Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed (31 page)

Hospice is not really the ideal place for visitors. The patients are rarely in a condition to see people, and in Kyle’s case she didn’t really want people to see her. Although it was hard to explain this to loved ones, I understood why. The time seemed to pass so slowly. I rarely left Kyle’s side, and David Johnson was there as much as he could be. My only solace was when Kyle would sleep peacefully, with no apparent pain. I took comfort in those moments of silence when I knew she was comfortable and resting her frail body. I’d hope that she was thinking or dreaming of pleasant thoughts. I’d pray for her to wake up feeling better than when she had fallen asleep. I’d read magazines and drink coffee, but all I could think about was wishing Kyle would find just a brief moment of peace.

Although visitors were few, the outpouring from around the world was beyond moving. Friends we had not connected with in years reached out with their prayers, thoughts, and concern. I will never be able to thank the countless people who offered prayers and support during this dark time, but if you’re reading this—thank you and God bless you!

I reached out to a lot of people as well. There’s no book that teaches someone how to go through this. It’s difficult on so many levels and to so many different degrees. There are no step-by-step instructions on how to navigate the road of terminal cancer. I’m sure many books have tried, but no amount of planning or literary education can prepare you for the emotional extremes one feels during these times. It’s a different journey for everyone.

I knew what was coming. Kyle and I both knew, but we didn’t say it aloud. We just held hands, prayed, and did our best to believe that in all the madness, God still had a plan. It was hard to believe, but we kept faith despite the fact that many prayers were not answered in the way that we wanted them to be. It was a difficult test of faith and trust.

I stayed by Kyle’s side almost nonstop while she was in hospice. I was doing my best to take all the calls that were coming in and making calls to keep everyone informed. Some friends had called and asked if they could stop by. When they arrived, I met them out in the lobby. Very few words were said, as there was so little to say. We sat and prayed. It was the early evening of March 5.

Down the hall a nurse came running toward me saying, “Come quick. She’s taking her last breath.” I immediately jumped up and ran down the hallway. I had never run so fast in my life. A million thoughts raced through my head in the few seconds it took me to run to her bedside.

I grabbed Kyle’s hand and starred at her, hoping she was still breathing. I was hoping she would know I was there for her until the very end. I held my breath while I held her hand. I waited. And waited. As she took her last breath, I squeezed her hand to let her know I was there. I wanted her to know that she was not alone. I wanted her to have comfort. Whatever fears she might have at this moment, I prayed silently for them to go away. I squeezed her hand again.

“I’m here for you Kyle. I love you,”
I said as I knelt by her bedside.

She gasped and didn’t breathe again.

My wife and best friend died on March 5, 2009.

I didn’t cry. I just sat there in silence. I stood up beside her bed and, after what felt like an eternity, I turned to walk back out into the hallway. I looked back one last time and saw her lying there peacefully.

I had two years to prepare for this moment, but I realized I wasn’t at all ready. I didn’t know what to do. It was difficult for me to focus on gathering my thoughts and deal with providing the information hospice needed to prepare Kyle. I tried my best to regain my thoughts and to cope with the idea of breaking the news to Mikey, Lena and Marion. Eventually Pastor David drove me home.

When I walked through the door of our house that night, the kids were home. It was as if there was no sun and no moon. The sky was never darker. The earth was never quieter, and it felt like the end of the world had come. I felt as though I would be giving my kids a hug and the world would end two seconds later. My heart was so heavy and my mind was diverted, like nothing I had ever felt before.

I didn’t know what to say when I came home, or what to do, or where to go. I was lost. I tried to collect myself to tell the kids. It wasn’t easy and actually caught them by surprise. They knew mom wasn’t doing well, but I think they had hoped that she would return home. We all did. So I just came out and said it.
“Mom passed away tonight. She’s with God now. She’s gone.”

That’s when the tears came. They had just lost their mom and no amount of comfort I could provide would be enough. We slept together on the couches in the living room. We wanted to all be together that night. And I’m not sure I was ready to sleep in our bed alone. I missed the uncomfortable chair in the many hospital rooms I had slept in over the past few years. Although it was different rooms at different places, that uncomfortable chair seemed to remain the same—a symbol that my discomfort in that chair paled in comparison to what Kyle was going through. That chair represented my ability to remain connected to my wife. As long as I was in that chair, I would know that I had another day with Kyle. So to go from that to a nice bed—I just wasn’t ready. We got some blankets out of the closet and Mikey, Lena, and I all slept in the living room that night. We didn’t go to sleep until very late that evening.

Surprisingly I felt a sense of relief after Kyle passed. I knew she was in heaven and that I, and the kids, would see her again. Kyle was with God and no longer had to deal with fluid in her lungs, vomiting, pain, or discomfort of any kind. Knowing this gave me incredible peace. I even had brief moments when I would smile. I knew with full confidence that Kyle was in a much better place. There was no doubt that this woman who had dedicated her entire life to God was indeed in heaven. I was sad of course, but selfishly. I was sad for the kids and me but not for her. She was better off—I had no doubt about that.

After the sense of peace wore off, fear set in. Kyle had always taken care of the details of day-to-day life, the kids, and almost anything that required focus and attention. This was all on me now and how would I handle it? How would I handle life without Kyle? I had always leaned on her for so much—in all aspects. I was fearful that without her I’d crumble. Aside from the emotional stress of helping everyone deal with the loss, I had to deal with everything Kyle dealt with, and I realized just how big a job that was. It was all on me now, and I feared that I couldn’t handle it.

Lena and Mikey helped me pick out Kyle’s clothes for the burial. That was a tremendously sad moment going through Kyle’s closet knowing that she once stood in this very spot debating on what to wear for the day. Never again would I be able to see her fumble through the hangers of clothes to decide on something to wear. Today, the kids and I had to make that decision.

The funeral took place in Wareham, Massachusetts, and the huge number of people who attended from all over the country was overwhelming. It seemed every friend Kyle and I had ever known came to her memorial service. It was touching and spoke loudly about who Kyle was. The line wrapped around the funeral home for friends and loved ones to pay their respects to a woman who was admired by every person with whom she came in contact.

The days and weeks that followed were miserable. I didn’t know how to deal with this loss and how I was ever going to get over it or get through it. So I dealt with it the only way I knew how.

I went back to work.

I called Dave Rose less than a month after Kyle’s passing, and I said,
“Let’s tour. I’m ready to hit the road.”
I felt that we needed to stay active as a family in order to rise above the storm, so I did something really unconventional. Mikey had been working on some new material with his band, Flight Patterns (5-6 songs or so), and I walked into his bedroom and said, “If you guys can pull together 45 minutes of material by August, you can open the Stryper tour.” Mikey looked as though it was April Fools and couldn’t believe what I was saying. I arranged for Flight Patterns to be the opening act, and I also arranged for Lena to work selling merchandise. Together we would hit the road as a family. I look back on that time, and I wouldn’t change a thing. We needed to heal, and I felt this would be the best way to do so. The kids agreed and so it was.

Our life with Kyle was something we cherished every day. She touched all those that knew her, and when all the tears dry and the sadness of her loss subside, we’ll realize how fortunate we all were to know and love Kyle Rae Sweet.

THIRTY-NINE

Throughout my life I have been amazed by God as to what He can do,
when
He decides to do it, and just how little I understand His plan. Sometimes it confuses me. I do my best to pray faithfully and follow His lead, but often, when I least expect it, He throws a curve ball and I don’t really know what to think.

Stryper getting a record deal. The unexpected pregnancy that led to my son Michael being born. Charting, touring, and selling hundreds of thousands of albums as a solo artist, and just when I thought I had seen it all, becoming a member of the band Boston. All curve balls that I never expected.

In most of these cases, the unexpected gifts from God come along at the most inopportune of times. I’m usually not ready for them. But somehow, He shows me the path, if I’ll just listen and follow His lead. God is amazing that way. To even try to understand His plan is futile. We as humans like to think we’re in control over our lives, that we have complete say-so on how everything will fall into place. For a believer, that couldn’t be further from the truth. We don’t always like to admit it, and we’re not always fond of when He decides to do what He does, but we know deep in our faith that God has a plan for our lives and if we’ll just open our hearts and minds, He’ll lead us down the right path, the perfect path.

A couple of weeks after the funeral we received an outpouring of gifts and cards from many people. I was touched by all of them, but one in particular arrived that really caught my attention. It was a really unique gift basket. It was distinctive in that I could tell a lot of thought went into it. It contained gifts for Mikey, Lena, Marion, the dog and even a gift certificate to one of my favorite restaurants, Inaho—a Japanese restaurant in Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts.

It was from Lisa Champagne.

She had been a friend of Oz’s for about a year, and our paths had crossed a couple of times through Oz, but I didn’t know her well at all. I sent Oz a text message and asked for her phone number so I could call and thank her. It was such a thoughtful gift, and I wanted her to know how much it meant.

I eventually dialed Lisa’s number. She answered, and we had a short but pleasant conversation. While wrapping up the call, I asked her if she’d like to help me use the gift certificate and have dinner sometime. I made sure to mention it would not be a date, just a simple, friendly dinner. From what little I knew about Lisa, she was coming out of a long relationship that had not turned out as planned and was in no position to start dating, nor was I, obviously. But I did want and need someone to talk to, and Lisa seemed to be a great listener. Come to find out, I had mentioned once in passing that my favorite restaurant was Inaho. She actually listens to people when they talk—a skill I’ve yet to perfect.

To say that I enjoyed the dinner would be an understatement. To say God was throwing me another curve ball would be true, but it would also be an incomplete description of the night. I felt a connection with Lisa I didn’t in the least expect. We drove separate cars and we met at the restaurant with full intentions of this being a simple, friendly dinner. What happened instead was as inspiring as it was confusing. It was as exciting as it was terrifying. Within a few short hours over dinner, I felt a strong connection with Lisa that I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again. With no disrespect to my late wife Kyle, it was a type of connection I’m not sure I had ever felt before. It was uniquely different in so many ways. It was all its own.

Lisa was like a female version of me. Similarly, I was like a male version of her. We had so much in common yet I couldn’t help but continually reminding myself
“There’s no way this can be happening. It’s too soon! Or is it?

Almost four hours after that dinner began, we went our separate ways. I knew I wanted to see her again, but I certainly was not planning to rush into anything. Her ex-boyfriend was still living in her house at the time. They had already made the decision to end the relationship but being the person that Lisa is, it was difficult for her to ask him to move out. At that time, they were in the process of trying to figure out the logistics of going separate ways. Lisa was planning on selling her house and her ex would be moving elsewhere, so it was somewhat complicated.

A few days later, Lisa invited me over to her house for a dinner party. I went but didn’t stay long—not because I didn’t want to stay—I just didn’t want to overextend my welcome. It was a little uncomfortable as her ex was there as well as many of his friends. I think everyone there could sense that Lisa and I had some sort of connection and there was no denying it. I left shortly after eating dinner and went home.

Lisa and I talked on the phone that night and a few times the days that followed. I enjoyed every moment of getting to know her. Those who know me can appreciate the fact that I’m not a phone person typically speaking, so to actually
want
to talk to anyone more than five minutes is certainly a sign that I’m enjoying the conversations. Often we would talk for hours.

I was absorbing every ounce of every moment, and I didn’t want any conversation with her to end. Lisa’s love for life was infectious, and her compassionate heart for others was endearing.

Later that week we met for lunch at Trevi, a Mediterranean cafe in Mashpee Commons and once again, we didn’t want the conversation to end. After a late lunch that day, I walked Lisa to her car. We embraced as it began to rain, and we held each other as if we didn’t want to let go.