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Walking Through The Valley
Of Sorrow And Despair



By Frosty Wooldridge
5-12-26

How do you explain sorrow?  What goes on in your body when you’re in the grip of despair?  Who can help you to recover from emotional misery?  Why do we humans face tragic moments of incredible trauma in our lives?  Where do we go for help to recover our well-being?

If you are a long-time reader of my commentaries, you know that 10 weeks ago, Sandi, the love of my life, passed away from the onslaught of Alzheimer’s Disease.  Together, we fought it for seven solid years.  Day by day, it took away her mind, took away her body, took away her face.  It strangled every brain cell in her mind. It wrecked every muscle in her body.  It turned her face from bright, sparkling and alive—to something unrecognizable.

When she passed that fateful night, February 18, 2026, my whole world crashed.  We shared SUCH an incredible 32-year love affair.  We hit the dance floor twice a week all through the years.  We competed in West Coast Swing all over the country. We experienced something incredibly magical as we danced together. At the time, we didn’t know what it was, but we reveled in it on that hardwood floor along with the music.

“Scientists at the University of Colorado Boulder have discovered something that experienced ballroom dancers have long known: When dancers are in tune with each other, their brains may sync up, helping them move as one.

“When we dance, our brains are actually coupling," said Thiago Roque, a graduate student in the Atlas Institute who led the study. "We are synchronizing our brains through our behavior."

“For the unique experiment, the researchers placed electroencephalogram (EEG) caps, or devices that measure electrical activity in the brain, on pairs doing the Argentine Tango—a sensuous dance where a leader and follower hold each other tight while moving together to music.

“The team found that when those dancers were moving together in time, the activity in their brains also began to look startling similar. Scientists call that phenomenon "interbrain coupling" or "neural synchronization.”

For that magic Sandi and I shared, I am eternally grateful. We laughed, loved and enjoyed being in each other’s arms.

That wasn’t all. We loved the movies where we watched “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid…The Sting…Liar, Lair….” and hundreds more. A week before she died, we watched Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson in “Song Sung Blue.”  Over 20 years ago, we drove to Denver’s last drive-in theater.  Of course, we watched the movie and made out like a couple of teenagers! 

While she couldn’t talk in full sentences the last two years, the morning of her passing, after I gave her a full 30-minute body massage, which I did for seven years, I pulled her up.  She looked at me, “I like you,” she said.  “I love you Sandi with all my heart.”  Those were the last words she ever spoke.  That night before dinner, we slow-danced in the kitchen to Alan Jackson’s “Remember When.”  That was our last dance together.

Through our 32-year love affair, we bicycled thousands of miles. We skied the big slopes in Colorado. We rafted the rivers. We sailed on the big lakes.  We climbed 14,000-foot mountains. We camped out under the stars and shared many a blazing campfire. Nothing beats chirping crickets and the joy of hot chocolate under a starlit sky. And then, jumping into a warm sleeping bag.

We always ate dinner on the deck or in the dining room with candles burning. We maintained that secret of romance by the eternal beauty of candle light.

But now, she’s gone. I’ve got her pictures all over the house, but I cannot hold her. For the past 10 weeks, I’ve staggered through “The Valley of Sorrow.”  I am walking through “The Valley of Despair.”  I can’t wait to go to sleep each night, and I dread waking up to face the day.

I’ve attended some “Grief Groups”, but everyone in the groups is as sad, depressed and filled with despair as I am.  It’s like no one can give me a roadmap or a blueprint to escape my grief.

My sorrow sees me breaking down crying at any time of the day. I start crying when I see a friend at church.  Today, at church, I cried through the sermon.  Our preacher talked about “traumatic moments that cause pain.”  I immediately started crying because Sandi flooded my mind.

Somehow, I’ve got to reconstruct my life, to give it meaning, to get back my drive. From what I can tell, no one can help me out of this misery.  I must climb out of this emotional hole via my own efforts.  I talk to friends. I’ve seen two counselors. I’ve been supported at church by many friends.  I even have old friends from all over the country calling me regularly to make sure I’m okay.  I thank Kelleigh Nelson, my journalistic colleague, for sending me cards and emotional support. 

You see, Sandi is tattooed on every cell in my body.  She boosted me up with her incredible energy for 32 years.  Her smile, her energy, her spirit, her humor, her love of life, her fabulous dance moves kept me in bliss for three decades.

At the memorial for Sandi, everyone watched the slide show of Sandi’s and my life together.  Each picture showed her in action with her huge smile, her big hair, her fancy dance dresses, her backpacks, her skis, her climbing boots, her two boys, her girlfriends on the dance floor, and riding her bicycle across mountain passes.  Even her published book graced the main table. 

When all is said and done, I must be one of the luckiest men on this planet.  I survived the Vietnam War.  I’ve gotten to pedal the highways across six continents.  I’ve skied, biked, hiked, climbed, tennis, racquetball, sailed and shared the world with friends and Sandi for seven decades. I enjoyed great parents. I worked hard as a teacher and a truck driver to make a decent living in America.  I’ve got all my published books and thousands of articles.  I hope I’ve contributed to America in a good way.

While I’m in my own “Valley of Sorrow”, I know that most human beings lose loved ones. I know that the parents of Laken Riley, Jocelyn Nungaray, Kate Steinle, Rachel Morin and Sheridan Gorman are suffering just like me at this very moment.  Erika Kirk and her children suffer the loss of Charlie Kirk.

I know that 2,000,000 killed in the Ukraine-Russia War have parents agonizing over their deaths.  I know the same holds true for all those kids killed in the streets of Iran. Their parents are weeping over the deaths of their loved ones. Same with Gaza’s incredible deaths!

In the end, while I’m suffering miserably during the last two minutes in the 4th quarter of my life—I give tremendous gratitude that I’ve lived this long, this far, and this healthfully. I am thankful to God and friends for Sandi’s journey with me.  I am thankful that I was given good parents to bring me into this life.

If you’re suffering like me, I wish you every possible support from friends and family.  I hope you can find a roadmap and/or blueprint out of your suffering.  I can only recommend taking it one day at a time.   To repurpose your life, to recalibrate your life, to reconstruct your life——-will be the most challenging journey of your life.  I wish you good energy and hope.

 

As I said before, when Sandi died, "Heaven got a new angel…"