Coping with the Finality of Death

The following is adapted from A Journey without a Map by John Sardella.

In April 2010, Margaret, my wife, had pain in her abdominal area. She went to the doctor to get it checked out, and they did an x-ray. They told her they’d call her if she needed to come back to the office for a follow-up.

They called her the following day, and one day after that, Margaret and I sat in the doctor’s office. The PA explained that they’d found a node in Margaret’s abdominal area that needed more testing, and the staff took her out of the room for another x-ray. I asked the PA if it was serious, and she stated that it was.

After that doctor’s appointment, we went home and had as normal a day as possible. The real emotions started rolling in over the next couple of weeks. The doctor’s office set Margaret up with an appointment with an endocrinologist to do an endoscopy and see what the node was. Margaret went under anesthesia and was examined. When she came out, she went to the recovery area and waited for the doctor.

When the doctor came in, he looked very serious. He stated the node was cancer of the pancreas, and they’d know more about its severity over the next couple of days.

We didn’t realize then that our journey was just beginning. Our journey without a map.

I lost my wife on January 8, 2017, after a long battle with this ugly disease.

I remember the moment Margaret died. As she lay there slowly breathing, I told her it was okay to go, and we would be okay. Before she went into an unconscious state, I said, “I love you,” and she said, “Love you.” Then, she went to sleep.

When she stopped breathing, the kids and I — the only ones in the room at the time — just wept. The grief was deeper than any feeling I’d ever experienced before — so deep that sometimes, my tears felt like they came all the way from my toes. I remember my mind racing, thinking to myself, How am I going to get through this, and how are the kids going to get through this?

Her death offered a finality to what she’d gone through for the last seven years. I knew immediately that she’d gone to Heaven and didn’t have to deal with the pain and suffering any longer.

After Margaret took her last breath, we had to wait for the doctors to come in and confirm her death. Everyone left one at a time, and I was the last one there. I kissed her on the forehead and went home. In a way, I knew what to expect because of the experience of my father’s death in 2002. When he died, a big part of my mother died with him. For the following sixteen years, until her death, she didn’t change anything about the house where I grew up. I was always respectful of when she wanted to clean it all out, saying, “Mom, when you’re ready, we’ll do this.”

She was never ready.

In my case, after Margaret died, I went home and had to face the empty house full of memories. The people who were in town — the brothers, sisters, and friends at the house — all scattered and went home to prepare for a return trip for the wake and funeral.

I stood in our bedroom, holding kitchen garbage bags. I stared at the pill bottles on the nightstand, the cancer drugs. I broke down in that moment, crying so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

After Margaret died, I needed help coping. Even though it’s been almost ten years as of this writing — seven years of her illness and three without her — my grief is still there. It will always be. But it does change over time.

For more advice on coping with grief, you can find A Journey without a Map on Amazon.

John Sardella is the author of two previous books: How to Start a Successful Youth Lacrosse Program and L is for Lacrosse: An ABC Book. John’s professional career was spent in the Liverpool CSD. He was a teacher for sixteen years and a principal for fifteen years. He is now retired and enjoys spending his time writing, golfing, and being with family and friends. John resides in Liverpool, New York, and Naples, Florida. His kids are all grown, and John still sees them often. You can find John on Twitter @sardella_john, connect via email at ajourneywithoutamap@gmail.com, or visit johnsardella.com.