Join this discussion with David. He brings to the spirituality table wisdom and experience as a husband, father, veteran, police officer, clergyman, author and poet. He has experienced success as well as loss and grief in his life as he has struggled with his wife's cancer, a child's suicide, loved ones with addictions, and now the death of his beloved wife of 40 years.
As I stumble along this path called "Life without Sabine," I find that I am weeping less and beginning to find joy in that wonderful, awesome life I lived with her -- thinking less about how sad I am and more towards the gratitude I feel for those forty years of finding a growing love together and, yes, our adventures! The crazy days of passion and self-abandonment, buying our wooded property, finding and raising children, pursuing separate, yet connected, careers, stumbling into God and ministry, serving two wonderful parishes, the cancer, the friends... the loss.
I am sure I am not alone in counting a loved one who has died during this pandemic as an addition to the 1/2 million who have died not OF the virus, but BECAUSE of it.
I mean, due to hospital restrictions, many people like Sabine chose NOT to go into the medical system for care because they did not want to get stuck there and die alone without family and loved ones present.
I am sure that without the Covid threat I could have gained a few more days with Sabine. We knew the end was coming, but I had to make a decision with her that was difficult; real “tough love:”
“No, I am not going call an ambulance and have her taken to the hospital where she may die alone without me. I made a promise to her and I am keeping it!” Over the years, this sacred promise to my beloved after her terminal cancer diagnosis was that I would be with her when she died and her preferred location was this old farmhouse. I would be with her and we would be supported by home hospice nurses. As difficult as it was, I had to say no to the medical advice from her physician and ER staff.
Did they try to talk me out of it? Of course, their job is to prolong lives (which means quantity tends to supersede quality). But after I explained our position, they agreed with us. After all these years in treatment, they knew Sabine was more interested in the quality of her life and me being with her when she died.
As we noted yesterday, 1/2 million Americans have died directly from this virus. But as for me, I will count Sabine’s death with those victims. At the same time, I know that life is really not about the time we have (although a few more days with her would have been nice) — but the quality of our time on earth — the love, compassion, kindness and helpfulness give to others; that’s what counts.
Rest in peace my dear, dear wife. For 14,600+ quality days we spent together including that last day, thank you. Thank you for choosing to love me. I want you to always know that inside me, along with the fiercest love possible, flows the deepest gratitude for being able to be with you and experience a well-spent life.
At the end of our first year struggling with cancer (2008), I wrote this poem, Looking back, it certainly summarized the wonderful life we had together — even after a year fighting this cancer. We now had been married for 27 years.
I wrote a poem for Sabine on this anniversary as I have done throughout the years. This was a scary year for both of us, we didn’t know how many more years we would have together. The current mortality data concerning multiple myeloma wasn’t very hopeful. It gave us about a maximum of two years — collaboratively, with love and being in an excellent cancer care center, we made it for 12 more!
(The first blog was posted earlier that year as a way to keep our extended group of family and close friends informed about Sabine’s illness and for me to process the almost overwhelming feelings I was experiencing. You can begin reading our journey HERE.)
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i often think of our life together like a immense photo album but the early photos are not black and white they are all techni-colored animated vibrating radiant they flash and dash like a documentary collage through my mind and now as we age the expectant colors slightly fade i look for them wanting them again the flashing dancing radiance instead i find myself walking with you along a path it seems like late fall the summer colors are gone but instead something is new again peaceful and calm we are filled with deeply rich tones tones of an old sepia print and we look at each other knowingly and fearlessly.
I have been struggling with whether or not I continue parish ministry. This week two liturgies, one on Ash Wednesday (remembering we are but dust) and an infant baptism this morning affirmed my direction, In these two events I was assured that this was still my call in the few remaining years of my life. It is what I have been called to do 25 years ago. This morning, it was God’s voice, a song from the cosmos, and the turning of The Great Mandela which picked me up from my mat of grief. A poem came out of this encounter on my drive home.
At first I thought I couldn’t continue my life as it was. At the same time, I was thinking about horseback riding; you know the advice, “After you fall off your horse, you need to get back on!”
With Sabine’s death, I had taken a big fall. How was I going to resume my life? And that quintessential question, “What will I be without Sabine?”
It had been almost a year since I had entered our small beloved church of St Peter’s in North Lake for worship. Now it was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of our 40 day preparation for celebrating Easter and Jesus’ resurrection.
Since Sabine’s death, I had struggled with going back into parish ministry. Would I be able to emotionally return to a parish we both had loved and served for the past 15 years?
So, last night was a big test. When I got in the car with my trusty canine, Mocha, (who always accompanied us on our nearly two-hour drive east on the interstate to North Lake) I tried to assess what I was feeling. I made familiar stops along the way, gassing-up, stopping at Starbucks and Panera in Madison for coffee and a breakfast sandwich.
I had worked out a liturgy that would enable us to make a safe return to church. I was 14 days out from my second Covid vaccination, yet I knew I still had to double-mask, distance, and sanitize. The church doors were left open,
medical screening questions were asked, and parishioners scheduled for 5-minute appointments to receive ashes and a communion host. I was able to greet each of them, “Welcome to St Peter’s!” and to thank them for their prayers and support since Sabine’s death.
What did I learn? This beloved community got me back on my horse. Yes, Lord, I can do this! Thank you (gratitude). You see, doing church is less about theology and right belief than about relationship. We humans desire to form beloved communities, places where we can love, be loved, and work on being less self-centered, more giving, and kind to others.
This is the tradition in which I was raised. As a Christian, Jesus is my way and I will not disparage your way (even if you think you do not have a way — but, of course, you do, even atheists have a way!). My call back to faith years ago affirmed that the Jesus-way works for me. And so I work to follow it and help others who are interested.
As a priest and pastor (and former cop), I am learning that it’s okay to ask for help, to lean on my community when I am having trouble standing. Last night, I learned once again what faith is about. Prayers and loving thoughts do matter. Dear people of St Peter's, thanks for lifting me up, bless you. Giddy-up!
Is happiness related to gratitude? Are we grateful because we are happy — or is it the other way around, because we are grateful we become happy?
Take a look at this short video about gratitude.
At this stage in my life I have decided to live more simply and share what I have learned along the way that may help others The cultivation of gratitude has been one of the things I have tried to practice. I know, it’s difficult to be grateful when your beloved has died. But do I focus on her death — or the beautiful life we had together? Can my gratefulness override my sorrow at losing her? I think so.
Nearing two months now after Sabine’s death, I am working on gratitude. Afte all, were not my early blogs a photo-essay which highlighted the wonderful life we shared together? For those of you who also are suffering a great loss (and for those of you which will most likely suffer your own one day, I share these learnings...
1. Do not hold back your tears and your sorrow. They cleanse the body and give reality to what’s happening inside of you. It is better to grieve now than stuffing your pain and having it surface years later after having eaten away your insides and destroyed your health!
2. Establish a daily routine which involves prayer/meditation and physical exercise time. My dog, Mocha, helps me here as she demands I take her for a walk every morning.
2. Focus forward. For me, it was important to consider the essential question, “Who am I without Sabine? I am still grappling with this question.
3. Sorrow can be overcoming. I developed my own survival plan: off-load unnecessary responsibilities, set a few personal goals, and some exciting things to do in the near future. {For me it was a camping trip to Florida next month to visit family and in August a trip to Russia to travel cross country on the trans Siberian railroad.)
4. Don’t forget to connect with those who love you — and let them love you! Even in this pandemic we can use social media to do this. I know, FaceTime isn’t Real Time — but it’s better than not making that connection.
I can report so far, so good... But I realize that I am just beginning this recovery phase and there will be, no doubt, challenges and low points ahead. But I intend to meet them with resolve and gratitude. Yes, I have lost something precious... but Sabine was a gift beyond words and her love and care for me will, with God’s help, sustain and continue to nurture me. I’d call it gratitude.
