Check Out Susan VandePol’s Story

Today we’d like to introduce you to Susan VandePol.

Hi Susan, thanks for joining us today. We’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.

My Story

There’s a part in a Firefighter Prayer that says, “Don’t make me greater in death than I was in life.” We had been married for almost 24 years when he went Home to be with The Lord, and our 3 kids and I never had to try to make him “greater in death than he was in life” when we spoke about him, because he really was that special. Imperfect, as are we all, but so very special. Bob Ortega was a Los Angeles City Firefighter, and died from duty-related causes on April 7th, 2005. We took care of him at home for four years… the kids and I. The night before he died, he struggled so profoundly; trying to live and trying to die all at the same time. My best friend sat on the floor of the hallway, praying. I couldn’t comfort him, no matter what I did. Our daughter Jennifer took my place next to him for a while… with a cool rag to his forehead. When she spoke to him, he immediately calmed down – and we realized later, he did that for her. That’s how he loved; even as he died.
The next day, I knew. I have heard before that sometimes you just know. By the grace of God, I called the three kids into the room – Samual sat on the bed near his Dad’s head, Ben and Jennifer sat there too, and I on the other side, on a chair, where I had sat, so many times before. I had each of them put their hands on him, and then I put my hand on each of their’s, one at a time. “This is Sam, this is Ben, and this is Jenn.” He struggled one last time, and then Ben, our youngest, only 13 at the time said, “It’s ok Dad. It’s ok. You fought long enough. It’s ok.” And Bob Ortega took his last breath. Then Samuel led us in a worship song – “We love You Lord, and we lift our voice….”

The days that followed were other-worldly in a way, and though I had 4 years to prepare for his death, I couldn’t explain or express the pain; the tearing. I remember thinking that it reminded me of the “old days” late at night when the T.V. programming was over for the day, and there was just what seemed like static on the screen. A loud-silent-screaming-static. In reality, a sacred covenant had been torn by death. But I have learned that death doesn’t have the last word; Jesus does. And He has done more than I could have ever asked or imagined.

As most people do, I had always thought that widows were 90 and that there were just a few of them, and that someone else was taking good care of them; but I was 47. I wonder if it’s like when you get a new car and you start noticing the same car everywhere, because I started running into widows everywhere I went. They were every age, but a lot of them were very young. It became apparent to me that we all had similar stories in the sense that many of the difficulties we faced were the same. There were the practical issues – house stuff and things that needed to be fixed. There were legal issues, financial issues, and sometimes the widows I spoke with were in dire need of someone with expertise to talk to. One of the most glaring issues was that we were now single again, and almost across the board had already run into others trying to take advantage of us. Others wanted to help and said to just give them a call, but it was almost impossible to reach out to others for help when we were having trouble functioning and didn’t even know what it was we needed. Before I was a widow, I didn’t understand that part. And no one else, who hadn’t been a widow, understood. Our church family wanted to help, but they didn’t know what to do. Our firefighter family also wanted to help, but they were grieving as well – and still had to somehow keep going to work and saving lives while at the same time grieving deeply over the loss of their beloved firefighter brother.
About a year into our grief, God gave me an idea. Firefighters have a protocol for everything. It’s a matter of life and death for them and the communities they serve. I even remember seeing a bullet-point directive on how to make coffee in one of my husband’s training manuals when he was a rookie. So, I talked with a few friends, and began to work on a protocol. Please understand that school and writing and anything having to do with academia was never my forté. Ever. I hated school, so for me to be tasked with developing and writing something so detailed was, without question, a work of God.
A friend recommended I write out an “abstract” first. (I didn’t even know what that was, and had to look it up.) I gave a call over to L.A. City Firefighter’s Union Local 112, and made an appointment with the president. I was terrified, but I had met him before, and knew him to be kind. So I sat across his giant union-president desk, and shared my vision of a protocol for firefighters to use when coming alongside the widow of a fallen firefighter. It would not only gird her up, but it would give the firefighters a pragmatic way to express their grief that wouldn’t compromise their masculinity, their department’s integrity, or their families. Experts agreed that giving such an opportunity for firefighters would increase their resiliency and thereby allow them to return to work in a healthier manner, helping to ensure their safety and the safety of those they serve. Each department would engage a “Department Liaison” – an overseer of sorts, as well as a “Family Liaison” chosen by the individual firefighter. The protocol would be set into place preemptively, to help alleviate the often-present chaos after a firefighter fatality. I shared about a widow’s needs, separated them into four categories, and included communication logs and a detailed schedule of contact and a follow-up log. Included is a page on “Decorum” which includes the imperative that a firefighter would never go to a widow’s home alone, and that all visits would be logged. This, again, protects the integrity of the department, the firefighter, their family, and the widow and her family.
With watery eyes, the president looked across his desk and apologized, because he had never thought about any of that before; which I completely understood. We often don’t know what we don’t know. And so, he promised to submit the protocol to the International Association of Firefighters as a late resolution for their next biennial convention. A late resolution had never been accepted before, and so he told me that he wanted to at least present it to them, and we would begin to put the protocol into place back at home. The next miracle, (and there were many) was that in-fact, the protocol was unanimously accepted among thousands of members, and is now offered for use across the country as a best-practice after a firefighter fatality.

I’ll take a breath here with a few statistics:
The average age of a widow in the U.S. is 55, with 1/3rd of those under 45. (Between 1/3rd and 1/2 of the widows who attend our retreats are in their 20’s, 30’s and 40’s.)
Out of the 13 million widowed people in the U.S., over 11 million of those are women.
Between 65% and 75% of all married women will be widowed at least once.
There are approximately 258 million widows worldwide, but that is only an estimate and not including recent wartime fatalities. As well, in many other countries, widows are not considered human, nor worth counting nor given an address.

In the midst of it all, late at night when I was trying to cry quietly in my bedroom, so the kids wouldn’t hear, I heard God speak to me. It’s hard to explain it, but it was clear. “Speak for those who can’t speak for themselves.” I was having trouble getting up and brushing my teeth, let alone speak for someone else, but as time moved on, (whether I wanted it to or not…) I had a ridiculous desire to go back to school. I had always thought that diplomacy was interesting, so with the idea of speaking for others, I enrolled in a few Poli-Sci and International Relations classes. Still fairly numb but grateful to be learning, I realized it would take the rest of my life to get educated enough to get into the shifting culture of politics. Oddly (or not oddly…) the next week I received a flyer in the mail about an organization that offered mediation certifications, which I jumped on. At the same time, a few of my friends asked if I had ever heard of a well-known author by the name of Dr. Norman Wright. No, I hadn’t but they encouraged me to get in touch with him and show him the protocol. Of course, I was sure that when I called him, the famous author would pick up his phone, and we would become best friends. But I didn’t need to, because, again as God would have it, I received an email the very next week from a seminary that I had never had anything to do with. Dr. Norman Wright was offering a Grief, Crisis and Trauma Care certification course very near to where we lived. The rest is history.
I’m skipping a lot of the fun details here, but for the sake of sanity – through Dr. Wright, I met my now-husband, who is a renowned trauma expert. (Though we joke that he “was” a trauma expert, until he married me!) God confirmed His will for our future, and I moved to Michigan. A year into our marriage, we were celebrating our anniversary in Petosky. I had opened my Bible to the book of Psalms one of the mornings we were there, and found a 3×5 card with the name of an author and title of a book. I have no recollection of writing the name or book title, or putting it in my Bible, but we ended up looking her up and found that she was an award-winning Christian author, who was a co-founder of the Breathe Christian Writer’s Conference here in Michigan. You’re correct – I wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I had read one poem that I had written for my first husband, to my very educated husband now, and it was his loving opinion, that I might have a gift of writing. No, I insisted. In-turn, he signed me up for the writer’s conference where I went, ended up meeting the aforementioned award-winning author, and found out that she already knew about me because of the firefighter protocol. (Another miraculous part of the story, maybe for another time.) She invited me to an exclusive writer’s group where she and another author would read our “work” and determine if we should continue to pursue writing. She even gave me a scholarship though she had no idea if I could write or not; which I knew I couldn’t. She just said that God told her to. I didn’t have any “work” to show them, and so, in prayer, the next week, began to sit and type. At the same time, at the same writer’s conference, though I tried not to speak to any of the acquisitions editors there – (they were looking for the next famous writer) – one of them introduced himself, and asked to hear my story, after which he asked me to send him my “stuff.” (All day we heard over and over… you won’t be getting a publishing contract because almost nobody does.) Publishers receive thousands of book proposals and don’t have much time to sift through them all. So, we were encouraged to consider self-publishing. I wasn’t planning on publishing at all, so this was no problem. But there was one caveat: if any of the acquisition editors asked us to send them our “stuff” we were exhorted to do it, because that meant they were interested. Fast-forward, I found the acquisitions editor, after being told by the author who appeared in the book of Psalms that day, (and who gave me the scholarship,) that in fact… I had a gift. The acquisitions editor asked me to send him a proposal, which I did. A week later, he contacted me with a contract.
A year later, “Life After Breath – After Her Husband Takes His Last Breath, and After She Tries to Catch Hers” was done. More miracles here, but in-short, because of a computer glitch on my end, we had to extend the deadline to complete the book, which put us exactly at April 7th, 2015… ten years exactly from the date of my husband’s death. Only God could put an exclamation mark like that. Another cherry on top – our son Ben, the one who gave his Dad the loving benediction of goodbye on that sacred day, is an artist and created the cover art for the book.

After God had given me the initial protocol for fire departments, He showed me that there were many others who didn’t know what to do or how to help a widow. Neither did I, before my husband passed. So I wrote a congruent protocol for churches, but it is available to anyone – business, organization, ministry, anyone! I didn’t know God’s plan for the church protocol until He opened the door to hosting widow’s retreats through Starlight Ministries. After a couple years, the retreat became too big, and that’s when we formed our non-profit: Matters of Life and Breath. This is our 11th year. We try to spoil all the beautiful widows who attend our retreat. They come from all around the country, every age and at every stage of their grief, from weeks out from their husband’s death, to many years. We worship God, we learn, and we cry, but we laugh too; such good medicine. And, a beautiful bond is formed between the widows, the likes of which I have never seen anywhere else. On the last morning of the retreat, I share the story of the protocol and details from God’s Word about His heart for widows, and the church’s instruction on how to care for them. Each widow receives a copy of the protocol to take back to their own church. The ripple effect has been profound, and very, very inspiring. Widows are considered the most abused and marginalized people group in the world, and the most mis-understood. But now, they are beginning to have a voice. They are teaching others, and starting their own widow’s groups within their churches and communities.

In the meantime… for this Michigan transplant, non-academia, failed 8th grade history, California Jesus Movement convert, God continues to use the least likely. It’s humbling to say, I have been a contributor to several other publications including “Stories of Faith and Courage From Firefighters and First Responders,” and was asked to write a booklet for Our Daily Bread’s Discovery Series on the loss of a spouse, for both men and women entitled “Catching Your Breath.” I am a member of the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, and am certified in Grief, Crisis & Trauma Counseling, Grief and Loss Coaching, Master Life Coaching, Individual Crisis Intervention and Peer Support, Grief and Trauma Care/Military Application, Victim Response, and Family Mediation. Humbled as well to have had a keynote at the International Critical Incident Stress Foundation’s World Congress, and spoken at the California State Firefigher’s Convention, the Honor Guard at the IAFF Firefighter Memorial, Fire Rescue International, and Firehouse World.

Over 20 years ago, after the most devastating loss of one of God’s finest men, and the heartbeat of our family, God told me to speak for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. After the glitch in my computer and having to extend the deadline for my book because that glitch caused me to lose the last four chapters, I dug in deeper. One more time, I looked up every Scripture I could find about widows, and looked up the word widow in every language I could find. God commissioned me to speak for those who couldn’t speak for themselves, because, as it turns out, our word for “widow” means “unable to speak.” Only God.

Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
In hindsight, every obstacle or challenge during this long timeline of life, has been used to equip me for what God has called me to do. I grew up in a lovely area of Los Alamitos, California. I have some delightful sepia-toned memories of neighborhood bike rides, 4th of July block parties, swimming pools and carefree summers. But most did not know that my Mom was an alcoholic. She and our Dad divorced when I was 13, and ended up taking her life when I was a young adult. I was married to our beloved Bob, and our daughter was a month old. I learned about grief throughout my life – a dear friend was murdered, my brother and I held our Dad’s hand as he died from cancer, and on and on. School was challenging, and in hindsight, Since my Mom was always drinking, my Dad held up the fort, but that also meant I wasn’t always monitored to make sure my school work was up-t0-date. When I heard about the love of Jesus, and gave my life to him, my church family walked with me through it all, and still does.
Sitting here, trying to list all the obstacles/challenges… It’s tough, but I can feel the sacredness of it.
With the protocol the challenges were getting a mostly male union to follow through with something they did not entirely grasp. I’d say along with that has been the challenge of getting the information about widows to just about anyone – until I have the opportunity to sit with them and share the shocking statistics, and to help them realize their moms, wives and daughters will most likely, all be widows. (We could spend hours on this!)

Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
What I do has entirely everything to do with the people I do it with, and for, and foremost, my faithful Savior Who called me to it. I speak for those who can’t speak for themselves because – ironically, I never really knew or was taught how to speak up for myself either. I never knew that was a “category.” And I never knew that it would set me apart. I was never one of those incredible people who had goals and spent time focusing on my future. I didn’t have anyone to direct me in that way. But God… when He came into my heart, I learned what is a cornerstone of all I do today: abide. Just lean back in Him, and stay there. Everything I do is a direct result of His work in and through me; not my “doing” or “working” for Him. I read a book early-on by A.W. Tozer entitled “Abide In Christ.” He Writes:

“Does He really mean that I should abide in Him? The answer His Word Gives is so simple and so sure: By His mighty grace you now are in Him; that same almighty grace will indeed enable you to abide in Him. By faith you became partakers of the initial grace; by that same faith you can enjoy the continuous grace of abiding in Him.”

In a practical way, to my knowledge, there is no one else who offers widow’s retreats, events or a protocol like ours. There are other wonderful organizations and ministries, but none like ours. But I see that as a wonderful portion of God’s grace and indicative of all the differing gifts of His people. For me – I realize an interesting trait I have always had is an unusual curiosity for words, and I can say that because God gave me that curiosity, our ministry is what it is today. That curiosity propelled me on after I had lost the last four chapters of my book, and I found the treasure God had hidden there for me to find. He is the giver of good gifts. His Word says, in the book of Isaiah: “I will give you the treasures of darkness, and the hidden wealth of secret places.” I have heard it said that one does not hide a treasure out in the open. A profound truth.

My book has been called a “masterpiece.” More irony. I remember hearing a long time ago, that a “masterpiece” is something that rewards its return visitors. For me, the very plain truth is that as I have learned to abide in Christ, He has been my reward. He is the Creator and Master Craftsman of all, and He has taken all my weaknesses and faults and shortcomings, and He has turned it all into more that I could have ever asked for or imagined. What I thought was good for nothing, He has turned into nourishment, and healing, and transformation for others. Beauty for ashes and joy for mourning; it’s been a good trade.

Lastly… but not “lastly,” my family, friends, my staff and board – without them, none of this happens. I do not say that tritely. They have held me up; at times physically, and kept me going, and I often weep in gratitude because of the gift they all are.

We’d love to hear about any fond memories you have from when you were growing up?
Hide & Seek with the neighbor kids; finding an unlocked partially finished new house around the corner where Becky, Michelle, and Malise and I sat and sang together, (great acoustics) until at some point someone locked the house up. So bummed. Babysitting Carlton and loving it, because they had great snacks. (He was cute too.) Though, I always felt awkward when his dad walked me home. Getting to take a ride in our neighbor’s new Mustang. We were so cool after that. Weekends at Spiller’s Stables, riding our horses and walking to the mini-golf course for an orange soda. The first time i got to sing in a church musical! The time my friend dropped me off at home, and I found my mom passed out by the front steps. Her head was bleeding and I didn’t know what to do. Ran across the street for help. Grateful that God has healed the horrible memories, and used them to comfort others.

Pricing:

• Retreats – $310 – $385
• Book – Life After Breath – Price varies depending on seller
• Catching Your Breath – OBD Discovery Series – Free or donation

Contact Info:

• Website: https://mattersoflifeandbreath.com
• Facebook: Susan VandePol – Author
• LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/susanvandepol

Image Credits
Wendy Swenson – Headshot