Tag Archives: Death Of A Spouse

Death of a Spouse

Finding Hope, Healing and Purpose After the Death of a Spouse

My first wife died in 1998 after a long illness. I was 41, widowed, and an only parent to two young boys. Now what? Many days I toiled with despair, hopelessness and questions. Many questions. St. Paul writes in Romans 8:28, “We know in everything God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.” To be honest, it’s hard to see the light when you’re in the thicket of grief. His purpose was not my purpose. But fifteen years later, through God’s grace, that has changed. The suffering we all went through has today revealed a beautiful ministry of hope, healing and purpose.

Below are portions from my memoir, The Greatest Gift-A Return to Hope.

~~~~

I wrote the vast majority of this book seven to eight years after Ann died. I think I needed some smooth waters to sail my boat on. I penned my words in, of all places, my dining room, on the same table Ann and I bought when we were first married. The same table she made things on, and at which the four of us enjoyed many great meals together.

As I wrote, things seemed to fall into my lap, like phone calls from old friends at just the right time with more descriptive views of what happened. I found writings that Ann made years ago and I think she’d hope they would find their way into print. It felt like all these years later, Ann was still orchestrating things.

We have all moved on now, the boys and I, and all who loved Ann. It’s what she wanted us to do and with her help, we have. You can’t go around grief, the circle brings you back. You march through it. Through the storms, sometimes crying with your head slung low off your shoulders, aching from your heels to your ears, and ironically, it’s the pain that gets you through the pain. Living it, owning it, allowing it to take up residence in you for a while, pouring out your tears to the moon on some bench in the middle of the night, your agonizing screams cutting through the thin cold air.

It’s the pain that gets you through the pain. You follow it. You feel it. It beats you down and builds you back up. It leaves you empty so you can be full again. Without this pain, you’re lost and numb, following a path that leads you back to the same bench and the same screams, slightly muted maybe, a different day, all else untouched.

Moving on doesn’t mean letting go. She’ll always be with me. I have relocated her now to an accepting part of my heart that comforts the memories and messages. She more than anyone has made me into the person I am today. I have merged back into traffic, the wind at my back, a smile on my face, and joy back in my heart. I feel lucky to have lived a good part of my life with her, and every time I look at my two handsome sons she comes back to me and reminds me of what we once had. That can never be taken away. That’s forever.

This journey took me to classrooms I would never have seen and taught me things I would never have known. I know now that the lessons are not in the hardships, they are choosing how to respond to them. I first learned how to grieve, and then I learned how to live. We are all faced with adversity in our lives, some more profound than others, but all these challenges we deal with are designed to teach us something, and when they don’t, it’s no one’s fault but our own.

At the end of her life, Ann gave back all she had left to give and took nothing with her but the love she had for us in her heart. She told me on one of those final days that she felt “blessed to have loved and been loved my so many wonderful people.”

We were blessed too.

~~~~

The ministry of hope, healing, and purpose is called Good Mourning Ministry, a Catholic bereavement apostolate, co-founded by my wife Sandy and myself. Sandy has been through her own grief journey, and we now feel called to help others who mourn. This ministry was founded in 2011, but the call from above came in 2010 during time before our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.

I have come to learn there are no stages to grief. We all experience loss in our own unique way. Healing is an intentional process, where we gather together as a community of faith to become disciples of hope. It is through prayerful reflection, practical learning and personal fellowship that we mourn. And in mourning we begin to build our bridge to a new and different life.

Sandy and I have held over 40 “Grieving with Great Hope” workshops with Catholic parishes throughout Michigan and Ohio, supporting the needs of over 1000 grieving people. The “Grieving with Great Hope” DVD Series is now in many parishes throughout the country. “Every parish should have your program. We are so grateful to have found GWGH and welcome it to Central Texas.”  – Deacon Tim and Liz Hayden, Holy Family Parish Copperas Cove, TX.

Sandy and I have not only lived our own grief journeys, but we are now educated as well. In addition to being a published author, I am a Certified Grief Counselor. Sandy has a Master’s in Pastoral Ministry, emphasis in bereavement. Above all else, we too are disciples of HOPE. We are blessed.

For more information about The Greatest Gift or Good Mourning Ministry, please visit our website at http://www.goodmourningministry.net, or email us: goodmourningministry@hotmail.com.

Good Mourning Ministry is a Catholic bereavement apostolate. Our mission is to be a transformative ministry, to be bearers of hope and healing to those who mourn the loss of a loved one. The “Grieving with Great Hope” workshops are prayerful, practical and personal. About one-third of the time is spent in church, some of which is before the exposed Blessed Sacrament. The remaining time is used for learning and sharing in small groups. For more information, visit www.goodmourningministry.net.

Related Articles:

Hope, Healing and Purpose After the Death of a Spouse

My first wife died in 1998 after a long illness. I was 41, widowed, and an only parent to two young boys. Now what? Many days I toiled with despair, hopelessness and questions. Many questions. St. Paul writes in Romans 8:28, “We know in everything God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.” To be honest, it’s hard to see the light when you’re in the thicket of grief. His purpose was not my purpose. But fifteen years later, through God’s grace, that has changed. The suffering we all went through has today revealed a beautiful ministry of hope, healing and purpose.

Below are portions from my memoir, The Greatest Gift-A Return to Hope.

———————————

I wrote the vast majority of this book seven to eight years after Ann died. I think I needed some smooth waters to sail my boat on. I penned my words in, of all places, my dining room, on the same table Ann and I bought when we were first married. The same table she made things on, and at which the four of us enjoyed many great meals together.

As I wrote, things seemed to fall into my lap, like phone calls from old friends at just the right time with more descriptive views of what happened. I found writings that Ann made years ago and I think she’d hope they would find their way into print. It felt like all these years later, Ann was still orchestrating things.

We have all moved on now, the boys and I, and all who loved Ann. It’s what she wanted us to do and with her help, we have. You can’t go around grief, the circle brings you back. You march through it. Through the storms, sometimes crying with your head slung low off your shoulders, aching from your heels to your ears, and ironically, it’s the pain that gets you through the pain. Living it, owning it, allowing it to take up residence in you for a while, pouring out your tears to the moon on some bench in the middle of the night, your agonizing screams cutting through the thin cold air.

It’s the pain that gets you through the pain. You follow it. You feel it. It beats you down and builds you back up. It leaves you empty so you can be full again. Without this pain, you’re lost and numb, following a path that leads you back to the same bench and the same screams, slightly muted maybe, a different day, all else untouched.

Moving on doesn’t mean letting go. She’ll always be with me. I have relocated her now to an accepting part of my heart that comforts the memories and messages. She more than anyone has made me into the person I am today. I have merged back into traffic, the wind at my back, a smile on my face, and joy back in my heart. I feel lucky to have lived a good part of my life with her, and every time I look at my two handsome sons she comes back to me and reminds me of what we once had. That can never be taken away. That’s forever.

This journey took me to classrooms I would never have seen and taught me things I would never have known. I know now that the lessons are not in the hardships, they are choosing how to respond to them. I first learned how to grieve, and then I learned how to live. We are all faced with adversity in our lives, some more profound than others, but all these challenges we deal with are designed to teach us something, and when they don’t, it’s no one’s fault but our own.

At the end of her life, Ann gave back all she had left to give and took nothing with her but the love she had for us in her heart. She told me on one of those final days that she felt “blessed to have loved and been loved my so many wonderful people.”

We were blessed too.

——————————-

The ministry of hope, healing, and purpose is called Good Mourning Ministry, a Catholic bereavement apostolate, co-founded by my wife Sandy and myself. Sandy has been through her own grief journey, and we now feel called to help others who mourn. This ministry was founded in 2011, but the call from above came in 2010 during time before our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.

I have come to learn there are no stages to grief. We all experience loss in our own unique way. Healing is an intentional process, where we gather together as a community of faith to become disciples of hope. It is through prayerful reflection, practical learning and personal fellowship that we mourn. And in mourning we begin to build our bridge to a new and different life.

Sandy and I have held over 40 “Grieving with Great Hope” workshops with Catholic parishes throughout Michigan and Ohio, supporting the needs of over 1000 grieving people. The “Grieving with Great Hope” DVD Series is now in many parishes throughout the country. “Every parish should have your program. We are so grateful to have found GWGH and welcome it to Central Texas.” – Deacon Tim and Liz Hayden, Holy Family Parish Copperas Cove, TX.

Sandy and I have not only lived our own grief journeys, but we are now educated as well. In addition to being a published author, I am a Certified Grief Counselor. Sandy has a Master’s in Pastoral Ministry, emphasis in bereavement. Above all else, we too are disciples of HOPE. We are blessed.

For more information about The Greatest Gift or Good Mourning Ministry, please visit our website at http://www.goodmourningministry.net, or email us: goodmourningministry@hotmail.com.

Good Mourning Ministry is a Catholic bereavement apostolate. Our mission is to be a transformative ministry, to be bearers of hope and healing to those who mourn the loss of a loved one. The “Grieving with Great Hope” workshops are prayerful, practical and personal. About one-third of the time is spent in church, some of which is before the exposed Blessed Sacrament. The remaining time is used for learning and sharing in small groups. For more information, visit www.goodmourningministry.net.

Related Articles:

Till Death Do Us Part

The following is an excerpt from the book It Is Well: Life in the Storm by Chris Faddis, shared with permission from the author and Carmel Communications. In his book, Chris writes about finding out on Easter Sunday 2011 that his wife Angela had terminal colon cancer. She died 17 months later at age 32, leaving behind her grieving husband and two young children. It Is Well is a story of grief, love, loss, and faith.

To purchase It Is Well, please visit http://itiswellbook.com.

I sat with Angela as much as I could, holding her hand, playing music and praying many prayers, yet I would find myself feeling very restless and anxious. There is no more helpless feeling than sitting by a loved one’s side waiting for them to die. I felt as if I should be doing something. To move away from the instincts of trying to help her live, of doing everything I could to fight this disease, towards suddenly giving up was painful and heart wrenching. I had discerned our decision to move Angela home with hospice care with the help of very knowledgeable friends who walked me through the process of making this decision. It was clear that Angela’s body was in the pre-active dying process, and that there really was nothing we could do to stop it. One friend posed the decision this way: “At some point it is time to surrender to God and if she is in the pre-active dying process, it might be that time to accept death.”

I was confident that we had made the right choice, but as I sat in her room, I felt helpless and useless. I would rethink my decisions and question myself. “Am I giving up too soon?” This wasn’t helped, of course, by a few well-meaning people who voiced that they thought I was giving up hope. So in my restlessness and uneasiness I would pace, find things to do and find myself getting frustrated. As I would come back into the room, I would look at Angela’s peaceful face, and I would realize that my only job was to just be present to her and to wait patiently with her for death. When I finally surrendered to this reality, that my only job was to just be present to her, I felt an incredible peace.

hands

Chris Faddis holding his wife Angela’s hand

One particular afternoon, just a few days before she died, I sat with Angela and held her hand as I read to her. She would occasionally look up and listen or smile. I would tell her how much I loved and cherished her and she would respond with a faint response. At one point she whispered, “I always knew you would cherish me to the end.” As she fell back to sleep, I looked down at our hands and her ring was missing. It had fallen off several times, as Angela was so frail that it was now too large for her finger. She had placed it on the table next to her bed. I picked up the ring and placed it on her finger and held her hand again. I gazed upon our hands, reflecting on that ring and what it symbolized, on our hands and the symbolism of husband and wife walking hand in hand through life. I thought about the first time we held hands. It was on our first date to Cirque du Soleil. At one point Angela had moved her hand near mine and then gently touched my hand. I took her hand till the crowd erupted in applause and a standing ovation. Angela never admitted to holding my hand that night. She would say, “I did not hold your hand that night. I wasn’t ready.” I would laugh and remind her of the many things she did during that time of friendship – when she supposedly did not want to date yet – like lean on me, touch my hand, and even press her cheek against mine for a long time, as if to wait for a kiss. She would laugh at me and say, “Whatever, I was not that forward.” I then thought about when we did finally hold hands after we were “officially” dating. There is something remarkable about holding hands when you are falling in love.

Many people say it’s in the kiss that you know, or it’s love at first sight; I tend to think it’s in the hands. Holding hands was not always romantic, but holding hands was our constant connection to one another. Even when in an argument or a difficult conversation, we would often hold hands. When Angela was struggling with depression, I held her hands many times just to calm her, to soothe her, to help her feel supported. Angela, too, would hold my hand when I was having a hard day or down about my job situation or our financial hurdles. A simple touch of her hand would instantly soothe me.

Through Angela’s cancer journey, holding hands had become our primary form of intimacy. Whether Angela was receiving chemotherapy, waiting for surgery or simply resting at home, we would spend lots of time holding hands, talking, praying and simply being present. As I held her hand during this seventeen-month journey, I would often squeeze and hold her hand very tight as I thought about losing her, as if I could somehow hold her tight enough to keep her from dying. Now sitting in our room as she lie in wait for death, holding her hand was literally all I had left. She could hardly speak or even acknowledge my words; I simply had to hold her hand to communicate my love and to be sure she knew she was not alone. Indeed, I would be there till the end.

As I thought about her hands, I also thought about that ring, the one I gave her as I asked her to be my bride and the ring that stood as a symbol of this life-long Sacrament of Marriage. With that ring came our promise to love one another fully and completely until death came for one of us. The wedding ring speaks of permanence, of commitment, of an unbreakable bond between a husband and wife. Yet that ring could not bind her any longer; it could not keep her from dying, and it certainly could not keep her from heaven.

As I sat in this moment, I wanted to capture our hands one last time. I took a picture that I later shared. It is the image of us holding hands with Angela’s ring as the focal point of the image.
 A week or so earlier I had verbally told Angela that she was free to go home. My words on that day were, “You took my hand and you have loved me well. When Jesus comes and offers you his hand, you are free to go.” After taking the picture of our hands I felt I should say those words again. So I wrote them down and then read them to Angela:

“Till Death”

As if I could keep you longer, I placed this ring back on your finger today. It had fallen off a few times.

Oh, that this ring could keep you here longer. It is a mark of our commitment; it is my promise to love you with my whole heart, and yet there is a love greater than mine that will take you soon. How could this mere piece of gold compare to the love of God, which loves you completely, wholly, and perfectly?

It cannot, so I will hold your hand a little while longer. I will keep putting this ring back on your finger. But when the time comes and He asks you for your hand, you are free to go. Go to that perfect love which makes all things new. Go and be whole again. For now, till death do we part.

Ten Tips for Dealing with Grief

The holidays can be difficult when one is grieving the death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, or the loss of a job or one’s health. Here are some guidelines that can help you heal during the holiday season.

1. Grieving takes energy, so be gentle with yourself. Treat yourself like you would treat a friend.

Try this today: Write out “I am a precious child of God” (or “treat yourself like your best friend”) and place it on the mirror in your bathroom or bedroom. Then read it every day.

2. Spend time with people who listen and validate your feelings, and give yourself permission not to spend time with those who don’t know what to say or those who say insensitive things.

Try this today: Call a friend who will listen, and talk with him or her.

3. Create time and space to grieve. Set aside time and get in touch with your feelings. Let the tears come. Use photos or videos to prompt the feelings if you need to. Jesus cried and He understands the need to cry and the need to let go. But He has also redeemed the entire grief process. He has been through this so you don’t have to do it alone.

Try this today: Depending on your needs, call a retreat center to set aside time with the Lord and yourself. Even a few hours at your local church can be helpful.

4. Remember a good thing that your loved one would want for you. When I was grieving the loss of my mom and dad, I would remind myself: “What would they want for me right now?” We know our loved ones would not want us to be consumed by our grief. They want us to know that faith tells us we will see them again. In the meantime God can heal us through the love of others.

Try this today: When you are sad, tell yourself it is okay to be sad; it is okay to cry. Then remind yourself of a good thing that your loved one would want for you.

5. God can turn our grief into gratitude. Rom 8:28 tells us that all things work for the good for those who love God. God loves us so much that by the power of the Holy Spirit, God will heal our grieving, and use it for good. I have seen this in my life and it brings new meaning to my pain.

Try this today: Read Romans 8:28 and write down what it means for you in your grieving.

6. Consider changing holiday routines. Some traditions may be comforting, so keep them. But some traditions may be difficult, and you may lack the energy to do them. Give yourself permission to change them if you think God is calling you do to that.

Try this today: Talk with a safe loved one who can help you decide what rituals to keep and which ones to change.

7. Make time for activities you used to enjoy. I love martial arts, and I try to go to class every Thursday evening; it is my “group therapy.” After my dad died in 2005, Thursday night came, and out of habit I went to martial arts. After coming home my wife asked me, “Did you have a good time?” After a long pause I said, “No, I didn’t, but I went.” At certain times in the grieving process we have to do the things we used to like to do before our grieving started.

Try this today: Take a moment to list some of the things you used to enjoy before your grieving started, and pray about which ones the Holy Spirit wants you to do this week or this day.

8. Consider the way you view yourself. You are not the problem; you are precious. Avoid negative self-statements such as: “How could you be so stupid?” or beating yourself up with regrets (“If only I had told her before she died . . .”). Start telling yourself positive things: you are God’s child, God loves you, God cares for you, you are good and beautiful because God created you good and beautifully.

Try this today: Tell yourself something positive right now! Stop any negative words, which are not helping your healing and may indicate that you need to do more grief work.

9. Understand you are not alone. There is a universal and particular side to all suffering. Universally, there are many people who understand some of what we go through when we grieve. Particularly, you can never fully understand my suffering nor can I fully understand your suffering because I am not you and you are not me. If we focus too long on the particular side it becomes too self-absorbed and we buy the lie that “nobody understands.”

Try this today: If you feel like “nobody understands” the depth of your pain, tell yourself that is only half true: that universally, many people understand the work it takes to grieve, and remind yourself that Jesus understands completely.

10. There is no right way to grieve. We all grieve differently, and men and women will grieve in their own unique way. Being aware of this can free us from trying to control another’s grief work. That said, if a person is not grieving at all and is not sleeping well, has anxiety, or is keeping so busy so as not to feel anything, those can be indicators that they may need more grief work for healing to happen.

About the author
Jim Otremba, M.Div, M.S., LICSW is a licensed therapist and Catholic coach in Minnesota (www.coachinginchrist.com).

In Sickness and In Health

We had been engaged for 13 months, with 22 days until the big day, when Matt, at age 23, was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. We could never have predicted this, with no history in the family and no smoking, but it wasn’t necessary. God was in control, our souls were flooded with peace, and the last 10 months have been nothing less than miraculous.

Matt had major surgery before we headed home from D.C. to Texas for our wedding, and four days after the wedding he had a second operation. Matt came home with some pretty awesome scars and a definitive diagnosis of terminal lung cancer. In the midst of the challenge, the Body of Christ overwhelmed us with love, support, and an overabundant dose of prayers.

Along with the diagnosis of lung cancer came questions of chemotherapy and babies. We wanted lots of children, as many as God would bless us with. Our doctors advised us differently. We were asked multiple times if we would like to put sperm in a sperm bank in case the chemotherapy made Matt infertile. Most people on chemotherapy become infertile, and when the therapy is finished there is a 50% chance that it will be permanent. With no discussion needed, we told the doctor this was not an option. One of my greatest longings has been to be a mother, and as it is presented so wonderfully in Psalm 21, “You have granted him his heart’s desire; you did not refuse the prayer of his lips.” On February 16th we found out that we were pregnant. Matt is still going through treatment, and the Lord is abundantly good.

We write this as an encouragement to those who face adversity in their marriage. We can’t express enough the graces that are reaped through the Sacrament. The Lord has granted us many spiritual friends who, though we have never met them, pray for us daily. Through the sacrament and these loving prayers we are able to take our lives one day at a time, not worrying about the things that are to come, but focusing on loving: today, right now, every minute.

When we took our vows on June 24, 2006, we meant every word we said: “I, Matthew, take you, Lucy, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” And in turn: “I, Lucy, take you, Matthew, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”