On March 5, 2015, my then-husband Dan fell asleep in his man cave after a doctor’s appointment. The room was everything you’d imagine big leather recliners, sports memorabilia on the walls, and a giant TV. It was his preserve.At about 8:30 that evening, he called out to me from the recliner, “Did you know Thomas Jefferson was laid to rest in a pine box?”
Anyway, I love you.” I laughed, folded some laundry, and later, when I came back downstairs, he was fast asleep, snoring loudly.
I stayed up for hours, doing chores and keeping busy. Finally, at 3 a.m., I went upstairs to sleep, but at 3:40 a.m., I woke to silence. I froze for a moment, then rushed downstairs to the man cave in a panic.
Dan was slumped in his chair, foam coming from his mouth and runny from his nose. I shook him, screamed his name, and started CPR. He was big, 6 feet tall and 200 pounds, so I couldn’t move him. I leaned the recliner back and pressed on his chest, trying to breathe for him, while scooping out the foam with a towel until the paramedics arrived six minutes later.
The police made me call our parents, and soon after, I was at the hospital with both sets of parents. At 4:50 a.m., the ER doctor told us Dan was gone. He was only 35. At 32 years old and seven months pregnant with our son Jack, I lost my husband that night and became a widow.
The following week was a whirlwind. One moment I was organizing a celebration for our baby’s arrival; the next, I was making arrangements to say goodbye forever. I went back to work just three weeks after Jack was born. It might sound crazy, but work kept me grounded. I needed something steady to keep my mind from breaking.
Jack was a miracle, happy, and already sleeping through the night by two weeks old. In the midst of my deepest sorrow, he was the light that kept me going.
Grief hit me hard in waves. I realized I had been living numb, afraid to feel anything, good or bad. But then, on what would have been Dan’s 36th birthday, I made a decision to “break up” with grief. I chose to devote myself to love, hope, and happiness instead.
I started therapy for PTSD, a result of that night, and slowly rebuilt my life. I redecorated the house, painting over the man cave and creating a space that felt like mine. I stopped trying to fit into labels widow, wife, mom and focused on discovering who I truly was.
Eventually, I met someone new. What began as friendship grew into love, and last April, I married Rick. He promised to love me and Jack totally, and that gave me a new kind of normal.
I learned some important lessons through all of this:
First, tolerance and acceptance are different. I tolerated Dan’s death but hadn’t truly accepted it until much later. Acceptance brought peace.
Second, bravery isn’t the same as strength. Bravery is facing reality and making hard choices, even when you’re scared.
Third, you can break up with toxic feelings like you do with toxic people. It’s hard, but necessary to protect your happiness.
Finally, everyone faces hard times, no matter how big or small. My grief doesn’t diminish anyone else’s struggles, and I’ve learned to show compassion for others, too.
Life is hard, but love always wins.
