Monday, April 18, 2016

Letter To God - Shannon's Birthday & Six Months Without Her

Dear God,

Six years ago we pulled out all the stops to celebrate Shannon’s 40th birthday, with karaoke, catered food, and nearly every friend and family member joining in.  While a 40th doesn’t usually require a party of that magnitude, this one did.  At that point Shannon had endured two surgeries and over six years of chemo to keep her ovarian cancer at bay.  Many people get anxious around birthday time, especially major ones like a 40th.   Shannon had the opposite perspective, excitedly proclaiming “Another birthday and I’m still alive!” 

God, this morning I woke to April 18th.  Shannon’s birthday.  Another birthday.  God, she’s not alive.  Exactly six months ago Shannon took a breath for the last time.  Six months ago I fully entrusted her to you, to live in Your presence.  Six months.  Sometimes it seems like yesterday.  Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago.

God, today’s events served as a symbol of my journey of grief. 

Today I went to Chester Woods, the place where Shannon and I went on countless walks over the past years.  Chester Woods, the place where I went for a walk mere hours after her death.  I parked in our usual parking lot and took familiar paths through the woods.  A year ago Shannon and I walked those trails and watched life come back to nature around us.  Shannon would pull out her camera to capture the newly emerging leaves and flowers, recording the beauty all around us to share on her Facebook page.  Today I went to Chester Woods to remember.  It felt like the right thing to do.

But God, today at Chester Woods was very different.  I walked the trail with Danielle, not Shannon.  When we came to a fork we turned right instead of left.  Before long we found ourselves deep in the woods on trails I didn’t know existed.  We found new places, walked a much faster pace, shared very different conversations.  Yet the paths looped back and finished on familiar territory. 

I have a little 9 foot dinghy that I brought home from the cabin somewhere around 2011 with a plan of taking it to Chester Lake.  Now, nearly five years later, I went boating at Chester Woods.  God, I went to Chester Woods today and new experiences blended with the old ones.

That’s my life these days.  I live surrounded by memories of Shannon.  I’m in the house that she loved and decorated.  Her photos hang on the wall, our wedding rings lie on my dresser, her ashes rest in the living room.  I will never forget the woman I loved so much for so many years.  Today I wore an old Relay For Life T-shirt with ‘Caregiver’ on the back.  It felt like the right thing to do.

God, despite all those reminders, I live in a new world.  In the past six months I’ve done many new things, I’ve reconnected with old relationships, I’ve built new relationships.   I no longer serve as a caregiver to someone with cancer.  My days look vastly different than they have over the past decade.

God, I’m trying to find a healthy balance between the past and the present.  At Chester Woods today I took the opportunity to tell Danielle about meeting Shannon, our early years of dating, our engagement, our marriage.  I recalled our camping trips to the mountains of Idaho, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and the southern end of Illinois.  I told about the countless letters she would send to encourage her friends.  In the midst of those conversations Danielle and I talked about many other things that pertain to life in the here and now.  God, today I remembered the past while being with someone new in the present. 

Tonight Ben and I went out for dinner at Shannon’s favorite Greek restaurant.  We shared memories of ‘mom.’  We looked ahead to a future without Shannon in it.  We need both.  It felt good.


Shannon’s birthday today.  Six months of life without her.  God, I find myself in a healthy place.  On the one hand I’m not ignoring Shannon or the huge impact she had on my life.  On the other hand I’m not trapped in the past and unable to move into the future that You have for me.  It’s an interesting journey.  Thank You for showing me life in the midst of death.

Monday, April 11, 2016

Letter to God - Faithful Until Death Parts Us

It’s been a couple months since I posted anything.  There’s a good reason for that!  My life has changed in many surprising ways in those months, but I didn’t feel comfortable sharing it openly.  Now I do.  I wrote this blog post a while back.  Right now I am a very happy man.

Dear God,

On July 10, 1993 I stood in the front of Trinity Lutheran Church in Watertown, MN, holding the hand of the woman I loved, and I proclaimed these vows before You: 


I take you, Shannon,
to be my wife from this day forward,
to join with you and share all that is to come,
and I promise to be faithful to you
until death parts us.

For 22 years Shannon and I shared ‘all that was to come.’  We shared in financially scraping by in those early years as we lived in tiny apartments and paid seminary tuition.  We shared in camping trips and long romantic walks.  We shared in raising Ben to be the wonderful young man he has become.  We shared in starting a business.  We shared in Mayo appointments and life with chemotherapy.  We shared in life and love and faith and laughter.  As in every relationship we had our moments where we drove each other crazy, but we shared in that as well.  We shared in honesty, openness, and concern. 

And in the midst of sharing life with Shannon, I held to my promise to be faithful.  She remained the love of my life for 22 years.  I remained faithful through cancer surgeries and chemotherapy.  I remained faithful even as a counselor said, “Pete, many people in your position would have an affair.”  (the last time I ever met THAT counselor!).  Over the years I took on more and more responsibility as her health began to fail.  For months I slept on the floor in our bedroom because being in the bed kept her from sleeping (and being in the guest room was too far away).  I cooked.  I cleaned.  I provided.  I loved.  I remained faithful.  I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

God, on July 10, 1993 I took Shannon to be my wife.  I joined with her.  We shared.  I remained faithful. 

On October 18, 2015 death parted us.  The vows which held such meaning for 22 years passed away with her.  I no longer have Shannon to share life with.  There is no relationship to which to be faithful.  It’s a new day.

Deep down Shannon knew full well that she would not live to an old age.  For years she would say to me, “Your next wife will…”  One afternoon, in the midst of her hospice journey, she took me aside and said, “Pete, don’t pine away for me.  I know that you will meet someone new and get married.  I want that for you.  I want you to be happy in life.”

‘And I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.’ 

Last month I went skiing for the first time in over a decade.  It just so happened that I spent the day with a single woman.  Ben seemed to raise his eyebrows when he heard that only the two of us had gone, so when I came home I explained, “This was just two people who happen to be single who like to ski.  No big deal.”  His response nearly bowled me over.  “Dad, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this, but it’s OK if it was more than just two friends skiing.  I want you to feel free to meet someone you want to be with.  Mom’s not here anymore.  If today was a date, that’s no big deal.”

‘And I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.’ 

And so, in the past weeks, I have found a wonderful woman that I very much enjoy being with.  I’ve known Danielle for a while as a volunteer worship leader at the new church I joined.  One conversation led to another, and here we are.  When I look at a calendar my first thought is, “Pete, this is nuts.  Your wife died in October.  You’re interested in someone already?  What are you doing?”  The calendar says one thing, but my heart says something very different.  I feel comfortable in spending time with her.  I enjoy talking to her.  I look forward to seeing her come online after a day of work so I can chat with her.  We share interests, humor, sports, and good beer. God, it feels like ages ago that Shannon died.  I sense that it’s time to move on in life.  I asked my counselor if this might be just a rebound relationship.  After thinking about it for a while he said, “Pete, people ‘on the rebound’ are not self-aware.  They don’t deal with their grief and just blindly attach to someone else.  You are extremely self-aware.  I wouldn’t worry about it.”

‘And I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.’ 

I’ve known for a long time that the day would come when I’d be a widower.  For a while I assumed I’d jump right into a relationship, that I’d be afraid to be alone. Over time I grew confident that I’d be just fine living on my own.  I didn’t need someone to ‘complete me.’  That’s what has been so odd in all this.  I didn’t go looking for a relationship, but it sure seems like I have found one.

‘And I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.’ 

Now, in the midst of this amazing new relationship, I’m trying to figure out how to explain it to people.  How do you tell folks (especially Shannon’s friends and family) that someone new has come into my life?  How can people understand that I’m not doing this to avoid my grief?  In fact, I’ve put all sorts of thought and prayer into this!  What if people feel that I am not being faithful to Shannon’s memory?  It feels icky to try to ‘hide’ the fact that I’m in a relationship from others, but not everyone finds themselves in the same place on the journey of grief.  For their sake do I keep things under wraps, or do I just be open and honest about life and let the chips fall where they may?  God, I’m pretty confused on this.   

‘And I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.’ 

I held that promise with my whole being for 22 years.  I did exactly what I promised You I would do.  That promise has now come to an end.  Shannon herself sent me out to find joy in life.  I seem to be finding it.  I feel like a pretty lucky guy.

God, I’m not publishing this blog post…yet.  We’re not yet ready to share news of a budding relationship with the world.  Help me to find the right time and place to be open with people in a way that will not be hurtful for them.  Continue to guide us as together we discern what this relationship means for the future.