, 2015 that changed everything: Jonathan had been critically injured in an automobile accident. Her firstborn son to whom she had given life had chosen to share the gift of life with others by becoming an organ donor. It would be up to Kristin to honor his wishes.       As I whittled down the puzzle pieces for this book, it was obvious many wouldn’t fit but this very last one does. It’s The Coloradoan obituary page from Apr. 2, 2015. On it, there are two obituaries: one is Jonathan W. Heston’s; the other is for Brian Gaucher.    Brian, 57, died on Mar. 16, 2015 in Kingman, AZ. He was Nick’s uncle, Paul’s brother, and Robert’s son.    Connections.     Kristin and I are collaborating on a book about Jonathan, a soldier who was a poet at heart. Thanks in advance, Dear Reader, for staying connected with me as this journey continues.     I’ll keep writing about death and grief, because we need to keep talking about death and grief. Because what we’re really talking about is                               L O V E Parts of this, the book’s original ending, were salvaged and reappear near THE END.

SOME WISE WORDS FROM SOME WISE BIRDS

Somewhere along the way, I asked Cindy, Tammy, and Whitney to describe their guys in a single word. Cindy didn’t hesitate. “Zeal.” She nailed it: Bob oozed it from every pore, on every score, in all the lore. “Courage” was obviously Nick’s, with a park dedicated to him for demonstrating that very thing. After a little back and forth, the Gauchers settled on “Dedication” for Paul, he who had the heart of a firefighter and the soul of a candlelighter. In one of my early drafts, I prefaced their sections with a page devoted to that one word, and closed with some therapeutic wordplay.                                                                ZEAL Zeal (ZEEL), noun, enthusiasm; synonyms for zeal: ardor, determination, devotion, diligence, eagerness, earnestness, fanaticism, fervor, gusto, inclination, intensity, passion, perseverance, sincerity, spirit, urgency, verve, warmth.” – Theasaurus.com Experience shows that success is due less to ability than to zeal.” – Charles Buxton (1822-1871), English brewer, philanthropist, abolitionist, writer, and member of Parliament, who also quipped, “You will never ‘find’ time for anything. If you want time, you must make it.” “Through zeal, knowledge is gotten, through lack of zeal, knowledge is lost; let a man who knows this double path of gain and loss thus place himself that knowledge may grow.” – Gautama Buddha, (563-483 B.C.), philosopher, spiritual teacher, and founder of Buddhism. Born a prince, “The Awakened One” became enlightened only after renouncing all his worldly affairs upon discovering suffering outside the protection of the palace. Historians still debate whether Buddha was one man or a legend. Bob could not conceal his zeal! Can you feel the appeal of zeal, and what a big deal it is for real? COURAGE “Courage is like a muscle. We strengthen it with use.” - Ruth Gordon (1895-1985), award-winning American film, stage, and television actress who was also a screenwriter and playwright. Her husband of 43-years, Garson Kanin, was at her side when she died of a stroke at age 88. Garson said that even Ruth’s last day of life was typically full, with walks, talks, errands, and a morning of work on a new play. “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than one’s fear. The timid presume it is lack of fear that allows the brave to act when the timid do not. But to take action when one is not afraid is easy. To refrain when afraid is also easy. To take action regardless of fear is brave.” – Ambrose Hollingworth Redmoon (1933-1996), a beatnik, writer, and band manager who spent the last three decades of his life in a wheelchair after a car accident left him a paraplegic. His daughter Weyaka said, “He died (of cancer) fighting intensely. It was really, really hard for him to die. He fought for the very last second.” “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” – Lao Tzu, 6th century B.C. philosopher and founder of Taoism. Historians debate whether he was one man or a legend. “Old Master” is another of his many names and this is another of his many quotes: “He who knows, does not speak. He who speaks, does not know.” “True courage is the product of tenderness. It arises when we let the world touch our heart, our heart that is so beautiful and so bare.” – Chogyam Trungpa (1939-1987), founder of the Tibetan Buddhist organization Shambhala International. In those moments of outrage when I fly from my birdcage on a rampage about what I read on today’s front page, help me be more like Nick, sage, with the courage to engage not upstage.                                                                DEDICATION “The price of success is hard work, dedication to the job at hand, and the determination that whether we win or lose, we have applied the best of ourselves to the task at hand.” – Vince Lombardi (1913-1970), American professional football coach who became a national symbol of single-minded determination to win by leading the Green Bay Packers to back-to-back victories in Super Bowls I and II. “I know the price of success: dedication, hard work, and an unremitting devotion to the things you want to see happen.” – Frank Lloyd Wright (1867-1959), a modern architect, interior designer, writer, and educator whose distinct style was what he called “organic,” in that his 532 completed structures were in harmony with humanity and its environment.  “Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration.” – Thomas Alva Edison (1847-1931), an American inventor and businessman, dedicated to discovery. Edison has been described as America’s greatest inventor, with 1,093 patents in the U.S. alone. His tenacity in developing the electric light bulb inspired another notable quotable: “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” May I find the motivation to discover through contemplation, perspiration, inspiration, participation, and investigation, Paul’s revelation in and dedication to the fire station. Now that would be cause for celebration!

UNTITLED, RETITLED, ENTITLED 

​The only thing harder than writing this book was writing this book’s title. Okay, you’re right, that’s hyperbole. Giving birth to two children and helping them find their way to adulthood was much, much harder, as was burying both my parents within a year.     I’ve loved most every headline I ever wrote. I shook my head every time I opened the newspaper and saw a different arrangement of words in place of what I was sure was perfect. While its substitution was sometimes more concise, I thought it was usually weaker and therefore watered down the hard-hitting 550 words that followed. Oh, I get it: what is music to my ears may be cacophonous to yours—or just plain cah cah.      I’m also often guilty as charged of overreaching in my quest to squeeze in—or out—one more sweet-sounding sentence. Rhyming and/or alliteration…don’t make me choose which is better! All I know is someone had better help me find a better title or it could get ugly. And it did.      When I undertook this book project, I had a title page with no title other than Connections. That’s what brought us all together and what seemed to be the overarching theme. I played with it a bit and came up with: So Full of Soulful CONNECTIONS How 3 Guys Became 3 Guides In northern Colorado     Editor extraordinaire Victoria Hanley barely commented on my first effort other than to suggest, um, something else, anything else?      “Why not name it after the Tim McGraw song?” she said. “Live Like You Were Dying is exactly what this trio’s lives were all about.”         Ms. H. was right, of course, but I had already declared a face-off with a two-headed dragon: 1) Even though copyright doesn’t apply to titles, I didn’t wish to ride on another creator’s western style shirttails, and/or step on his cowboy-booted toes; and 2) I may live in the country, but a country music fan I am not.      Once the smoke cleared and I could again see my computer screen, I tried out Nick’s mantra of Life is too short so why waste it sitting on the sidelines.     Victoria swiftly slayed #2: “Too sports-related to appeal to the general public.”     Boo.      Cue the dragon tears.     I thought the following was it, and I did use it as a working title for the next couple of years but in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t it either: The Teacher, the Student, and the Firefighter: How 3 Guys Became 3 Guides      So began my quest in earnest. I flayed about, filleting every possibility that came my way, draggin’ myself through great balls of fire with attempts such as: Life is on Your Side What if You were to Die Today? The Universe is in Your Corner Never Say Never Never Too Late Death is a Game-Changer Making the Case for Connectedness (Love is) The Name of the Game Bigger and Back Better after Heartbreak Inner Connectedness: Enter Connectedness It’s All Connected The Best is Yet to Come This Changes Everything Dedicated to Doing Their Very Best Till Death Do Us Part Dolorifuge* and the Dinkum** Dudes *something that mitigates or removes grief **genuine, honest true     (God help me, I couldn’t help myself. I fell in love with the word “dinkum” after watching 800 Words, a TV series out of New Zealand. Victoria’s advice was to, please, for all our sakes, just say “No” to an asterisk in the title. If you’re thinking about more than one asterisk, wow, woman, what are you thinking? If you have to explain it, it’s much too obscure.) Three Lives, Three Legacies (Now this one, I really did like!) The Appeal of Zeal Catalysts to the Max The Nth Degree You Can’t Win If You Don’t Play Three to a T Storied to a T Legendary to a T (In case you couldn’t tell, with those last three, I was going for something T-shirt-related.) Hey, Check This Out (One of Bob’s classic lines) Certain Certainty is Certainly Not (I read somewhere you should try to give “them” what they want…I want certainty and thought you also might. I know, I know. I’m now certain too much certainty is certainly not cool.) Done is a Four Letter Word Everything They Touched Giving Their Best They Were Who They Wanted to Be The Shiny McShines (Can. Not. Suppress. My. Inner. Simpson.)      With chagrin, I must grin as I admit this is only a partial list. I’m nothing if not thorough, that’s for sure, oh! Yeah, and here you thought I was kidding about my devotion to the fine art and clever endeavor of wordplay.      After sharing with a trusted friend a small sampling of the rabbit holes I went into in search of the perfect title, Kristin suggested I try AI, which, for me, degraded into a rat hole with dozen of schmaltzy suggestions like: Heartstrings of Wellington: Three Guides’ Extraordinary Legacy and Threads of Destiny: Three Lives Intertwined. What is this a romance novel? I will say, though, it was kinda fun “talking” to The Machine.     Victoria, ever patient and always kind, threw me a lifeline. “You know, Brenda, the title doesn’t have to be so directly tied to the book.”     “Tell me more.” I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate, even if that’s exactly what I was.     “Okay. So which of the three is the most glamorous, the most exciting?”     “Gotta be the firefighter, right?”     “Right. Try a title linked to that.”     The many, many, many nights I tortured myself over some aspect of this project. I swear I woke up more often in a sweat because of this book than I ever did due to menopause.      In the middle of the night on Oct. 5, 2023, I awoke not with night sweats but on literary fire lit from burning creativity broiling within: “Sparks!”     When I got the mail later that day, there was a solicitation for the Spark Select World Elite Mastercard. No thank you, CapitalOne, but thank you, Universe, for what I considered a confirmation that, finally, I was climbing outtta holes and onto terra firma.       In Googling Three Sparks, I found that:     Three Sparks is a 2023 Albanian-Mexican documentary film written, directed, produced, filmed, scored, and edited by Naomi Uman. The film shows the role of women in a small rural town in Albania.       Darn. Okay. So I’ll make my Three Sparks title just different enough with a few choice words. I’ll spare you another long list of candidates and their subtitles—you are very welcome—but I did bombard my advance readers with a short list that included: One, Two, Three Sparks Three Sparks Ignite and Unite Three Sparks Everlasting     My daughter Molly and I liked the first one. The last one was a fan favorite but I worried it may strike some as a tad too religious, so I turned again to Victoria. My dear, dear editor once again showed me the way. “Did you write a children’s book?” she jested as she suggested that once again that I’d overdone it. “And a subtitle really isn’t necessary on the front cover. In fact, if the title is intriguing to the reader, it will lead them to the back cover where you can explain to your heart’s content.”     Victoria did throw me another bone with her second title recommendation, Ashes and Flames, but I had already come back to what woke me up in the middle of the night: THREE SPARKS      It’s perfect, isn’t it? Bob, Nick, and Paul lit up everyone and everything around them, but that Paul #2’s surname is Sparks?      I’m feeling that inner glow, y’know, that glimmer of goodness when you know you’ve been given something sooo special. And that you deserve it. The Hopi have a saying: “All dreams spin out from the same web.”     Part of me will always be connected to the connections piece of this work, of all works. I realize now that I’ve grown beyond just being connected—linked, joined, related—to being interconnected; that is, mutually linked, conjoined, inner-related.     Life continues to teach us what the Native American already knows with every fiber of their being: “We are One with the One. We are One.”

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