We Need Each Other!

One of the Couper family reunions — connecting! This time it was houseboating on the Mississippi River strongly influenced by Sabine!

______________________________________

I received a thoughtful, caring note this morning from a total stranger. He wrote:

“I just read with sadness the news about your wife's passing. I wanted to send my wishes for peace and comfort in this difficult time.  We have not met, but I have been following your videos throughout the pandemic, and they have meant a great deal to me.  Thank you for your wisdom and moral courage.  Be well.”

I replied: “Thanks, John, you are kind. I think again and again, we are only here for a short while. We know that, yet we do not. One morning we wake up and realize this is over. Now the choice is before is. Do we live or not? And if we chose to live, how shall we act? Amidst this crushing loss, now 18 days into this strange territory, I am sensing her presence and my first steps toward healing. While we are separated during this pandemic, we are still connected in many powerful and emotional ways. That it what moves me slowly forward,” 

What I wrote back to him is true. It is because I am thinking about doing those short videos on life and living again. They sustained my from March until the presidential election. I will most likely sob through the first of them, but I am feeling a need to “walk and talk” again. (I hope you have been able to read the first of these blogs where I have told the story of Sabine’s death after 13 years in the cancer-struggle. I believe I have found some deep learning that will be of help to others who will, as most of us will one day, “close the eyes of their beloved”).

It got me thinking about Parker Palmer’s suggestion that we “let our lives speak.” When we speak, we teach. He writes in “Let Your Life Speak:”

“Self-care is never a selfish act - it is simply good stewardship of the only gift I have, the gift I was put on earth to offer others. Anytime we can listen to true self and give the care it requires, we do it not only for ourselves, but for the many others whose lives we touch.”

I have always thought that my blogging, whether about police, living during a pandemic, or thinking about death was my self-care. But alsoi sensed that it might help someone else as well.

I have now made a connection with each one of my eight children who, in their own ways, are also suffering. We are connecting with what we have available today— the internet and its video capabilities.

And I am finding that while we are physically separated by distance, there is still this important, life-giving and healing connection of family. (I had preached that to my congregation early in this pandemic that, though separated, we could through God’s spirt, still be connected. I think I was right in this understanding.)

The same time I feel this family connection of love, emotional support and shared grief, I feel the same buoyancy, a palatable “lifting up” from my church family and friends. Yes, we need each other — people do need people. Yes, I am in the process of healing.

If we are to thrive as human beings, we need connection. (Let me pause here to say “thank you” to all of you who have reached out to me in prayer, loving thoughts, and compassionate notes. You are helping me slowly put together a shattered heart.

But I admit that I blog (which is really electronic, open journaling) primarily for myself, for survival, for processing my life, and seeking to let it speak and be brought to full health. The last year, 2020, was a rough one; a tough and tumble year for all of us. I was often hearing Barbara Streisand sing “People” from the Broadway musical, “Funny Girl.” People really do need people!

I chose life! I chose to let my life speak; to let you know about my road forward — it may also be your path. For you, too, may have to do what I did — to close the eyes of your beloved.

I hope to be able to show a way; not the only way, but a way that seems to be work for me. It’s what I have learned so far in this mortal world.

The questions are: How now shall we proceed? How shall we act? 

Amidst my crushing loss and grief, l now 18 days into it, I sense Sabine’s presence here in this old farmstead; the home she loved for all our 40 years together. Through it and the power of place, I take my first steps forward. 

While we all experience separation, even loneliness, and even depression, during this pandemic, we can still connect. That feeling of connection is what moves me down the road.

I believe this is true, because I am thinking about doing those short videos on life and living again. I will most likely sob through the first of them, but I am feeling a need to “walk and talk” once more. (I hope you have been able to read the first of my blogs beginning December 25 (the day after Sabine died). In it I told the story of her dying after 13 years in the cancer-struggle. I believe I have found some deep learnings which will be of help to others who will, one day, be left behind to “close the eyes of their beloved”).

I pray that the coming year will be a better, kinder, healthier, and peaceful year for all of us.

Thanks for being here.

A large wall hanging given to us by our kids after one summer reunion. Sabine had another reunion scheduled this summer with a Bluegrass band, tend, and barbecue, but the event had to be cancelled because of the pandemic. Our last gala event was five years ago here at the farm.

Where’s Your Learning?

Has it been over two weeks? It cannot be. Maybe two or three days since she died — not fifteen!

Twenty-five years ago and after seminary, I enrolled in a year’s residency called Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at Meriter Hospital in Madison. It was a life-changing event for me. Before, Sabine got sick, she would tell me that she, too, wanted that experience and put it on her “bucket list.” Unfortunately, she did not get that opportunity, but she did actively walk with me through this intensive, learning process about life, death, and dying. 

One of the primary questions that always arose from our group meetings was “Where’s the learning?” Or, now that you have experienced this situation, this event, what have you learned? This became a welcomed mantra in my ministry and life with Sabine. 

We can ask ourselves, now that this relationship is broken, where is the learning? Now that we are retired, where is the learning? Now that we lost our job, where is the learning? Now that your loved one has died, where is the learning?

This, of course is not new in human evolution. It is long-standing, ageless wisdom, a wisdom that asks us to reflect on our actions and where we find ourselves; an effort to learn and grow, to improve.

So what have I learned since Sabine died?

1. Fear is dangerous. Grief and loss are like fear (CS Lewis) and in the face of it, I wanted to run away. But I am learning to resists running away. I am practicing being more courageous.

2. People matter. In the face of not wanting to live life without her, I though about going with her. If I did, I would be rejecting all I had said I believed, taught and preached. I could not do this. I sensed my friends and family members praying for me. It would not “let my life speak” (Parker Palmer) the truth I professed.

3. Touch matters (hugs!). LIving in a pandemic creates necessary isolation. This can lead to loneliness and depression. Being able to form a nearby “pod” with best friends Jeff and Bonnie are (hugs, a meal, and Netflix) was a major step toward healing my shattered heart. I don’t think this could be done with strangers. Jeff and Bonnie knew me and Sabine intimately and had been on our long cancer journey with us from day one. They came to the hospital when Sabine and I learned about the presence of cancer. Friends with history matter especially.

4. Faith matters. Without hope, faith in a loving and present God, I would not have made it. I had no anger towards God. We all know the situation == everyone of us will die — there are no exceptions (sorry). The challenge is in the question: “How now we will we choose to live?” Faith in a loving God enabled me to say to God and Sabine, “Thank you, thank you for 40 years of life with this amazing woman. Thank you for the years beyond the medical prognosis of a 2-year “date of expiration!” (As another dear family friend would say when we all camped together in the mountains. “Look out there, David, the only response can be “gratitude!”).

5. Love matters. My love for her is bigger, more spiritual, more eternal, than I ever thought. While I was afraid being in our farmhouse would be lonely and unbearable, I found the opposite. I deeply sense her presence (reminding me of John’s Denver’s song to Annie, “You fill up my senses...”). I deeply sense her presence even in the bed on which she died. And it is not only a presence of location but also of physicality. I sense her (with God’s help) healing the heart of the broken man she left behind and who still, always, will deeply love her. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Love can be eternal.

Whew! So that’s my learning so far. I am sure more awaits me in this fantastic life and the good earth we have been given.

May your day be blessed.

Come, Walk with Me!

Will you walk with me? As I try to cope with the death of Sabine, wife, companion, lover, best friend, muse, you may want to come and walk with me through this blog site. I say this, because we may be able to learn some difficult things together.

Let us remember that there is nothing more certain in our life than death. Everyone of us will die. And some of us, will be, as I say, left behind to “close the eyes” of a beloved spouse, friend or child.

Are you prepared for this? In my life’s experience I would have to sat, we prepared, we did the “right” things along this 13-year journey. But when it happened, I was not prepared for the glut-wrenching, flooding, lonely pain Sabine’s death caused in me. I, too, wanted to die, wanted to just run away.

I simply cannot imagine what her death would have done to me without out conversations about it, writing obituaries, our faith, and teaching others about “final choices.”

So, how did we prepare? When we received Sabine’s terminal cancer diagnosis in 2007 we were faced with a choice. We could either avoid it or embrace it. And I was lucky enough to have a woman in my life who believed the same that I did — we embrace this just as we did every other challenging event in our lives — when we encounter lemons, we make lemonade; we “seize the day!” We prepare. We decided to embrace the journey ahead of us — each day we were given, we seized it; we grabbed hold of it.. The short videos on YouTube we made last year are good examples.

We seized through the suicide death of one of my sons, we seized through kidney failure, a stem cell transplant, a failed effort for a kidney transplant, falls resulting in broken bones, a growth on her spinal cord, and just about every chemical and method known by science to arrest those cancer cells in her blood

And we went about this daily “seizing” for 13 years. When we met and fell in love we decided to be a team — team efforts are always better than individual efforts — especially a team of lovers!. Sabine always said, “Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful!” It’s true. It wasn’t perfect, but all in all, it was wonderful!

Now about retirement:

During my working years, I thought of retirement as something to go TO; an opportunity continue to grow; to even soar; not an end, a new beginning. I think I did that. I followed the advice that I gave to many of my officers who were thinking about retiring: “The question is not about leaving from, but going to. Where you are going? What are you going to do during those 20 to 30 years of your life in which you will be retired?

I often spiced up the advice by telling a story about a senior officer who had retired a number of years ago. After only a few years of retirement, he died. “You remember him don’t you?,” I would say, “He loved two things in life, bowling and drinking beer, but after he retired, you may remember, he gave up bowling.”

The story illustrates one of the challenges in our culture — the use of alcohol (and other drugs) to deal with life’s pains, depressions and disappointments.

I wanted to make sure I had something go to when I retired. And God Almiighty was more than gracious to provide me with a suggestion. (Another interesting story!) A week after I retired, and with the blessing of my dear Sabine, who had her concerns, I went off to seminary with her blessing.

I am now approaching another retirement brought about by Sabine’s death: retiring from being her loving partner and focused on her care. I am still blessed to be still serving a small Episcopal congregation near Milwaukee as we try and negotiate being a community “separate, yet connected.”

Just this week, a friend forwarded me a copy of Arthur Brooks’ article in “The Atlantic” magazine from last May. It was about “the hero’s journey” and why so many people (especially men), find themselves unhappy in retirement. 

In the article, Brooks wisely observes this about retiring:

“Plan to spend the last part of your life serving others, loving your family and friends, and being a good example to those still in the first three stages of their own hero’s journey. Happiness in retirement depends on your choice of narrative.”

This advice parallels the Hindu tradition of a man’s life (I write “man” because it seems to me that this is something men, more than women, struggle with. But I may be wrong).

In the Hindu tradition, a man goes through four stages in life: Student, Householder, Retired, and Renunciator. The last stage is the act of stripping oneself of all attachments; giving away all possessions and, literally, going about in loincloth and begging bowl! (You can read more about these stages HERE).

I am not yet at the fourth stage, but this does call me to think about its great potential to foster a person’s spiritual growth!

As for now, I am content in trying to do what Brooks suggests: to serve, love, and be a good example. Yet, within that, I hear the “Householder” in me saying, “Yes, David, but what are you going to DO — what’s your chosen narrative going to be?

What about you? What stage are you in life? And, yes, what’s your chosen narrative? What are you going to DO once you are retired and not hero-struggle? 

I can tell you that retirement will not be like your work days, but the choices you make could find you living in a very satisfying time of your life. Even with cancer, Sabine and I found a life of satisfaction and worth.

I will leave you with this piece of wisdom, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”

We press on — we dance! 

I invite you to follow this blog as we embrace this journey and share what’s going on in our lives.

“She Was a Wonderful Light...”

 A Note From One of Sabine’s Physicians

“Dear David, I was so sorry to hear about Sabine. Dawn (Sabine’s dialysis nurse for 12 years) told me she wrote her own obituary which was so endearing and just like her. I read it after another friend saw it posted. 

“As you probably know, she was absolutely my favorite patient during my entire medical career. I loved hearing her stories

of how she got into accidents and the adventures you two took. 

“She was a wonderful light in this often dark world. Life is so short, yet she lived it to the fullest. There are countless people she has touched on her journey. I am lucky to be just one of them. 

“Please take care of yourself. May God’s blessing and love be with your family.”

You Are My Sunshine

Sabine is, and always will be, my sunshine...

In my grief, I don’t want to lose a most poignant and touching night the day before she died. 

It was the day she asked me if she stopped treatment what would think. I immediately burst into tears, Yet I assured her I would be with her and keep my promise not to take her to the hospital.

That night, I suddenly awoke with the melody and lyrics of that old country tune, “You Are My Sunshine.” I hummed it to myself. But in the morning, and through the day, I kept singing it.

The next night, approaching Christmas Eve and her death, I kept singing it off and on. After coffe-time, I asked her if she heard me sing during the night. She gave me “the look” and said, “I did, David, but I just wanted quiet...” Which prompted me to say, “Yes, but you will always be my sunshine!” Yes!

“You Are My Sunshine” by Kina Grannis

When We Met Mr.Cancer: December 30, 2007!

 On December 30, thirteen years ago, our life changed —Sabine, my 54-year-old wife of 27 years, was in the hospital and all was looking very grim. 

I vividly remember those crazy, fear-filled days when I thought I was losing her. When I searched online, it revealed a short life-span was in store for those diagnosed with the fatal blood cancer disease called “multiple myeloma.” And on top of all this, the cancer caused her kidneys to fail and we were looking a routine dialysis as well as a stem cell transplant and various chemotherapies.    

How did we proceed and not give up? How did Sabine, with a team of great physicians and nurses, and a loving, passionate husband, fully live and additional 14 years until December of 2020?

Along the way, how did they discuss death and dying and those “final decisions” with a sense of love and integrity? It’s all on these two blog sites.

For those of you who, perhaps, may just be entering life with cancer, and those who love and care for you, our story, told on this blog, beginning with the first post on December 30, 2007, may be helpful and just what you need.

For our story is about hope, love, teamwork, and carpe deim (seizing each day which we are given by our Creator).

Sabine often said to me, her children, friends and caregivers, “Remember, life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful!” And though not perfect, with many bumps and tears, it was, nevertheless, WONDERFUL!

Grieving

Grief

Poetry is a path forward for me as a smothering grief slowly and painfully, but slowly, opens and I begin, haltingly, to breathe again.. 

I find that in John O’Donohue’s poem, “For Grief.”

Gradually, you will learn acquaintance

With the invisible form of your departed;

And when the work of grief is done,

The wound of loss will heal

And you will have learned

To wean your eyes

From that gap in the air

And be able to enter the hearth

In your soul where your loved one

Has awaited your return all the time.

___________________

It is my faith that finds peace among my sorrow, tells me what I believe is true, gives me the courage to go on, and helps me to find the welcoming “hearth in my soul.” Amen.

The Cancer

From “Restoration Point”

I WISH I DIDN’T LOVE YOU SO MUCH
I wish I didn't feel your pain and fear
but then what would that be?
what would I be?
we became one flesh that beautiful, cold, wind-swept day so long ago
and now we two cannot be separated
and what you feel
brings the sadness you see in my eyes.

THE BRICKWALL OPENS
but into a long dark tunnel
what was once unthinkable
has become passable
we hesitatingly, warily
enter
with cautious first steps
we move forward
can we live in this tunnel?
will this darkness stifle our lives?
no, no!
because we walk together
look!
a light breaks through.
 
 
YOU AWAKE​
your face shines
glistening with tears
but it's not sadness
it's self-knowing
it's the place
and the peace which
passes all understanding
in awe
i sit and listen
your self-knowledge
the depth of your compassion
and yes concern for others
a feather slowly falls
and rests on your pillow.

IN THE SOFT
morning shadows
you lay sleeping
i see your dreams
spreading across your face
some known to me
some unknown
which ones have i thwarted?
which have i helped?
we lay together
waking over 10 thousand times
and now
like two marines on a beach head
each morning matters
every one
we cannot go back
only press on
to that which we cannot know
or even imagine
we get up
brushing sand off our clothes
and advance
together.

WE TALKED TODAY
surrounded by huge white
cotton-ball snowflakes falling from the sky
why are we not angry?
shouldn’t we be angry?
this life suddenly shifted
is it because we have the fulfilled life?
a life rich in blessings?
shouldn’t we be angry?
this life of ours forever changed
t-boned and veering out of control
maybe it’s because we realize
our passing nature
the we are all deadmen walking
but for us the in-between
has been so wonderful
so complete
yet as we talk
our tears begin
to fall
with
the snowflakes.

Restoration Point

                                  The Sabine Poems                                        

 

On Love, Pain and Death

 On Love

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth...

On Pain

Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore, trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity: For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the hand of the Unseen. And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears...

On Death

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and earth are one, even as the river and the sea are one… For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free that breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered...? And when death shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

“The Prophet,” Kahlil Gibran

Courting Sabine

The Sabine Poems

(Excerpts from “The Courtship”)

I AM DRIFTING
floating with the chinadoll
so delicate
so pure
will she easily break?
her colors patterns texture
fascinate
and disrupt my direction
chinadoll
can i admire your fragility
reach into your being
without breaking
your beautiful outer shell?

TODAY
while i was alone
for a whole weekend
i spent it looking
for a quiet snowstorm place
to be with you
i found such a place
it made me happy.
 
 
I WANT TO KNOW
why you led me away
why you
why
it’s like i
why?
i’m afraid to say i love you
yet why i do
i do not know
you’re the new woman in
my life
and
like the ones before you
i love you
more
than i did them
and will i love
the next one
more
than
you
or are you truly
my endbeginning?

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND
nor realize
the immensity magnetism and pull
of me to your self my alter body
you refuse to hear words
mere sounds
easy to say you say
you won’t listen to my special sounds
deep you-sounds
if you won’t hear my words
listen to my body
hear my touch
my exploration of you
listen to my eyes
my heartsounds
hear how i hold you many hours after
listen to my emptiness when you leave
hear
you must hear my tenderness
it’s just not fair
you’re not listening to my words and
you’re not hearing my self
but would please stop a moment and
look way ahead
and notice that i’ve been with you
all these
many years.

The Sabine Poems

This is My Story, This is My Song...

 “Where’s the learning?” I think this was something I picked up at the start of my shift from top cop to priest-pastor. After seminary (25+ years ago) a wise bishop, Roger White, sent this cop who was in the process of transforming for a year residency in Clinical Pastoral Education at Meriter Hospital before he would ordain me. 

That’s where I met my best friend, Jeff Billerbeck. He was my pastoral supervisor for a year (I think he had his hands full with me!). After my training, we agreed to be friends and I have played a major role in his life as he has in mine over the past quarter century.

So, what am I learning through the most severe pain of loss I have ever experienced in my 80+ years? After being present at a lot of deaths I have learned some things. But talking about death and experiencing it first hand with the love of your life is another thing. Sabine’s death has tested me to my limits.

To say your relationship to a partner, a mate, was special is one thing. I had experienced loving relationships with women in my past — but nothing, no nothing like I experienced with Sabine. I am so lucky, so blessed to have been able to live with this woman and love her (almost) selflessly. Somehow, God chose me to be her husband.

Sabine taught me, no transformed me, to be a better person (truly). Years ago, a psychotherapist friend of ours warned us that we were “joined at the hip.” And we replied, “so what?” Joined-at-the-hip we were. (Modern psychotherapy aside!) Yet, this meant that the danger her was when one died, the other might also die.

You see, I really learned real love from her. I didn’t do a very good job in two previous marriages. I was career-oriented and career orientation does little to help improve a spousal relationship. Most people have one or the other.This time, I chose the latter.

Twenty-eight year old Sabine said to 43 year old David, “If I choose to be with you, you must get control of your work hours.” And I did. From the moment I fell in love with her during a group dinner following her graduation from the police academy in 1980, she mattered — and she mattered above all else; even my job as chief of police.

I was willing to quit my job, but Sabine said, no, one of us has to leave and let it be me. I’ll find a new job. And she did. First as the city bicycle-pedestrian coordinator in the transportation department and then as a police officer in the state capitol. (She retired 20 years later having attained the rank of captain.) But I still remember her tearfully telling me about turning in her equipment at the Madison PD. Like many women who joined Madison police, it was a transforming and empowering experience.

From 1980 to 1993, she influenced most of my work (especially those years during Madison’s quality initiative). In our marriage (which is another crazy, fun, adventure story) she became my very best friend, passionate lover, and muse. At her marriage a gave her a book of 151 hand-written courtship poems. 

I had never met a woman like her. We adopted three great kids — she loved them — but (sorry kids) she always let me know that she loved me best because after the children grew up, she still wanted us to be a team. Oh, a team we were as we approached life’s problems.

After I met Sabine, no one else ever would ever cause my mind or hands to wander. She filled up everyone of my emotional and physical needs for forty years. So, that’s why I cared, loved her like I did. And I choose to think that I did the same for her.

To be able to care for her those days and years before she died; to understand that her request and decision to die well was that I would be able to give an enormous, love-filled gift to her — my final thanks for the most incredible, satisfying, remarkable relationship in my life!

I was surprised to realize today, New Year’s Day, that a week had passed since my lover had died. It seems like yesterday. Those few days after she decided not to go to the hospital without me being with her (due to Covid-19 restrictions) and to cease medical treatment (chemotherapy and dialysis) after a 12 year struggle, was the greatest test in my life to be able to practice what I had learned and how now to best love her.

You see, I concentrated on death and dying issues during my residency and in my practice as a priest. I knew most of us avoided talking about death… we were “whistlers;” tip-toeing past the presence of death in our lives. I became a strong advocate of making final arrangements and using hospice care. 

Afte all, is not death a part of life? I often said (and preached), “I see that you’re in a committed, loving relationship. Are you prepared the close the eyes of your loved one? For one of you will most likely die before the other.”

How did I prepare? What did I learn? I learned to prepare myself, my mind, my relationship with God, to be the sort of person who lovingly prepares to be able to “close the eyes” of a loved one. 

Twelve years ago (almost to the day), Sabine received a crushing medical diagnosis, a blood cancer (multiple myeloma) had been found and, on top of that, it had sudddenly wiped out her kidneys. In addition to a stem cell transplant and chemotherapy, she would have to undergo dialysis. So we decided to train to learn how to do a better form of dialysis — hemodialysis, five days a week, in our home. Thanks to modern technology there existed a portable “magic machine.” And as me serving as her caregiver we could do it together! With her enthusiasm and vivacious essence, we prolonged her life far beyond the 18 months to two years she was expected to live. 

She never let the cancer negatively affect her life as we travelled with that 80 pound machine tovacations in Florida, hiking in Glacier Park, on a train to San Antonio, in a camper, and on our boat. Her motto was “carpe dime;” seize the day! And seize we did!

And so when Sabine decided to cease treatment, the end came quickly, a few days — and only one of those days in formal hospice care. The day before Christmas Eve Sabine was very tired. I had to assist her in moving and toileting. She just wanted to sleep, In those few days before her death she would often go to bed in the afternoon and awake 18 hours later. During the night I would check her breathing and touch her body in case she was running a fever. So many nights over the years I did these acts to reassure me that she was still alive.

When Sabine’s death came, I had just moved her to our bed. We had, a hour before. received an oxygen machine. Just in time as she needed it as her breathing labored. We had just received oral morphine from the pharmacy, but I was told to call the nurse before I gave it to her. I called. 

I went back to our bed and helped her adjust the oxygen. Suddenly, she gasped, and threw her head back, I checked her pulse (and restrained myself from doing CPR, something I had one to save three other persons in the past). She did not want me to resuscitate her. With difficulty, I honored her request.

I knew that my learning needed to kick in as I closed her eyes. Just the past week I read a moving article in “Christian Century” reminding ud that beauty can be found in tragedy. I was realized that it is true — I could create beauty in the face of this hollowing, gut-renching tragedy.

And so, after closing her eyes, I laid her down. I sobbed and sobbed. I kissed her face and lips. I turned and lit the candle in our bedroom. Put on Gregorian chant music. I got a warm bowl of water and washed her naked body. I dressed her, read a liturgy for the dying from the Book of Common Prayer, and I anointed her with holy oil and kissed her again. I burned incense, placed a rose on her breast, and sat with her.

Then it was time for our scheduled online worship. I quietly joined our congregation’s Christmas mass through Zoom. Earlier this morning I had asked my best friend and fellow pastor, Jeff, to leading this worship from his home just down the road from me. Only a couple of hours earlier, he and his wife, Bonnie, were with me just after Sabine died and now he was filling in for me on this most sacred night of Christendom.

I was able to keep Sabine’s with me overnight — a vigil of crying and singing a song that I had started to sing to her a few days earlier — “You Are My Sunshine.” Soon morning came. The morticians arrived. I asked them to please blow the candle out when they left. Our dog, Mocha, and I then took a tear-filled, sad, yet thankful, walk in our woods on a trail Sabine and I had walked daily. I was thankful I did what she asked me to do — a final gift.

I was found beauty in the face of loss and tragedy and I was able to fulfill the request Sabine made from me at the start of her illness; that when the end came I would be with her at our farm we called “New Journey.” And thus it is and always was.

Forty years ago, we purchased this land. On Christmas Day, I walked up the trail to the spot where we celebrated our purchase that day. We carried two glasses and a bottle of champagne with us. I stood this morning on the spot we celebrated that day by making love in those woods.

This is my story and this is my song. This is what I learned in my life with Sabine. I hope it will help you with your learning and that one day, you too will be prepared to close the eyes of your loved one and find beauty in tragedy.

God bless you and may God give me the strength to live without her physical presence and continue to be the man she always loved. Amen.