It was my privilege to speak to the lovely and
encouraging folk at Buckland Road Baptist Church (Poole, Dorset, UK) on their
Bereavement Sunday, 26th October 2025.
Background
Deborah was a talented and dedicated teacher, whose
knowledge of religious education could rarely be bettered. She loved the pupils
that she taught, wanting each one of them to progress in their learning and, in
the process, to enjoy the experience.
However, we felt that God was calling us to move to north
Dorset and so Deborah joyfully decided to take retirement early. At that
moment, when we had signed the contract for our home to be put on the market,
we learnt that she had a grade 4 brain tumour, glioblastoma, without any
previous visible symptoms so it was unexpected. Deborah experienced the
increasingly debilitating effects of the illness for eight months, which is
short even for that diagnosis until God called her Home – capital ‘H.’
How I respected to grief
It has been said that I have not experienced bereavement
like anybody else as a result of Deborah going to see her Lord. It is not
better or worse than anyone else, as everybody’s grief journey is different, as
we used to say on our bereavement courses.
The early stages of Deborah’s illness came at me in rapid
succession, without any chance of processing them before we moved on to the
next stage. The incidents then slowed down in the middle months of her illness,
before quickening toward the end. Ironically, as Deborah’s body metabolisms
were breaking down, I was calmer than the carers who were worried that Deborah
was not eating or drinking to their expectations, as I was aware of the end of
life process and what it entailed.
I was angry at one early stage of the illness, but then that
emotion ceased and that situation of calmness by resting in the Lord has
continued to this day. I had and still have plenty of questions, never was it
‘why us?’ but it was ‘why Deborah and not me?’
Initially after Deborah had gone to be with Jesus, the time
was taken up with dealing with the paperwork and all the arrangements. The one
thing that I resented was dealing with probate as it seemed to take me away
from the woman I love, so I was glad to pass it over to the solicitors.
During her illness, I became Deborah’s social secretary,
sorting out her schedule and when visitors could come. It has continued to be a
blessing that, through those visits, I have got to know some of Deborah’s
friends. I still stay connected with some of them, as I have realised that they
too need to express their grief.
I set up a WhatsApp group so that I would not have to keep
repeating messages. On some occasions, there was the constant pinging as people
commented – I know of at least person who switched off his notifications alert.
The group also enabled Deborah to leave verbal messages when typing became
impossible for her. Even today, there are over seventy-five people in the
group.
Likewise, Deborah entered eternity on the Thursday, and I
made it a deliberate decision to go to our church on the Sunday. I recognised
that they needed to express their grief to me, and I to them. It was a carol
service and the gulp moment was when ‘Hark, the herald angels sing!’ was sung, as
it was Deborah’s favourite carol.
Incidentally, as a strange consequence of Deborah going to
glory, I have been unable to sing. At first, it worried me but then I
remembered Zachariah, John the Baptist’s father, could not talk. One of my
friends referred me to Psalm 137, where the exiles hung up their harps on
willows, followed by the insight that I am not Home yet. I cannot wait to get
to heaven to use my voice fully in song, in praise of my Redeemer.
Even in the midst of that, there were events and gifts that
gave me joy in the middle of the sadness. As I have said, Deborah died on the
Thursday morning and, on the next day, pupils in her school wore her favourite
colour – purple. I did get to see the pupils as I walked into her school on
that day. Even the boys who did not have anything purple used nail varnish of
that colour – it would have amused Deborah.
Subsequently, the Parents/Teachers Association at the school
have donated two games benches – that look like picnic benches but have
chequered tops so children can play draughts etc. on them.
Deborah’s school was a Church of England voluntary aided
one, so I donated a communion set to the local parish church who vicar was very
close to my wonderful wife. I had the privilege of handing out the elements
when the communion set was dedicated.
At the moment, we are waiting for a charity in Deborah’s
name to be registered with the Charity
Commission. Its purpose is to provide funds for schools, organisations like
Open the Book, and individual churches so that they are equipped with resources
for religious education lessons and corporate worship in schools.
With God’s help, I am using the grief that I have
experienced to help those in a similar position. Deborah and I have been
involved in bereavement teaching and walking alongside others in their
journeys, both together and individually for many years, so now it is my
opportunity to support people who are now doing what we have done. For, as God
said, in 1 Corinthians 1: 4, I am to comfort others with the comfort that I
have received.
We were bereavement awareness facilitators, encouraging
churches to walk beside people who were bereaved, giving the teaching in day
sessions at churches and also – as a result of Covid – providing the training
online. Although I have not felt able, at this time, to go back on the
frontline, I am privileged to be their prayer partner as other people do what
had been our task. It was a joy to meet up with them in person recently, both
older and new friends so I can visualise the faces when I am praying for them.
It is incredible what God is doing through His people with
regard to bereavement awareness. I am also a prayer partner for a friend who
has run bereavement retreats, using the medium of pottery. He has also bought a
canal boat, and other boat owners and people walking along the towpath have
come on board to talk about their loss of loved ones and, at the same time, use
clay to illustrate their feelings.
Indeed, times of prayer have been so precious. It is a
misconception that all bereaved spouses go home to an empty house. However, I
found that this situation has afforded me opportunity to speak with the Lord,
about situations that I have encountered, ideas that I have, and people that I
have met. Be assured, I will be talking with Him when I get home about you,
that you too will be blessed.
I have also been involved in education work with our local
hospice – talking with students who are interested in all aspects of hospice
life – and I am also a member of the hospice book club which includes patients,
carers and those who are bereaved. If this sounds idyllic, I can promise you
that it is not. People have said things that have not been helpful, even things
that I had not come across before which surprised me, but I know that they came
from a place of love, however clumsily they expressed themselves.
I have missed Deborah’s presence; her mischievousness; her
walking through the door after a day’s teaching, with very heavy bags
containing books to be missed; her ability to really connect with people in her
already heaving calendar; her ‘Deborah hugs’ which were precious to all she
knew.
In a recent trip to Liverpool, on the last night as I was
going back to the hotel, I thought
through all the things that I could have experienced with Deborah:
holding hands, making memories. Then I remembered that God had promised to
never leave or forsake me. As I rounded the corner of the road, there was a
rainbow – God always keeps His promises.
Above all, I miss her devotion to God, as we worshipped and
served Him together. She sought to follow her Lord in all that she did and,
incidentally, all that we did as a couple. This leads neatly to the next
section about…
How Deborah and I found and continue to find hope in
Christ
I remember vividly the night that we were told that the doctors
had found tumours in Deborah’s brain. They left us in a room for us to process
what we had been told. The first thing we did was to pray, for healing if God
so desired, but we desired more than anything was to draw close to Him.
In the early days from her diagnosis until she could not use
her mobile, Deborah’s favourite gif as the Queen of Gifs read: ‘Always put your
trust in God, tell Him all your problems. God is our place of safety. Psalm 62:
8.’ This message laid out where we were going, that is to our Saviour who is
our refuge. It clearly set out our attitude in our constant reliance on God.
Our housegroup were discussing something – I cannot remember
what it was – when a truth hit me. When situations come upon us, like terminal
cancer or saying goodbye to our loved one on earth, there are two options. The
first one is to reject God; the other is to engage with Him. The second option
is the hardest path to tread but, in the end, it has been more fulfilling, as
the Lord has drawn close to me. often in unexpected ways – which is something
you can ask me about later.
That very time set the pattern for all that followed, with
us praying as a couple, who knew that dear Christian friends were also praying
for us.
When Deborah returned from hospital after her first and most
serious seizure, she said that she wanted to go home. One of the carers
commented that she was home, to which I replied that Deborah meant heaven.
It was her constant theme, repeated to our visitors and also
in Deborah’s message on the WhatsApp group, that when the room was quiet and I
was engaged in tasks elsewhere, she was praying to Jesus.
We had a lovely routine of not only spending time in God’s
Word and in prayer in the morning, which had been our practice for many years,
but also in the afternoon. These dual times of reading and prayer is something
I have continued to this day, which have been times of great blessing.
As I was waiting for Deborah whilst she was being treated by
the palliative radiotherapy, I decided to journal all that happened, what I
felt about it, and writing down what God has been teaching me. What I did not want
to happen is to look back on our journey and have hazy memories. I wanted to
learn from the way that God had directed our steps. At one stage, when we had a
lull in visitors coming, I read some entries to Deborah and she commented that
I had been very honest. The journal has become journals – plural – as I have
continued this practice. It is useful to read it back so I can absorb all that
I have experienced, and so realise God’s blessings to me even in the
circumstances that we have gone through. We and I have found it to be true that
God is good all the time, all the time He is good. This does not mean that we
acted like stoics, but that He reached out His hand to us and we took hold of
it, sometimes being carried as we could not walk through certain situations.
Once a month for three months on a Tuesday evening, our
housegroup came to our house and sat around Deborah’s bed to worship King Jesus
in word and song, including a time for holy communion. There were also ad hoc
times when a minister from our church and a vicar that was a friend of Deborah’s
came at separate times and we had special times as we remembered Christ’s
sacrifice with bread and wine or grape juice.
We were blessed with the support from Deborah’s family, my
family, friends, our church family and, above all, God. I cannot understand how
anyone can go through that experience without God. That support structure has
continued, especially as so many people miss Deborah and want to talk with me
about my wonderful wife.
Deborah and I have known that this life is not the
destination, only a stepping off post to somewhere more glorious. Both of us
desired to continue worshipping and serving our Lord and Saviour in heaven
forever. It is a common theme that I have had ever since I first became a
Christian and I love the prospect of seeing King Jesus not by faith but by
sight.
From the very beginning from the diagnosis of the brain
tumour, I had a picture. Deborah and I were in a railway carriage, and we came
slowly into the station. When the train stopped, Jesus stooped down and lifted
Deborah off the train to be with Himself. Then the train continued on its
journey, and I will return to that station however long that might be – years,
or decades. I know that, when Jesus came for Deborah, it was not a final ‘goodbye’
but ‘adieu.’ There will be a day when I am reunited with her and meet our
children who have gone before, where we delight in serving and worshipping God,
by sight no longer by faith.
We both enjoyed the Narnia series of books by C. S. Lewis
about children’s encounters with Jesus represented by the lion Aslan. Our
favourite book was not ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,’ but the
concluding book ‘The Last Battle.’ As I end this time, I will read words from
the end of the book:
‘And as He [that is Aslan] spoke He no longer looked to them
[the people and creatures from Narnia] like a lion; but the things that began
to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And
for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they
all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the
real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had
only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter
One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever:
in which every chapter is better than the one before.’
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