On December 15, 2021, my world broke a part. My mom and I sat quietly in a hospital room as the hospice nurse entered to check my husband James. She confirmed what I already knew in my bones he was gone. Nine days before Christmas, just ten days after finalizing the adoption of our son, I became both a widow and a single mother at only 34 years old. This reality was something like I never imagined off only this day that moment I was scared to lose my life partner who support me in my bad motivate me give me hope to live happy he was everything to me but now I could never have imagined, one I would have done anything to avoid.
James and I had built a simple, steady life together. We grew up in the same small town but didn’t cross paths until I was 19 and working at the local grocery store. He was four years older, grounded, kind, and we clicked almost immediately. After just one date, our relationship took off, and a year and a half later, we were married. Sixteen years together wove our lives into one. We did nearly everything as a pair so much so that it was rare to see one of us without the other.
For more than a decade, we were content in our marriage without children. But by 2019, time felt like it was slipping away. I was 32, James was 36, and suddenly the “someday” conversation about kids became a “now or never” decision. I wasn’t particularly drawn to pregnancy, so when we noticed a county foster care meeting posted online, we decided at the very last minute to attend. That single choice would change everything.
The licensing process was thorough but manageable, and James and I were open with each other about our pasts. He had grown up in a difficult home, often relying on the kindness of others to get by, and I think he wanted to pass that same generosity forward. I had always been drawn to helping people, and foster care seemed like a way to live that out. We went into it hopeful, but nothing could have prepared us for the challenges of raising children who had already lived through trauma.
Our first placement came in June 2020, and within eight weeks, it ended painfully. We carried heavy guilt, worried we had let that child down. But soon after, another call came. A six-year-old boy named Braxton needed a home. Something about hearing his name made the situation feel different—personal. When he arrived, it was as if a missing piece clicked into place. He carried his own wounds and struggles, but this time, James and I felt ready. We became his foster parents, and before long, it was clear that we wanted him to stay.
The legal steps toward adoption stretched longer than we anticipated. The caseworker and magistrate agreed that Braxton belonged with us, but final approval from a judge dragged on for eight long months. When the call finally came in July 2021 that the adoption could move forward, I should have been overjoyed. Instead, my heart was gripped with fear. Only days earlier, James had been diagnosed with melanoma.
At first, we thought it was just a stubborn lump under his arm. James had lost some weight, but we assumed it was due to healthier habits. The biopsy results blindsided us: it was aggressive cancer. Within weeks, the tumor grew so large it had to be surgically removed. We clung to hope, believing this surgery would give us a fresh start. But three weeks later, tests revealed the cancer had already returned, spreading faster than anyone anticipated. Treatment after treatment failed to slow it down.
Even with everything happening, we continued moving ahead with Braxton’s adoption. On December 5, 2021 just ten days before James passed we joined a Zoom call and officially became Braxton’s parents. James didn’t have the strength to leave the house, but he sat next to me, smiling, as we vowed to love and raise our son. It was a moment filled with both joy and heartbreak, one I’ll never forget.
James health declined after that I will never forget that doctor gentle telling us there nothing more they can do, only hospice care to keep him comfortable. The days that followed were surreal a strange mix of unbearable grief and quiet peace. James passed in his sleep with family nearby, his brother on a video call from overseas, and my hand in his.
Now, I am learning to navigate this new reality. After so many years of being part of a pair, I am standing on my own for the first time, carrying both the grief of losing my husband and the responsibility of raising our son. It is not the life its not that what I pictured but now step by step I am moving forward to my life, finding ways to live happy and peacefully start my new journey.
