My wife Debbie Rupp was born in St. Louis, Missouri in 1953, the oldest of five daughters. She attended Good Shepherd Grade School, which set the table for a life of faith and prayer.

This is how we met. Near the end of her senior year of high school, Debbie ’s best friend invited her to go watch her boyfriend play hockey. Being from a family of girls, she knew nothing about hockey, but went anyway. By God’s grace, I was at the rink that night. I had played the earlier game and as my friends and I were leaving, we saw the two girls watching the next game. We commented how pretty the blonde was. I was a dweeb and never had the guts to talk to pretty girls. But then I heard one of our guys say, “I know her from school. She’s a goody-two-shoes,” to which all the guys moaned, except me. That gave me the courage to go talk to her. I say that because this was in the middle of the 60’s and 70’s sexual revolution. Instinctively, I was drawn to a girl not caught up in that stuff. My upbringing taught me to respect women. I hoped that this cute blonde might share my values.

On our first date, we talked and got to know one another. I was thrilled that we shared the same values — and that she was Catholic. I knew that evening I was going to marry Debbie. There was no doubt in my mind and two years later we were married — at Good Shepherd Church.

We practiced our faith in our new life together, but it was not as robust as it should have been. Then we had our first child. Everything changed. We felt the immense responsibility to raise our family in the Faith. And our faith grew with each child. We prayed before every meal and prayers at bedtime were always fun, uplifting, and often poignant — “Out of the mouths of babes.”

After our second child, Debbie was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Two more children later she was diagnosed with lupus. These diseases were the beginning of a life of chronic pain.

Over the course of the next 40 years Debbie had more than twenty major surgeries including a shoulder replacement, 8 hip surgeries and replacements, both wrists fused, neck fusion, fractures in her back, the loss of her spleen and gall bladder, and several dozen other hospital stays related to her compromised immune system. And through it all, Debbie smiled. She prayed and smiled. She had rosaries in every room of the house.

One particularly difficult time came in 1999. We were eating dinner and in the middle of dinner conversation, she stopped talking and just sat there with her eyes closed. The kids giggled because it looked like she fell asleep in mid-sentence. A few minutes later, she was taking a bite of food and stopped with her mouth open and the food on her fork ready to eat. Again, she froze, and her eyes were shut. And again, the kids giggled. But I knew something was wrong. After dinner, away from the kids, I asked her if she was okay. She was a little confused and didn’t remember what happened at dinner. I called a dear family friend who was also our family pediatrician. He told me to take her to the hospital.

We discovered that she was suffering from a condition known as a “thyroid storm.” This condition was serious and could result in a stroke, pulmonary embolisms, and even death. She did develop the embolisms and we found out later she had several small strokes. She was very sick, and the prognosis was grim. The pain was overwhelming. I stayed with her as long as I could. I left the hospital at midnight, went home to sleep, got the kids ready for school and went to 7:00 am Mass, which I didn’t normally do because it was hard to go with the kids and school. At Mass, I prayed that Debbie’s pain would subside and she would fully recover. I was scared.

After Mass, I went again to see Debbie. When I got to the hospital, it was very quiet. It was still early, and I didn’t see many people in the hallways. I had my head down as I walked with a thousand thoughts going through my mind. I stopped at her door and said a prayer before going in. I prayed, “Lord, please make me strong for Debbie. I know how much she’s struggling and will need me to be strong for her.”

When I opened the door and walked into her room, I saw her sitting up in bed looking absolutely radiant! I couldn’t believe my eyes. The night before, she was doing all she could to not give in to the pain, but her face reflected the intensity of that pain. This morning, the contrast was incredible.

I said, “Sweetheart, what happened?” My mouth was gaping, and my eyes must have looked like saucers. I sprinted to her bedside where she said, with a smile on her face, “You’re not going to believe this, but Mary visited me last night.” I was stunned and said to her, “MARY…Mary?” Again, Debbie smiled and said, “Yes, Mary!” I looked into her beautiful blue eyes which showed the wonder of what she had just said. We hugged for the longest time and said nothing. I had tears running down my face. Debbie never stopped smiling.

After a while, she said, “Not long after you left, I thought I was dreaming but there at the foot of the bed stood Mary. I sat up and knew this wasn’t a dream. There she was. She was so calm and pretty. I smiled at her and she smiled at me. Then Mary spoke. She said, ‘I will never leave you, my child. And my Son will never leave you. You will always be in pain but know that I will always be with you and my Son will always be with you.’ And then Mary slowly faded away. Her words gave me great peace and great hope. I know that no matter what happens they’ll be with me.” And she smiled.

Most people, when told, “You will always be in pain,” would go into depression and ask, “Why me?” Debbie, hearing it from Mary’s lips, saw it as a gift. A gift that Debbie used as a way to honor God, and Mary. She felt that, if she prayerfully offered her pain, it might inspire others to better handle their pain and difficulties as well. She inspired everyone she ever met and untold numbers of people she never met. Debbie inspired me to become a daily Communicant. Every day I would bring Communion home to Debbie. That was a wonderful blessing.

Debbie was humbled every time I’d come home from some event and tell her about all the different people who said, “Tell Debbie I’m praying for her.” She’d say, “If someone is praying for me, that means they’re growing closer to Christ, because that’s what prayer is. And, if they’re growing closer to Christ because of my illness, then my illness has value.” And she’d thank God for that gift. That brought her great joy. She lived a life of pain, prayer, and joy. To find joy in pain takes great faith.

For the next 25 years, Debbie continued to have pain, surgeries, and hospital stays. And she smiled her way through all of them. And she prayed her way through all of them. Her prayer life was always good, but after Mary’s holy visit, Debbie prayed the Rosary several times a day.

In mid-2023, Debbie fell and broke bones in her back and her pelvis. Our game plan, as with so many other hospital stays, was to get her home as soon as possible. A few days into her stay, however, the doctor came in and said, “We discovered some spots on your pancreas and liver.” We were stunned but hoped for the best. The doctor came back the next day and told us it was stage four cancer. We cried together, but Debbie wiped away her tears and started to console me and our daughter. And she smiled.

We were told she had less than six months to live. So we prepared to get her home to be as comfortable as possible. But a few days later her health deteriorated very quickly. The doctor said her organs were shutting down and she may not last the day. All of our family were notified and rushed to the hospital from Kansas, Kentucky, Florida, and all across Missouri. Debbie’s breathing was terribly labored, and she was comatose. But, somehow, every time another family member arrived, she woke enough to smile, look them in the eye and whisper, “I love you Beth” or, “I love you Mom,” or I love you Diane.” It was incredible.

And finally, after everyone had been so lovingly greeted, Debbie fell back into her deep sleep. The next night as we sat, holding her hands and praying, she opened her eyes, smiled, and looking straight up whispered, “I love you.” Those were her last words. They weren’t directed at anyone in the room. I know in my heart; they were directed at Mary and her Son. They never left her. And now, she was with them forever.

I love you Debbie!