Suddenly a Widower

I sat there shattered. The explosion inside my chest was silent, but it tore through my world with the same force, the same devastation, as a mighty lake, unleashed by a broken dam, rushing, slamming, and crashing its way through the valley below.

Just like that—in an instant—I was a widower. A single dad raising two preteen daughters. Alone. Confused. Lost.

I woke up at 6:30am on a Saturday morning expecting a routine weekend. Ten hours and twenty-four minutes later I was holding my wife’s hand as she passed away. No warning. No training. No time to plan, think, process, or understand.

Screaming and panic fought to be heard, but were imprisoned by stoicism and pride. I seemed to be floating above it all, gazing down on someone else’s world, watching a scene that was almost too cruel to make sense of.

That was four years and eleven months ago. 1,795 days. More than 43,000 hours. Just over 2.5 million minutes. Am I really counting that close? No, I asked Siri. But not a day goes by that I don’t feel it, think it, live it.

Two years ago—after the debris had been cleared, and rebuilding was under way—lightning struck in the same place twice. Another day started at 6:30am. And again—before the day was over, suddenly, without warning—loss. My company was shutting its doors and going out of business. I no longer had a job.

What now?

I didn’t want to be a widower. I didn’t want to be a single dad. I didn’t want to be unemployed.

I did not want to be what I had become.

I wish I could say, after almost five years, I have it all worked out. I wish I could tell you that you’ve come to the right place, that I know all the answers, that I discovered the perfect 3-step plan to put your life in order. Not even close. But I can share the experiences of a life lived after loss.

My job ended two years after I lost my wife, which was two years after my mom died, which was three years after my dad died. I’m not looking for sympathy. My parents had a wonderful life together, both lived to be eighty-three years old; I’ve been abundantly blessed. But over a 7-year span I felt like life’s quiver had reserved every arrow of adversity for me.

You see, there is damage and destruction, but the floodwaters recede and life renews. And that’s why I started a blog. The name of this site is “ArtSpeaking” but it’s really God speaking. He’s speaking to me, telling me to press onward and upward as He unfolds for me a new life, breeding hope through pain and endurance.

The apostle Paul said he thought of everything as a loss. And his colleague James told us to consider it all joy when we face trials and hardships. God is indeed near the hurting and brokenhearted. He’s our shelter and strength. When troubles are near, God is nearer still.

Your job ends, or your marriage ends, or a loved one’s life ends, but it can’t be the end. Yes, your fate diverges with that ending, but you can’t let it define you. You have to let go. You have to move on. Your values, your beliefs, your curiosities, your memories are leftover branches and twigs. Look for new firewood—new hopes, new dreams, new passions, new faith—to add to your kindling. Start a new fire: vibrant, inspired, and roaring with hope.

I didn’t lose a spouse; I shared life with a beautiful friend who I’ll see again one day.

My girls didn’t lose their mom at an early age; they were handed down a legacy of love and a heritage of hope.

I didn’t lose a job; I have thirty years of memories, discoveries, friendships, and inspirations.

I haven’t lived the exotic, suspenseful saga that we glamorize as we watch movies and television, and I wasn’t born with tragic, mournful beginnings that spawn a pilgrimage for the ages. But I’ve traveled enough places, taken enough punches, and tasted enough pain to grasp the importance of being at ease where you are, knowing God cares, feeling His love and grace.

So I launched this site, not as a place for “Art speaking” but as a community for those who sometimes forget who they are, sometimes forge the wrong path, sometimes forsake their dreams, and sometimes find they need something more.

Here you’ll find no advice, no plan, no magic formula. Just tales from a life lived after loss. Trails leading to places good and bad. Tombs where all seems lost, but hope abounds. And triumph through a Savior who lives, and, in the end, will stand on the earth.

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