Caregiving a dying spouse can be challenging beyond words. Any sense of a “normal” existence disappears. New patterns of sleepless nights, hospital visits, and spontaneous problem-solving emerge. In this role, I often found myself discouraged with Steve’s decline. And although his death was inevitable, I felt guilty planning for a future without him. Thankfully there were three pivotal moments that provided unmistakable glimpses of hope during this timeframe.
The first of these was on a stop in Park City, Utah in the spring of 2022. This was the last layover on our road trip from Florida to California. Steve was 40 pounds lighter than his normal 185 weight, and the trek was tedious. It was necessary though. We had made the decision over the past few months to simplify our lives. Closing the business Steve had with his brother out west was part of this process.
While resting in Utah, I found out that one of my favorite artists was on display at a local gallery.
“Can we go?” I asked Steve.
“That’s okay with me, Kym,” he responded in a gentle tone. Steve was usually on board with my requests. The agreement was that we would simply leave any event or outing if it became too much for him.
After 20 minutes in the crowded space, Steve requested to wait in the car.
“I’m fine,” he said once we got him settled there. “Go back and enjoy the show.”
“Really?” I double-checked.
“Really. I’m fine. Just pour me a cocktail and then check back in with me in 30-40 minutes.”
“Deal,” I agreed.
Thank goodness I went back…
because I found a piece that absolutely made my heart sing. It was entitled “Fly” and illustrated a race car driver barreling down the track with all four tires airborne. Ungrounded was how I felt in almost every area of my life at the time. Only the driver was cool and in control. Was it possible for me to feel that way, too?
I made my way over to the curator. “I have a question for you,” I stated once she could give me her attention.
“If I purchase this now, can my cousin pick it up for me once the show is over?” I asked her.
“Not a problem,” she replied. “Let’s step over to my desk and we can work out the details.”
As I followed the lean brunette to the back of the gallery, she continued, “I’ll just collect your deposit today. Then you can pay the remaining balance before the art is ready to be released to your relative.”
“Sounds great to me,” I said, with a huge smile plastered on my face.
It remained there as I returned back to the van. I couldn’t wait to hang the artwork in my office someday. I figured that day would not be any time soon. In fact, I didn’t even tell Steve about the purchase that afternoon. He wouldn’t like the art nor my decision to purchase it without him. The piece was something special, just for me. In the meantime, I was going to keep at Neil’s house until after Steve made his transition.
Photo Credit: Doug Blesse
KEEP A SENSE OF HUMOR
This reminds me of a joke Steve used to tell often. “Want to know how to make God laugh?” he’s ask.
Without missing a beat, he’d give you the punchline. “Notify Him of your plans.”
This was definitely the case as Neil’s wife got pregnant far sooner than they anticipated and they needed to clear out the spare room to turn it into a nursery. And even though Steve’s health was still spiraling downward, he was still alive when the UPS box arrived at our house. He was also aware enough to get pissed off that I made such a decision without him.
Rightly so, I admit.
Once his anger subsided, he forgave me. He knew I was doing my best to keep any stressors out of his life. And with his big heart, he then proceeded to help me hang the painting in my office just as I had envisioned it months before.
THE NEW VAN
The second glimpse of my future was a new sprinter van. This idea was far less of a surprise to Steve as we had been traveling in one since 2017. At that time, we had already completed several cross-country trips in our Toyota Sequoia and we needed a more comfortable way to travel coast to coast. We started with a short roof, 144WB model that we built out ourselves. Then a few years later, we upgraded to a high roof on the same length chassis.
By spring of 2022, Steve’s health had drastically deteriorated. It was getting too hard for me to dress him in such close quarters when on the road, much less tie his shoes while he sat in the passenger seat. So I started shopping for the longer option that fall.
Steve didn’t fight me on this. He figured I was simply looking. Then the day came when I found the exact van I wanted. It was located in San Luis Obispo, California and I did the happy dance on our deck in celebration of my find.
“I found the van, Steve!”
I said to him late one afternoon as he lay in bed.
Without opening his eyes, he mustered a response.
“You did what?” he asked, his voice a blend of incredulity and exhaustion.
“I found our next van!” I exclaimed, moderating my enthusiasm to not overpower him entirely. “It’s on order by the SLO dealership and it won’t arrive for several months. I only had to put down a small deposit today. Then we can make the final decision about it once it arrives stateside.”
I knew Steve would like this. He liked time to think through these kinds of decisions.
I also knew Steve was a Boy Scout at heart. He thrived in adventures. Road trips brought him great joy on healthy days and provided a useful distraction on the painful ones. Steve would have opted for a van trip even if it meant taking his last breath on the road. I prayed this wouldn’t happen each time we backed out of the driveway. And, thankfully, it never came to that.
In any case, Steve humored me with the new van idea for a while. He helped me fine tune the layout that was going to be built by Outside Van. Then he got weaker and weaker. We both came to realize Steve wouldn’t be alive to travel in the new vehicle. This saddened him and many times he wouldn’t want to discuss the van with me.
I understood this.
Yet it meant I kept my excitement to myself. I imagined myself doing van yoga in a spacious interior much larger than my previous models. I envisioned the harmonious teal and gray colors surrounding me as I worked at the new bench space. My dreams were of me and the pups romping down a snowy mountain road in 4WD. I even got giddy every time I received an update about the build.
The van was much more than a vehicle to me by the time Steve made his transition. It was a symbol of joy–one I believed could outweigh the sorrow I knew was coming in the life without my soulmate by my side.
THE GREAT GOLF ADVENTURE
The third peek into my future arrived in the summer of 2023. It came as a thought: “What if I played 100 new golf courses in the year after Steve transitioned?” This idea was not out of the blue. Steve and I frequently talked about what my life could look like once he was gone. I think it made him confident I would be okay.
Steve mentioned numerous times during these conversations about the importance of structure for a grieving widow or widower. He had helped many clients through that phase of life in his counseling practice. What he found was that having a sense of purpose could combat the feelings of helplessness after losing a spouse.
The strategies he outlined made sense to me. Only I’m a bit of a rebel. I knew I’d have to carve out a path of my own. We had houses in Florida and California. Yet I wasn’t sure I wanted either of them to be my future home.
That’s what made the idea of a great golf adventure so satisfying. It gave me a plan while being on the road. I could explore new places, something that has always lit me up. I could meet incredible people and have lighthearted conversations. I’d be able to get back into the game after years away when taking care of Steve. And I would have time to write the books he and I put together between each round.
I found this idea exhilarating.
It would get me out of old patterns and establish fresh new memories in a fun, focused way.
Right after I had the idea, I sat down and made a list of golf courses I wanted to play. Some were neighborhood courses recommended by people Steve and I had met in the past. Other courses were paired with casinos around the country and kept in tip-top shape. Others still were inspired by places I dreamed of visiting one day.
So I printed the list and stuck it in my planner. I’d get back to it when the time was right.
Interestingly…
the right time to start didn’t come as I initially anticipated. I tried to play a round or two within the month after Steve passed, but I missed his voice and laughter as a cart mate. So I turned my focus to other new things. I started downhill skiing again–a sport I hadn’t done in twenty years but thoroughly enjoyed). I also got on my mountain bike and began more downhill rides with ladies groups around the country.
Then fall of 2024 came around and I met a companion who was also getting back into the game. We explored new courses together in our mountain region and pushed each other to improve. He brought back a love of the sport for me.
As a result, I was able to check off six courses in the Lake Tahoe area, two in the Napa region, and another five in St. George, Utah all before the winter weather arrived.
Photo Credit: Doug Blesse
MY SPARK IGNITED AGAIN
It was finally in the spring of 2025 that I was ready to commit to my great golf adventure. The spark came during a fireside chat one Friday night with my friend, Ceci. At one point, she raved about a recent memoir of a gal walking the Camino de Santiago.
“Her writing style is very similar to yours, Kym,” Ceci explained. “You both are personable, engaging, and really funny.”
“Thanks, Ceci,” I said, blushing a little. I knew she was referring to my recent new year’s letter in which I compared grief to being on a teeter totter opposite a sumo wrestler.
Our conversation naturally meandered to other topics before I returned to the van for a good night’s sleep.
Only I couldn’t sleep.
I knew I wasn’t about to travel to France to walk the El Camino, but I did have an escapade of my own in mind.
It was time to focus on my goal of playing 100 golf courses this year. I knew I could make this a tribute to the man who got me into the game in the first place. And I could have some personal healing along the way as I carved out my own path without him.
It’s as though Steve was speaking to me from the ethers that night.
“Start now, Kym. You’re ready.”
This message came not in words, but as a strong internal prompting. And this time, I was excited to act. I was ready to do so without the guilt or sadness of missing Steve and instead eager to embrace his spirit with me on the journey to come.
PUTTING IT TOGETHER
Whether or not you’ve lost a spouse, you can imagine the void that is created by their passing. Instead of flailing in that unknown space, it helps to have a plan. Thankfully, three ideas offered me hope for a life without Steve. The art represented the attitude with which I wanted to continue my life. The van was a literal vehicle by which I could travel the country in fresh ways. And the great golf adventure gave me the structure to refine my own golf game, meet new people, and write my books in the process. It’s been a fun start already and I’d love for you to join me as it unfolds!
Take Action Now:
- Sign up for our newsletter and stay up to date with my latest golf adventures
- Download the list of 100 golf courses on my list to play this year.
- Get out and do something you love today. Do this with someone you love, or talk about it with someone you love once you’re done. Life is meant to be bright and lively and Steve would have wanted me (and you) to enjoy this day to its fullest.
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