A Widower's Journey to Serenity

By Steve Donovan

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 11, 2009
• ISBN: 9781469104393

Steve Donovan

Steve Donovan lives in Madison, Wisconsin with his two children Franny & Ian. He has never written a book?and this journal was quite an accident after he began logging his mileage. Since he began running in 2003, he has accomplished nineteen marathons and three 195 mile relay races with his team The Pygmy Shrews. Donovan sits on Madison?s Shamrock Shuffle board. He gets grumpy if he stays up late. Try not to feed him after midnight. And never, ever get him wet.

Book preview

Prologue

The death of my wife of fifty years came swiftly and quietly. She was rushed to the hospital where she died a few hours later. That evening, when I left the cold hospital trauma room, I was terrified by the crushing blow of my loss. I did not have a clue as to what to do or where to go. Through my friends, God sent directions. My AA sponsor, Jim, and my friend Richard guided me to a Bible study group where several AA friends were gathered. They spontaneously welcomed me and embraced me with love and support.

In the days and weeks that followed, I was constantly tempted to feel lonely and sorrowful. Every day I was angry and resentful toward God. Every day I was enslaved by sadness and self-pity.

My intellectual self told me to have faith in God, to seek his kindness and understanding. My emotional self threw a net around me and subdued me with painful feelings of grief.

Through God’s grace, I stayed connected with family and friends at church, AA, and Marriage Encounter. As the first year progressed, despite the relentless power of self-pity and grief, my faith remained resolute and delivered me from the forces of defeat. God surrounded me with an army of loving friends and gave me the spiritual tools and human bondings to sustain me on my journey to peace and serenity.

The account of that struggle, in my first year as a widower, is the subject of this book. Thank you for reading my story. Whatever your marital status and circumstances, I hope my experience helps you to find serenity in your life.

Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as a pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

As it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right

If I surrender to His Will;

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life

And supremely happy with Him

Forever and ever in the next.

The Serenity Prayer is the common name for an originally untitled prayer, most commonly attributed to the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. The prayer was adopted by Alcoholics Anonymous in the 1930s and later by other twelve-step programs. The first four lines of the prayer, in italics above, are recited at meetings of AA by the members present. It is considered to be an essential part of the spiritual program of AA.

Chapter 1

The Shock of Death

Mary was tired. She ate lunch slowly. We had just returned from downtown Charleston, where her neurophthalmologist had given her a positive report, concluding there was no sign of a previous stroke. She suggested minor surgery for the slight sagging of the eyelids, but said it was a personal decision. We were elated at the news. Mary continually smiled as she chatted with the doctor and showed no sign of stress as we left. She complained of being tired on the drive home, however.

At lunch, she ate peeled apple wedges and rye crackers and drank apple juice. She had made a three o’clock appointment with our family physician. Dr. Taylor had called on Tuesday evening, alarmed that the Coumadin level was dangerously high, offering to stay at the office to examine Mary. I had watched Mary as she spoke with the doctor, chuckling after being told to wrap cotton around her to prevent any bumping of her head. Mary treated the information lightly and showed no sense of urgency. Now, at lunch, she complained again that she was tired.

As I finished my lunch, I said, Let’s say a little prayer for your health.

Mary smiled and said, That’s a good idea.

We held hands and I prayed that she would be healthy and have no serious problems. We always prayed together at dinner, but praying at lunch was a rare event.

I concluded the prayer with dear God, please take good care of Miss Mary.

She smiled again and said, Thanks. Getting up, she said, Please wake me up at two thirty.

I said you can count on me as she walked out of the kitchen, smiling.

I went upstairs to the computer room to check e-mails and send replies. At two thirty, I came downstairs and walked into the master bedroom. Mary was in the usual position, lying on her left side, left hand under her face, right arm resting on her right side.

I walked around the bed and softly said, Okay. Time to wake up.

She did not respond. I leaned over her and patted her behind, then gently shook her shoulder, and said again, Don’t kid me, you’re not asleep. Come on, time to get up.

Still no response. I lifted her right arm and let it drop. It fell with a thud onto her side. Then I saw the ugly, brownish liquid that had flowed out of her mouth, under her chin. I was terrified.

I shouted, Mary, wake up. What’s wrong?

I shook her shoulder and slapped her face. Still no response.

I ran around the bed and grabbed the phone and called 911. I shouted, My wife won’t respond. Something’s wrong. I can’t wake her up. Send an ambulance right away.

The voice asked, What’s your name? What’s the address?

I stammered the information and shouted, Hurry up. She’s not responding.

The voice said, They’re on the way.

I ran out the front door and heard the sirens. I dialed 911 and shouted, They’re going the wrong way.

The voice said, They know where you are. They’re on the way to your house.

The fire truck and ambulance rushed down the cul-de-sac. The paramedics ran up the steps, through the front door, into the master bedroom.

The team rushed to Mary. Two of them lifted her to the floor while the other two opened large kits and grabbed their equipment. The leader went with me to the kitchen to gather Mary’s medications into a plastic bag. I rushed back into the bedroom to see that a black plastic tube had been thrust down Mary’s throat. Blood was all over her and the carpet.

While the paramedics worked on Mary, I called her sister, Jennifer, in Florida. She said she would pray for Mary and that Brett, her surgeon husband, would answer any questions I had. Then I called my AA friend Richard and asked him to call my sponsor, Jim. I was crying and shouting, and Richard said, Don’t worry, Steve. We’ll be right there.

They rushed to my house. I hugged them and cried. The paramedics placed Mary on a stretcher and wheeled her out to the sidewalk. The lead man came back to the front steps and said, We are beginning to get a steady pulse.

Richard said, That’s good news. She’ll be okay.

I watched silently as the ambulance drove away.

Richard drove me to the hospital. Jim returned to his office and rejoined us later in the waiting room. They surrounded me like bodyguards, reassuring me that Mary would be okay.

My heart is racing like I’m about to have a heart attack, I said. I’m afraid she won’t make it.

Suddenly, my pastor, Father Frank, appeared.

I asked, Did they call you?

He said, I was in emergency care already. I gave Mary the last rites.

Last rites, I exclaimed.

It’s standard procedure. I don’t want to scare you.

I asked Father Frank, How does she look?

He said, She’s unconscious. It’s serious.

I said, I should call my children.

Richard offered me the use of his cell phone. Cathy, in New Orleans, Louisiana, was driving to day care to pick up four-year-old Joanne. Cathy exclaimed, Oh my God. Is she going to die? I need to be there. Oh, Lord, I can’t drive.

Crying, I said, Please be careful, Cathy. Pray for Mom.

Susan was at home in McLean, Virginia, with two-year-old Caitlin.

Hi, Susan, this is Dad. I said, sobbing and choking. I’m in the hospital with Mom. She’s in serious condition.

Crying, she bombarded me with questions. What’s happening to Mom? What’s her condition? Should we come down?

I said, Mom is unconscious, and they’re doing tests. I’m really scared, but I haven’t seen Mom, and I don’t know what’s going on.

We cried together, and I promised to keep her informed.

Scott was at home in nearby Fairfax. He choked up and stammered, Oh, damn. That’s terrible. I want to see her. Are you all right, Dad?

I’m with AA friends and my pastor. I’m okay. Please pray for Mom. She’s a beautiful mother.

A nurse came running out and said frantically, You should go in now. She’s critical.

Good-bye, Scott. I have to go.

My hand trembled as I handed Richard his cell phone.

The nurse said, Please hurry.

Mary was lying on the propped up bed with a tube down her throat. Monitors tracked her vital signs. She was horridly still and ashen, her face taut. I walked to the bed and grasped her hands.

The ER doctor said, I’m afraid your wife is in critical condition. The neurosurgeon will be here to explain it to you.

I said nothing. I did not want to believe what I heard and saw. I leaned over and kissed Mary on the forehead. Her head was cool. I lowered my head and started to sob. A nurse placed a chair behind me, and I sat down.

Wearing shorts and tee shirt, I was shivering and I said, I’m cold. Could someone please get me a blanket?

A nurse got a warm blanket and wrapped it over my shoulders.

I sobbed, talking to Mary and talking to God. I begged Him, Please don’t let Mary die.

Suddenly, I felt hands on my neck and shoulders. The person slid the hands around my body and clasped them across my chest. Long hair brushed my neck, and a whispering voice said, I’m so sorry. We are all praying for you. She leaned around to my side and then I realized it was Dr. Louise Taylor, our family physician.

I said, Thanks for being here.

She said, The hospital called me.

I used Richard’s phone to call Susan. As I cried, I told her, Mom is dying. Please pray for her. And please call Cathy and Scott.

I leaned forward and kissed Mary’s hands. I pleaded, Please don’t leave me, Mary. I love you. Please don’t go.

The neurosurgeon came into the room and walked around to face me. He said, I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan. I have to be honest with you. The CAT scan showed your wife was brain dead when she arrived here. She suffered a massive hemorrhage. There is no surgery we could do that would restore her to a normal life. Does she have a living will?

Somehow, I managed a businesslike response.

Yes, we both do. It specifies that we don’t want extraordinary means to be taken in situations like this.

He said, It is your decision if you want us to remove the life support.

I turned to Father Frank and AA sponsor Jim and asked what they thought.

Jim said he agreed with the doctor, and Father Frank said, You are not required to take extraordinary means for Mary.

I said, Pull out the life support.

Nurses and doctors pulled the tube from Mary’s body. I thought, Thank God she can’t feel it. He is being gentle and merciful.

The only sounds were my sobbing and mutterings to God. An angry voice within me pleaded, Don’t do this to me! A calm voice responded, My plan for Mary is being fulfilled this day. Do not fear.

Father Frank said, Please join me in saying the Lord’s Prayer. The group held hands and prayed together while I prayed silently.

God, I want my children to be here. I feel alone. I’m scared. God, please comfort my children. They can’t say good-bye to their mother.

After a while, I asked, Is she still alive?

A nurse put her hands on my shoulders and said, It’s now seven o’clock. She died at six forty-four.

I leaned forward and kissed Mary’s hands. I said, Good-bye, Mary. I love you. I slowly sat up and turned around and looked into the grave faces of the group. They watched me in silence. I asked, What happens now? The ER doctor said, You may leave. We will take care of everything.

Medical personnel stared at me as we walked into the hallway. I felt like running away. The nurse said, I called your children after your wife died. Is there anything else you want me to tell them tonight?

I hugged her and cried. Thanks. Please tell them I love them. I’ll call them tomorrow after we make funeral plans.

Outside, Jim said, "Let’s go to the Bible study with AA people at Henry and Carol’s. I remember when my first wife died, and I know