The Scenic Route

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New content.
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New insight into who I am, where I've been, and where I'm going.

Can't wait to take you along! See you soon on The Scenic Route. ❤️

Join me this Saturday from 10-3 at this lovely holiday craft fair hosted by Mosaic Church in Littleton.

I will be selling custom gifts including ornaments, decor, Zen Gardens, & Zensory Kits (kid-friendly with kinetic sand). I can also do special requests and have them ready for your holiday giving!
https://facebook.com/events/s/falliday-vendor-fair/2654235571603604/

Next Saturday find me downtown at the Urban Markets Denver Wynkoop at Union Station!!


The Scenic Route
Debbie Darrow

facebook.com

It's a holding my breath type of night. 9 years ago on the 29th, I was saying goodbye as Shane transitioned to home hospice. He chose his mother's home so Owen would not see him suffer. The paramedics wheeled him out of Lutheran Hospital, asking if I was riding with or following. They stopped in their tracks and apologized when they learned I was not welcomed by my MIL.

24 hours later Shane was gone without the chance for me to be beside him, a cruel choice by a woman who blamed me for his illness, even though the trauma and substance abuse that led to his last breath began in her home when he was a child. When he died, she didn't update me. A call hours later from his father and the time of death on his death certificate confirmed I felt him pass anyway, as the worst panic attack of my life began as he died with no one in the room at 2:15 in the afternoon. I felt his last breath from Boulder as I stood by my mailbox in Lakewood.

My blood pressure still rises when I think about the betrayal of those last days. Shane chose to live his last days with me and Owen, quietly as a husband and father. He knew his choices were killing him even when I didn't. He made those choices long before we met. He limited his drinking throughout our marriage, until the stress of August 2016 when the vodka began to disappear more quickly. I found out from a mutual friend every day he lived with me was a gift to his life as the days before me his problem was so bad it threatened his life on a daily basis.

Shane's doctors knew he was an alcoholic and his health was impacted, but had no true solution. There is nothing you can do to treat an alcoholic who has no interest in helping themselves. His doctors knew it, Shane knew it, and I knew it too. I was absolutely naive about alcohol and substance abuse before the handsome suitor with the charming conversation and self-given label of recovering alcoholic turned out to be actively in addiction.

It didn't stop shame and blame after his death from people who believed the right testimony or prayer or intervention would have done the trick. Shane had everything he needed to stop drinking except a reason that outweighed his pain and a will that outweighed his addiction. He lived and died the way he wanted to. I mourn the healthy version of him I saw glimpses of but didn't truly know. I mourn the time we missed out on together, the milestones he never saw for Owen, and the comfort he can't give me as I walk through another hard season. I mourn the one man who loved me until death do us part. May his memory be a blessing.

October holds so much for me.

Owen's birthday. My wedding to Shane. Moving into our condo. Shane's death. The church I grew up in closing. Health issues, hospitalizations, heartache. New life to hold and love. Moving out of our condo and in with family. Twice.

I have been caught in October's emotions year after year. This year hit like a tsunami. I have been fighting the riptide for weeks upon weeks, with health scares, mood swings, and paralyzing uncertainty. The trees outside are as bright as the beautiful colors of 2016 that made no sense when my world was crumbling. Last night, thunder rumbled and winter drew closer.

Thursday marks 9 years. Nine years since I waited until morning to let my son know his stepdad was dead, then took him trick-or-treating at church, because what else do you do with a child when you are gasping for air? Everyone else was surprised to see us, but it was the place I needed to be with the people I needed to see.

Shane was 43 and always will be. Owen had just turned 9. I look at his sister and his cousin turning 9 this fall and can't imagine that he was so little and given so much heaviness to hold. I am catching up with Shane at 40 now and, God-willing, will live many more years. It didn't take long to live longer as a widow than as his wife.

I am holding on through this season, trying to be patient with the rollercoaster ride. Sometimes I come up for air long enough to sigh with relief. Owen stays glued to my side, riding the same current, not sure which of us is playing the role of lifeguard. He tries to be the man of the house, but he's still my little boy.

Know there are millions of people riding similar waves of grief, new and old, every day. Be gentle and bring peace wherever you can.

Debbie Darrow
October 2025

Bold Moves, Brave Beginnings

This fall, I am embracing my inner artist. I always knew I was creative, but I never liked or thought I was any good at anything more crafty than a collage until 2017.

What changed? My husband died. This October marks 9 years as a young widow. The overwhelming weight of grief with his sudden decline and unexpected death 12 days after our 2nd wedding anniversary, when we were supposed to be celebrating in Estes Park, was a cloud that kept me from smiling for a long time.

The first true glimmer of hope came in February 2017. Our church community had grown that same month Shane died, merging with a Spanish-speaking congregation and installing a female lead pastor for the first time ever not just in our building, but in our brand of faith (denomination for you stalwarts). We had fresh life and a bilingual service, and a large influx of women. The pastor, Vanessa, planned a paint and sip evening of fellowship for the women, new and old, and a dozen of us gathered to paint dragonflies, nosh, and get to know each other better. That night was one of happiness. That painting was pretty darn good. I unlocked a new hobby and a new idea of myself and continued to explore first acrylic painting then other realms of arts and crafts.

Eight years later, I have signed up for my first vendor table at my church's Falliday Festival. I applied for a couple other ones this weekend. I am excited to go beyond painting for myself and for gifts to friends and family and share my ideas with a broader audience. Every photo here is something I have made in the last 9 years, many as part of purposeful processing through my grief. It is healing. It is refreshing. It is freeing to open up this side of myself. Time to chip away at the craft supplies I've been hoarding. Money well spent.

Gorgeous moon over Denver tonight.