More Reflections from the Front Lines of a Cancer Battle - Week Four as a Widower.

Week Four as a Widower.

Formerly, I had to work hard, schedule well, and plan wisely to achieve some solitude. Now, retired and widowed, solitude surrounds me, all day and all night.

I, the incurable and unapologetic extrovert, find myself alone…. a lot. In crowds, alone. At church, alone. Waking up in my bed, absolutely alone.

I am not as emotional about my loss as I was a few weeks ago. I am more emotionally numb than anything at this point. I have enough tasks to keep me busy presently, but I know after the sale of the house is closed, the banking is completed, and I return from the Congress in Texas, a lot of open space and unoccupied time awaits me. That is worrisome.

I have a number of people with whom I correspond daily. I send one set of folks battling disease scripture and prayer. Another few receive a daily prompt for devotional reading. Dozens of sports chaplains across Latin America receive a link to each day’s post of my devotional book in Spanish, which they in turn share with many others. These daily connections help me stay in the scripture, and sharing with others, even as my flesh would rather withdraw completely.

Years ago, Sharon and I joked that if she was to precede me in death, I would either die an old widower or be remarried in six months. She said, “You’d be remarried right away; you’d be helpless alone.” She may be right about the helpless part.

Reflections from the Front Lines of a Cancer Battle

My wife’s cancer battle consumed the first six months of 2025. It ultimately ended her life on earth, much too soon, and much too painfully. Throughout those months, I was alternately locked in the battle and trying to maintain an equilibrium to our lifestyle. As the weeks, appointments with doctors, treatments, emergency room visits, surgeries, and sleepless nights mounted, I became reflective and tried to make sense of what I was experiencing.

Writing reflections in the notes app of my mobile phone became a helpful way of processing all my heart and mind were experiencing. Below are a few of those reflections. They are raw, vulnerable, and gut-level honest. I certainly have a long way to go in my grieving and mourning process.

Inadequate and Distracted – April 2025

How can I, a man who prides himself on self-reliance, achievement, and strength, be so utterly inadequate and easily distracted? 

Walking with my wife through cancer treatments, weakness, and incapacity, has exposed many more of my personal weaknesses and character flaws. 

The added grief of losing family and friends to death compounds these matters. 

 How shall I deal with all this? I have no other recourse than to trust wholly in the grace and mercy of Christ Jesus - His power to save to the uttermost. That’s all I have. 

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. 2 Corinthians 4:7-10

Is this really my life? – early May 2025

As these days of life in and around a hospital have stretched on, I have wondered, “Is this really my life?” It seemed like I was observing someone else. 

Scenes like these, hotel room doors and hospital corridors, assure me this is my present reality and keep me grounded in the moment. 

Intimacy – mid May 2025

Intimacy at fifty weeks into a dating relationship is significantly different than intimacy after fifty years of marriage. 

The former is clumsy, hormonal, and exciting, finding ways to be together, aching to touch the other, and longing to be trusted. 

The latter is more sober, more familiar, and fully trusting, caring for an ailing spouse, preserving her dignity, and affirming commitment for life.

Reflections from a hospital room – early June 2025

Stage four metastatic peritoneal cancer is hellish. It has stripped my bride of her energy, ravaged her body, and destroyed her confidence. Despair stands outside the hospital door waiting to strangle her soul. 

Being my wife’s primary caregiver has alternately strained and strengthened our relationship. She needs me more than ever. She frustrates me because I see the consequences of momentary choices (like not eating) very clearly. 

Lifting her into and out of bed, the bathroom, a wheelchair, and more has become a well-rehearsed dance. More like an awkward, junior high, slow dance to “Nights in White Satin” than like disco or swing dancing. 

The anticipated highlight of our upcoming fiftieth wedding anniversary is chemotherapy treatment and possibly some frozen custard afterwards. 

Removing her clothes was much more fun fifty years ago than it is now. It’s still powerfully intimate, but in an infinitely more severe way. 

My natural bent toward optimism is being powerfully tested in these days. Trying to stay afloat in this waxing and waning tide of confusing medical information, twice daily dispensation of medications, nightly flushing of her pic line, sleeplessness, frustration with a painfully slow process, and the insidious whispering prospect of being widowed is squeezing my soul. 

Through all of this, I remain committed to love and to serve my wife; charging the fiery gates of hell in a gasoline suit while armed with a squirt gun. I am here for all of it. 

Reflections after one week as a widower – July 2025

From March 7 through June 27, my life was almost entirely consumed by Sharon’s battle with metastatic peritoneal carcinoma and my care for her. I immediately withdrew from most all my work, ministry, and recreational pursuits. I was granted a leave of absence (graciously with pay) by my employer, and we eventually agreed I would retire at the end of May. 

The sixteen weeks we anticipated would be given to chemotherapy treatments and recovery, along with a surgery and more recovery, turned into a swirling vortex of delays, infection, hospitalization, removal of an infected chemo port, confusion, open-heart surgery, recovery, five weeks of thrice daily antibiotic infusions, the sale of our home, a move to a neighboring state, restarting chemotherapy, precipitous weight loss, weakness, shortness of breath, fluid drainage, steadily dropping blood pressure and declining vital signs.  This torturous process finally took her life as she was lying in our bed, at home, surrounded by family. 

My role as full-time caregiver was full of frustration with the situation, occasional irritation at Sharon’s lack of appetite, disgust with my own lack of compassion, anticipation of the worst case scenario while advocating for the best case, questions about medical bills, insurance coverage, concern for family members, and communication with a broad network of family, friends, and ministry colleagues. 

Since my wife’s cancer diagnosis five and one-half months ago, I have been grieving. Firstly, I grieved the horror of the disease and its terrible effects upon my bride. Secondly, I grieved the way it was causing her to suffer in increasingly more severe ways. Ultimately, I began to grieve her impending death as we started hospice care, and then her passing three days later.

Now, grief has new dimensions as it includes loneliness, disorientation, and questions about the future. 

Occasionally, something will happen, and I will reflexively pick up my phone to send her a text message about it. As I work to understand our finances and obligations, my first instinct is to ask her for a password or a person to call. She is not here to answer. 

My daughter-in-law helped me go through her jewelry, her clothes, and accessories. We made personal gifts of some items, we gave away fifteen bags of clothing and shoes and discarded several other items. That was painful, emotional, and extremely helpful. 

My immersion into our personal finances has been tedious, pleasantly surprising, and liberating. Our situation was better than I had imagined, but more complicated than I desire going forward. I have paid off a few small balances and shredded several credit cards. I am building a new budget as a retired widower, with an eye toward some strategic travel, and the potential launch of a ministry mentoring sports ministry leaders in 2026. 

Less than Three Weeks In… - July 2025

I am making adjustments daily. I am trying to set a new daily regimen and to restore some order to my lifestyle. It took six months to wreck my sleep patterns; it may take some time to restore a healthy rhythm. I am getting a handle on finances and am about to close on the sale of our home in Carbondale. That will result in a strong boost to my savings and some measure of financial security.

I am not sure what to do with the loneliness that stalks my quiet hours. I trust my Comforter will be even more tangibly present as I mourn my wife’s departure, and as I contemplate a future in fulfilling our Lord’s purposes for my life.