Submitted by Jenna Stamplicoski
When Gary speaks about his wife, Lorraine, there’s a quiet steadiness in his voice — the sound of someone who has learned to carry both love and loss in the same breath. “Lorraine, what happened, it was just so sudden, so fast,” he once wrote. “I was in disbelief. Then I felt numb. I felt sadness. I felt pain. I felt sorrow. I felt at a loss. Then I felt alone.”
Lorraine’s illness came swiftly. She was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer in October, and within seven months, she was gone. “I never knew grief before,” Gary said. “I’d known sorrow and sadness, but this was different. Grief is deeper — it takes over your body and your mind.”
Those first weeks after her death passed in a blur of confusion and exhaustion. “I was physically ill,” he wrote. “Sometimes I felt nothing at all, and other times I felt everything in the same day.” As the days went on, the weight of grief deepened. “I didn’t know if I was coming or going,” he remembered. “I was getting very depressed. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. I just didn’t know what to do anymore.”
One day, unable to bear it any longer, Gary drove himself to the Emergency Department at St. Francis Memorial Hospital. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he said. “I just went in and said, ‘I need help.’” The staff responded with gentleness and care. “They were amazing,” Gary recalled. “So understanding. They didn’t rush me — they just listened.”
Recognizing how fragile he was, the hospital connected him with the Madawaska Valley Hospice Palliative Care (MVHPC) Grief and Bereavement Counsellor, who came directly to meet him. “They connected me that same day,” Gary said. “It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
That moment — one of crisis met with compassion — marked the beginning of his healing.
At the time of Lorraine’s illness, the couple had been living in Toronto. They had downsized from their family home to a condo during her treatment, hoping to make life easier. But after her death, the condo felt empty. “The condo is a nice place,” he wrote, “but it’s still hard to be here. Again, being alone. No Lorraine. Remembering Lorraine.”
Gary began spending more time at their cottage in the Madawaska Valley — a place filled with memories, quiet beauty, and family support. It became the backdrop for his slow return to life.
When he started counselling with MVHPC, Gary admitted that talking wasn’t easy. “I used to think being strong meant not crying,” he said. “But I realized that trying to appear strong nearly broke me.” Opening up took courage, but it changed everything. “I’m not ashamed to cry anymore,” he said. “I now know that my tears are my strength — me showing my deep love for Lorraine. When you see my tears, you are seeing my love, not my weakness.”
Through individual sessions and the hospice grief support group, Gary found understanding and connection. “Just hearing others say they felt the same as me helped,” he said. “Knowing I wasn’t different — that meant a lot.” The group became a safe place to share memories, cry when needed, and listen when others spoke. “Just hearing everyone’s stories, though sad, was comforting,” he wrote. “I’m not alone in my feelings.”
He learned that what he needed most wasn’t answers, but belonging — a place where others recognized his pain. “Being alone and being lonely are completely different,” he said. “I don’t mind being alone, but I don’t like being lonely.” After each session, he felt lighter. “After the last two grief sessions, I’ve been feeling pretty good… not my old self, but better.”
Writing also became a powerful tool for healing. “Writing helped me get it out,” he said. “Sometimes reading it later helped me understand what I was feeling. I tell people, write it down. You might not get it right away, but someday when you read it again, you’ll understand more.”
As months passed, gratitude began to emerge beside the pain. At Thanksgiving, Gary wrote what he called his “Thanksgiving message.” “At first, I was having difficulty finding much to be thankful for, but I then realized that I do have many reasons.” He listed them: the love he and Lorraine shared, the months they were gifted and got to spend together during her illness, and the steady support of family. “I may be sad,” he wrote, “but I am thankful. My tears are tears of love. I love you, Lorraine.”
Small rituals now help keep her close. “I still talk to her all the time,” he said. “Every night before bed, I say goodnight.” When he placed her ashes where she wanted them — by the water near their cottage — he wrote, “I couldn’t stop the tears when I looked out and saw this beauty where part of Lorraine is. It was beautiful. I knew she was at peace.”
Now, Gary’s life has found a gentler rhythm. “It’s not as bad as it used to be,” he said. “The lows don’t last as long. I still have my moments, but I can manage them better.” He’s also honouring Lorraine’s wish that he keep travelling. “She wanted me to still do the things we loved to do together,” he said. “She forced me into trying, and I’m going to do it.”
When asked what advice he’d give to others struggling with grief, Gary’s answer is simple: “Don’t try to go through it on your own. If there’s a helping hand reaching out, take it.”
“The hospice programs saved me,” he added quietly. “It got me talking again. It reminded me that people care.”
If you or someone you know is living with grief and bereavement, the Madawaska Valley Hospice Palliative Care (MVHPC) offers free, confidential counselling and support groups for individuals and families throughout the region.
For information on one-on-one counselling, group sessions, or other programs and events, please contact:
613-756-3045 ext. 350 www.mvhospice.ca
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