Learning to Breathe: 30 Years with Josh

Josh with Mimi and Papa

Thirty years ago today—August 12, 1992—God placed a boy in our home as a foster child. And our lives changed forever. Taken from the mother he loved because she kept choosing her addictions, he came to us as a foster child, and later we adopted him.

We certainly didn’t know the challenges Josh would bring to us, the many hard things for him and for us, the disruptions to our generally happy family, the fear and pain, the new ways to love and guide, and then the joy and gratitude. 

Let me tell you one story—about one of the most difficult times of Josh’s life, and the turning point in who he would become and how he would live.

Remember to Breathe

We’ve held our breath a lot in the past few weeks.

Our Josh’s grandfather—Papa—was slowly failing, with various ailments claiming more and more of his 88-year-old body.

Three weeks ago Josh and I went to visit him for the day.  The last time we had seen him he seemed fine—his usual chatty self.  He and Josh had good conversations.  But when we arrived this time, it was as though the breath was knocked out of us.

He was sleeping—most of the time.  We were celebrating Josh’s birthday—I went to him with a cheery, “Papa, wake up.  It’s time for birthday cake.”  He raised his head, knew me, said something briefly, and was out again.  We did get him to eat a bite of cake.

We returned two days later, holding our breath.  Would he have revived?

No, the same or worse.  Josh spent the rest of the week there, loving his Mimi, encouraging his sister, and being the strongest he’s ever been.  Steady, calm, wise, adult—her rock, Mimi said.

In long “conversations” Josh told Papa all he had meant to him—how he had been the dad he hadn’t had in those early years, how he had taught him to fish and handle a boat, how he had taken him to baseball and karate.  How he would become the man Papa believed him to be.

I left for a trip to Uganda.  On Saturday afternoon the call came.  I held my breath.  Josh, through many tears, said Papa was gone.  We talked a long time.  The pain and loss flowed from my son.  He would grieve.  And he would be strong.  His Mimi needed him.  He had to help take care of things.

I held my breath.  Steve and I had dreaded this moment.  Yes, the loss of this dear man Josh had brought into our lives.  But especially the fear of what Josh would do.  Would he return to his old patterns for coping with unbearable circumstances?

So far, not really.  He goes from deep weeping to determination to make Papa proud.  Abundant tears are followed by resolve.   Faltering choices change to courage.

Still I hold my breath.  It’s hard to shake years of destructive responses.  Can he keep walking a better path?  Will he let God comfort and encourage and strengthen him?  Will this be a turning point of newness of life for him?

“Remember to breathe.”

What?

God whispered it again.  “Remember to breathe.”

“I am with him.  I am holding him.  I have never let him go.  I have known this was coming.  I am doing a good work in Josh.  The legacy of Papa will help him go forward bravely, with hope.  He has a future.”

A little air began to escape.  Slowly I exhaled.

Breathe.

C2022 Judy Douglass

And here is a powerful song for anyone who loves a prodigal.