On a quiet evening in March 2015, Dan my husband at the time was relaxing in his beloved “man cave.” This room was his sanctuary, filled with leather recliners, sports memorabilia, and a big TV that brought him comfort after a long day. After returning from a doctor’s appointment, he settled in, as usual, to unwind and watch ESPN.
Around 8:30 p.m., he called out to me with a random fact and a loving message. I smiled, amused, then went upstairs to do some laundry. When I came back, he was fast asleep, snoring loudly. I stayed up for a while, doing chores and trying to keep myself busy, eventually falling asleep around 3:15 a.m., lulled by the sound of his snores.
But at 3:40 a.m., I woke up suddenly strangely alert and aware of an eerie silence. I rushed downstairs and found Dan slumped in his recliner, not asleep, but unresponsive, pink foam around his mouth. Panic overtook me. I tried CPR, battling his size and the situation, scooping the foam from his mouth, desperate to save him. The ambulance attendant arrived six minutes later, but despite their efforts, Dan was gone.
He was just 35 years old.
At 30 weeks pregnant with our son, Jack, I was shove into a nightmare I never imagined. The days blurred between preparing for a baby and planning a funeral. The house, once filled with dreams, now echoed with grief. Yet, I pushed forward working, attending therapy, and slowly learning to live again.
Jack arrived early, healthy and peaceful, apparently aware of the storm we’d tolerated. Life became a confusing dance of roles: widow, mother, single woman. Returning to work just weeks after giving birth helped ground me, though the grief lingered beneath the surface.
Over time, I realized grief was something I tolerated, not truly accepted. I learned the difference between bravery and strength, understanding that moving forward was a choice I had to make daily. I start ignoring and letting go of toxic emotions and embraced love, hope, and reality.
Eventually, I found happiness again not by forgetting, but by honoring the past while choosing a future filled with love. My journey taught me that pain is part of life, but so is healing and that love, in its many forms, always finds a way to win.
