Beverly Rose Romero

# In Loving Memory of Beverly Rose Romero February 5, 1965 – September 5, 2026 Today we gather with hearts that are shattered to honor and remember someone who meant so much to so many—Beverly Rose Romero. Beverly was born on February 5, 1965. On September 5, 2026, at 6:30 in the morning, Beverly took her last breath at St. Joseph Hospital in Denver, Colorado. She had been diagnosed with cancer on July 3, 2026, and, heartbreakingly, the cancer spread throughout her body very quickly. None of us were ready for this. There was no time to prepare our hearts for a goodbye this painful. Beverly was here, and then suddenly, we were faced with the reality of having to live without her. But cancer will never be what defines Beverly. Beverly's life was defined by love. By family. By loyalty. By laughter. By strength. And by the unforgettable mark she left on everyone who knew her. Beverly leaves behind her children, Michelle and Michael Ray Romero, and her adopted children, Michael and Jenell and baby issac. She leaves behind her husband, Mike Edwards, who stood beside her through the end. She leaves behind her grandchildren Sophia, Steven, Aliiah, UT, Okalani, Michael, Brandon, Shawn, Leonard, and Alissa Rain, and her great-granddaughter Sa'Morra Rose. She leaves behind her siblings Barbara Cruz and Raymond Romero, and she joins her late brother, Steven Romero. She leaves behind her nieces and nephews Monique, Joshua, Carlos, Alisha, Anthony, Brianna, Melissa, and Stephanie, along with all of her great-nieces and great-nephews. And she leaves behind countless friends who loved and adored her and her favorite aunty's pearl ann and aunty and Sally may they rest in peace Beverly loved her grandbabies with her whole heart. She loved watching them grow, spending time with them, and being part of their lives. Every one of them held a special place in her heart. And to Michelle and Michael—your mom loved you more than words could ever explain. The bond between Beverly and Michelle was something special. It was a bond built through years of love, memories, arguments, laughter, tears, and experiences that only a mother and daughter could understand. Beverly was always there to protect Michelle, stand beside her, and love her. And Michael—your mom was always protective of you. No matter what happened, you were her son, and she loved you fiercely. That protective love was simply part of who Beverly was. If Beverly loved you, she protected you. And if you were family, you were hers. She would help anyone she could. She had a big heart, even when she didn't always show it in the softest way. She was strong, outspoken, stubborn, funny, and one of a kind. Beverly was a true East Side OG. She didn't need to pretend to be anybody else. She was Beverly, and that's all she ever needed to be. Anyone who knew her knows she had a personality that could fill a room. She could make you laugh, make you shake your head, and sometimes probably make you say, "Oh Beverly!" And we can't talk about Beverly without talking about that tongue of hers. That woman loved sticking her tongue out in pictures! Those pictures may make us laugh today, but someday those silly pictures are going to become some of the most precious things we have left. Because that's Beverly. That's the Beverly we want to remember. Laughing. Dancing. Being silly. Being herself. Beverly loved her animals—her snakes, dogs, fish, and cats. She loved her plants so much that she would actually talk to them. She loved spring. She loved the rain. She loved camping and fishing with Hun. She loved watching Judge Judy and Jerry Springer. She loved smoking her weed. She loved her music and loved to dance. She enjoyed "Return of the Mack," SPM, The Gap Band, The S.O.S. Band, and so many other songs that will forever remind us of her. She also carried her Native American heritage proudly in her heart. She loved sun dancing and sweat lodges, and those traditions were an important part of her life and identity. Halloween was her favorite holiday, especially because it was the anniversary of her mom and dad. Even something as simple as a holiday could bring Beverly back to the people she loved and the family memories she cherished. Beverly wasn't perfect—and she never claimed to be. But she was real. She loved hard. She protected hard. She laughed hard. And when Beverly cared about you, you knew it. The night before she passed, Beverly was surrounded by family and friends. They shared memories, laughed, talked, and spent time together. In the middle of something so heartbreaking, there was still laughter. There was still love. There were still memories being made. And that was a gift. When Beverly took her final breath, her husband Mike, her sister Barbara, and her niece and nephew carlos Monique were there beside her. She was surrounded by people who loved her. She did not leave this world alone. She was loved until her very last breath. And now we have to figure out how to live in a world where we can't call Beverly, visit Beverly, hear her laugh, see her sticking her tongue out for a picture, or hear her tell us what she thinks. That is going to hurt. There will be days when something happens and we will automatically think, "I need to tell Beverly." There will be songs that come on and suddenly she will be right there in our minds. There will be rainy days when we think of how much she loved the rain. There will be spring days when we think of her plants. There will be Halloween, her favorite holiday, and we will think of her again. And there will be pictures where that tongue is sticking out, and instead of crying, hopefully we will smile and say: "That's our Beverly." To Beverly's children: Your mother may no longer be physically here to protect you, but the love she gave you will never disappear. Carry her with you. When you laugh, let a little of her laughter live through you. When you stand up for yourself, remember how she always stood up for the people she loved. When you look at your children, remember how fiercely she loved hers. And when you miss her—and you will—talk about her. Tell her stories. Play her music. Look at her pictures. Laugh at the crazy memories. Cry when you need to. Because keeping Beverly's memory alive is one of the greatest ways we can continue to love her. To her grandchildren and great-granddaughter: Your grandma loved you. She loved every single one of you in her own special way. And although you may wish she could be here to watch you grow, know that you will always carry a piece of her with you. Sa'Morra Rose, you carry a piece of your great-grandmother's name and her love with you. To Mike: Thank you for loving Beverly, standing beside her, and being there through the hardest days. To Barbara, Raymond, and the entire Romero family: The pain of losing Beverly is something no words can take away. But you don't have to carry that pain alone. And to every friend, family member, neighbor, and loved one who called Beverly, visited her, checked on her, prayed for her, stopped by, or simply loved her—we thank you. To everyone who donated to help the family during this unexpected and devastating time, thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Your kindness has meant more than you know. Beverly touched many lives. And now all of us have the responsibility of keeping her memory alive. Because Beverly's story does not end here. Her body may be gone, but her love isn't. Her laughter isn't. Her memories aren't. Her spirit isn't. She lives in every person she loved. She lives in her children. She lives in her grandchildren. She lives in her great-granddaughter. She lives in her siblings. She lives in her nieces and nephews. She lives in her friends. She lives in every story that begins with, "Remember when Beverly..." And there will be many of those stories. So today, through all of our tears, let us also laugh. Let us remember the woman who stuck her tongue out for pictures. Let us remember the woman who talked to her plants. Let us remember the woman who loved her animals. Let us remember the woman who loved her music and dancing. Let us remember the woman who loved camping and fishing with Hun. Let us remember the woman who loved her heritage. Let us remember the woman who protected her children. Let us remember the woman who loved her grandbabies. Let us remember the woman who helped people when she could. Let us remember the woman who was an East Side OG. Let us remember Beverly exactly as she was—loud, funny, stubborn, loving, protective, beautiful, complicated, strong, and completely unforgettable. Beverly, we weren't ready to say goodbye. We still had more memories to make. More laughs to share. More pictures to take. More songs to dance to. More fishing trips. More camping. More holidays. More time. But even though you were taken from us too soon, you gave us a lifetime of memories that cancer can never take away. So go rest now, Beverly. No more pain. No more fighting. No more suffering. Go be with the loved ones who went before you. Dance. Laugh. Feel the rain. Watch over your babies. Watch over your grandbabies. And when we look up at the sky and feel the rain on our faces, we'll think of you. When we hear your favorite songs, we'll think of you. When we see a plant growing, we'll think of you. When Halloween comes around, we'll think of you. And when we see a picture of you sticking that tongue out, we'll smile through the tears and say: "That's our Beverly." You may have left this world, but you will never leave our hearts. We love you, Beverly. We will miss you every single day. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for protecting us. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for being you. Until we meet again... Rest peacefully, Beverly Rose Romero. **Your family loves you. Your friends love you. Your children love you. Your grandchildren love you. And you will forever be a part of us.** **Forever loved. Forever missed. Forever remembered. Forever our Beverly.**