About the Blog
Jennifer and I got married in February 1990. When she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in September 2021, we tried everything. In the twelve months that ensued, Jennifer endured 14 cycles of aggressive chemotherapy, followed by five and a half weeks of daily chemoradiation, weekly blood work and oncology appointments, blood and iron transfusions, several trips to the emergency room, hospital stays, scans, and surgeries.
The hope was to shrink her tumor enough to perform a whipple surgery, a complex operation that involves removing the head of the pancreas, the duodenum, the gallbladder, and the bile duct. It is the only potentially curative treatment for pancreatic cancer.
We were told the next September that Jennifer's treatments had not been effective, and the whipple was not an option. The oncologists wanted to try extending her life through palliative chemotherapy, but Jennifer decided she did not want any further conventional treatments. The cost to her quality of life was simply too great. We took a family trip out to the Pacific Northwest in the following month, and by Thanksgiving, Jennifer was in hospice. She died on December 5, 2022, at the age of 56.
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February 10, 2023 would have marked our 33rd wedding anniversary. Like any marriage, ours was by no means perfect.
Shortly before she got sick, Jennifer expressed frankly that she wasn’t happy with the way things were; we had drifted apart, and I had failed to meet her needs as a husband.
Everything changed with her diagnosis. In those initial dark hours, I asked for her forgiveness. I promised her that I was going to be the best cancer husband she could ever ask for. We prayed for a miracle, so we could enjoy the rest of our days with a renewed love and commitment to one another.
I can honestly say a miracle did happen—it just wasn’t the way we had hoped. I am convinced Jennifer’s cancer was God’s way of softening her heart to forgive me, and to allow me to be the husband and caregiver she needed. It also forced me to confront my own selfishness, a major source of resentment for her.
In the next 15 months, I was her chauffeur, social secretary, nurse, medications manager, cook/nutritionist, therapist, masseur, and advocate with her doctors. We developed a new sense of intimacy that went beyond the physical. We lived out our wedding vows to “love, honor, and cherish one another, in sickness and in health, till death separates us.”
I don't say any of this to pat myself on the back. I say it because, in spite of the pain and loss, I am thankful that I could be the person Jennifer needed and wanted.
This blog is a collection of my reflections following Jennifer’s death. The grief of losing her has triggered words I didn’t know I had. These words, flowing out of me like tears, have become part of my grief journey. It is my hope and prayer that these honest, deeply personal reflections will resonate with others who have also loved, and lost.