April 27, 2018, was the first time the word “widow” seeped into my thoughts; it unearthed every fear from my soul, and I was terrified. Jeff and I were inseparable; our love was magical, and we felt invincible. Nothing could break our love until that dreadful day when fear ripped all our dreams from our hearts, leaving me to wonder how soon the title of widow would be mine to bear. We were forty-nine when Jeff received a terminal diagnosis; the fear that gripped us shattered all our dreams of a forever love. On that Friday morning in the hospital room, I envisioned myself as a widow for the first time. My mind raced with fear and uncertainty. It felt surreal; I was frozen in paralysis of fear about the unknowns, unable to speak as debilitating thoughts overwhelmed me. How much time could we buy for Jeff? How large was the tumor? Could we slow down time? All Jeff and I wanted was time together; this couldn’t be our reality. My mind battled those feelings of fear; I was young, just four months shy of my fiftieth birthday—not old enough to be a widow. We were passionately and hopelessly in love. But those words—three to six months to live—socked me in the gut, forcing me to confront the new reality of my impending widowhood. Would I become a widow in three months, or could we find a cure, something to buy us more time? Maybe I would never have to wear the hat of a widow? The fear was crippling, leaving me holding tightly onto the love of my life, sobbing.

After the heavy weight of my sobs subsided, I pushed the term “widow” to the back of my mind, instead relying on the coping skills I had developed over my lifetime. I knew that fear and self-pity about being a widow were not something I could indulge in for long. My survival instincts kicked in, and I sprang into action, devising a plan to save the love of my life while keeping the word “widow” at bay for as long as possible. Fear would accompany me, but I knew how to prevent fear from taking over and paralyzing me from doing everything I could to save my love, Jeff; I wasn’t a widow yet. When my love was diagnosed and given months to live, I relied on my innate ability to work courageously and tirelessly to save him while preserving our love. It was a delicate balance of pushing Jeff, myself, and our love to the limits without losing ourselves in the process. I knew my mental toughness had to be relentless if we were going to buy more time and hold on to our love for as long as possible. The fear of a life without my love was unimaginable. 

While the fear of becoming a widow terrified me, the thought of never hearing Jeff call me Honeybee or waking up next to him each day was devastating. However, I trained myself through the many losses I faced to set my fears aside so I could function methodically and advocate for saving my love. I understood that I needed to compartmentalize the fears of losing Jeff and becoming a widow while focusing on taking action and being a compassionate, fearless advocate. While caring for my brother during his illness, I learned I could not pour from an empty cup; love alone could not sustain the energy needed to endure the battle against Cancer. Self-care and granting myself grace and space to replenish my soul were vital to our survival. 

Together, Jeff and I turned those months into three additional years; our fearless fight and passionate advocacy for him earned us time to create beautiful memories of our love that I still carry in my heart four years after losing my love.  It wasn’t until September 1, 2021, that I officially became a widow.