When the future you planned disappears, let the people who love you hold the lantern while you learn to walk toward a different kind of light. Ona saw herself as a regular suburban mom in Phoenix. She taught at an online school, and her husband worked in law enforcement. Their days ran on happy routines: early Peloton rides, sunset hikes, shuttling the kids in a big SUV, family dinners, weekend BBQs, trip plans, and quiet gratitude before bed. They were proud of their marriage and how they raised their boys: identical twins born in 2012 and a fiery younger brother three years later. The kids were bright, sporty, and full of life. It felt like a dream because it was.
Everything split open on April 18, 2021, just after dawn. Ona woke and found her husband blue and unresponsive, his arm hanging off the bed. Panic flooded her body. She called 911, but her words came out in fragments. Her sister and brother-in-law, visiting that weekend, tried CPR while the dispatcher spoke, but it was too late. Firefighters rushed in and, within moments, one looked at her with kind, steady eyes and said he was sorry. The police officer who arrived was married to her youngest son’s teacher. Ona collapsed into his uniform and screamed.
The night before, they had been at a BBQ with friends. Her husband had left early after getting his COVID shot and feeling tired with chills. He told everyone he was fine, asked for Tylenol and ice water, and encouraged Ona and her sister to enjoy the evening. By morning, a friend texted to check on him. Ona’s reply, “HE IS DEAD!” was as blunt as the shock she was living. She wandered the cul-de-sac barefoot in her sleep shirt, phoning and texting people through tears, even flinging her phone into cacti more than once—the house filled with loved ones. It might have looked like a party from a distance, except for the police guarding the bedroom door.
For weeks, she and the boys were never alone. Friends and family fed them, drove them, cleaned, entertained the kids, and simply stayed. Ona later learned how brave it is to show up for a griever; there is no fixing grief, only the choice to stand beside it. Even so, the fear of being alone clung to her. She felt hollow, like a skeleton moving through fog. Decision-making vanished. Panic attacks and numbness cycled through her days. A dear friend became her note-taker and organizer. Others were her drivers because she couldn’t trust herself behind the wheel.
Three months in, she could do a bit more, but anxiety still wrapped around everything, racing heart, tingling limbs, headaches, blurred vision, and a constant hum of dread. A counselor told her these reactions were normal, a strange comfort when “normal” felt impossible. She wrote letters to her husband in two journals. She found other widows online and clung to their words. Her closest friends slept over, slathered on face masks, rewatched ” Friends” episodes, and pulled laughter from the wreckage. In August 2021, she tried returning to work. At first, she managed, but when her calendar filled, she crumpled. A medical leave request was denied, so she resigned. Oddly, the attempt flipped a switch in her brain, proving she could still think and try again.
Around five months after the loss, she reached out to a widow coach she’d followed on social media and joined a small group. The first call felt like oxygen: someone understood the terrain and could name the next step. Paying for help scared her, but it became her best choice. She learned that mindset matters, that she was still here for a reason, that hope could be rebuilt. The women in that group, scattered worldwide, became a circle she still leans on. Fourteen months later, she made bigger moves. She sold the Arizona home, moved to Michigan for family support, and bought a new house to fit the life she and the boys were reshaping. The kids switched schools more than once, and she placed them in a smaller private school for steadiness.
Rebuilding has been beautiful and painful, often at the same time. Her advice to others is simple: Gather your people, the friends who love without judgment, the family who listens, and even the kind strangers who offer help. Give those helpers grace; they’re brave, too. Find another widow and compare maps. Invest in your healing. Take the risk on yourself. Grief and trauma rattle the body, fog the mind, and tire the soul. Healing is not quick and not tidy, but it is possible. Ona’s life didn’t return to what it was; it grew into something new with the same love at its center. The boys are resilient, she is stronger than she ever wanted to be, and the people who stayed turned the worst day into a long, patient rescue.
