admin

Since middle school, I have known that my career would be as an attorney. It has always been my dream to become an attorney. My dad was in the wrong place at the wrong time in Mexico and was imprisoned in Tijuana for months until my mom could gather enough money to pay his ransom for his release. From that day forward, I was determined to pursue a career that would protect my family and me from unjust treatment. Becoming an attorney would provide me with the legal knowledge and skills necessary to defend myself and others. In my twenties, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a mom; kids weren’t really on my radar. I was young, single, and focused on my career as an attorney, not being a mom. While I loved children, my priorities were different at that stage of my life, and juggling being a mom with my career as an attorney wasn’t my focus. The idea of managing both a career and children posed several challenges in my mind. I understood that if I had children, being a mom would be a top priority in raising them. However, I also recognized that building a career as an attorney required a significant commitment of time and financial resources. Unsure of where my future path would lead, I decided to attend law school and follow my dream of becoming an attorney; I knew that I could figure out being a mom and family life later.

After becoming an attorney, I fully embraced my career and dedicated all my energies into my law practice.  After graduating from law school, I was thrilled to obtain my first attorney position as In-house counsel for Liberty Mutual Insurance.  My career as an attorney was filled with court appearances, depositions, and mediations; it was tedious at times, but being an attorney was also exhilarating and fulfilling.  I stayed on that attorney career path for seven years until my first child, my daughter, was born and I became a mom.  Initially, I planned to return to work after a couple of months and continue being a working mom, which I did for two years. Then my son was born, and as a mom, I didn’t anticipate how my heart would grow and expand, leading me to desire more time with my children than with my career. I was a mom of two with a high-pressure career as an attorney, and unexpectedly, something shifted inside me. I realized I didn’t want someone else raising my children; I wanted to fully embrace my role as a mom and nurture and guide them during their formative years. Being a stay-at-home mom wasn’t something I had considered much until I had two children; that is when my career as an attorney took a back seat. This is not an option that everyone has the opportunity to choose, and I feel blessed that I could make that choice. 

Contemplating stepping away from my career as an attorney was a difficult decision, but I was fortunate to have this option. After much reflection, I realized that investing in my children held far more value than my career as an attorney. This was a precious time in my children’s lives that I would never get back. I needed to let go of my ego and reassess my priorities. I embraced my new role as a full-time mom to my two wonderful children. I wanted to dedicate 100% of myself to being a mom; I had only one chance at it, so I approached my new full-time mom role with passion and commitment.

There was only one clear choice for me: to temporarily put my legal career on hold and make being a mom my full-time job. Initially, we had to adjust our lifestyle financially to compensate for my lost income, but it was worth the material things I gave up. Choosing to leave my career as an attorney to become a stay-at-home mom was bittersweet at first; walking away from what I had worked so hard for and was so dedicated to was not easy. I traded case files for bedtime stories, court appearances for parks and playdates. It was challenging and rewarding to shift from a paying career to one that offered no pay or career advancement, with benefits felt in the heart rather than the pocketbook. I went from stimulating, intellectual conversations to singing and playing with toddlers in the sand. It was a significant transition, but one that I do not regret. If faced with the same decision today, I would choose to be a full-time mom to my children all over again and walk away from my career as an attorney without hesitation. Being able to be a full-time mom and appreciate my most valuable gift and blessing in life—my children—far exceeds any paycheck from a career as an attorney.

After twenty-one years of marriage and two children, I asked for a divorce. I never intended to be a single mom, but it was necessary for our future happiness. I was unhappy and no longer in love; the marriage had become contentious and escalated daily for years. After numerous years and multiple therapists, I realized there was no hope of saving our marriage, divorce was imminent. Although he was okay with staying in a loveless and unhappy marriage, I made the painful choice and bore the heavy burden of asking for a divorce. I never imagined I would become a divorcee; I thought I would only experience one marriage in my entire life. I desperately wanted a divorce to escape the decaying marriage that no one could see, but I faced each day with the terrifying fear of becoming a single mom. When I married and had two children, the idea of being a single mom never crossed my mind until I had no choice. From the outside, we lived what appeared to be a perfect marriage. However, the world can’t see the pain behind those walls. Often, people present to the public what they want others to see, and those on the outside draw their conclusions based on what they choose to believe. Any narrative and image can be crafted for a marriage or a divorce. The public and private personas told two very different stories in our marriage.

There were many conflicting emotions surrounding the idea of divorce. I felt both terrified and relieved at the prospect of divorce. After leaving my marriage, I was consumed by fear but also felt a sense of freedom. However, the dominant emotion was the crippling uncertainty of how I would survive as a single mom. The thought of starting my life over in my mid-forties as a divorcee was overwhelming. I had no job or income and was about to become a single mom. By our mutual choice as a couple, I had given up my career to raise our children and hadn’t practiced law for fifteen years. Throughout the long marriage, this evolution occurred slowly; it’s something you hardly notice happening. As the divorce unfolded, I realized I was financially frozen, starting over as a single mom without any income. No one would consider me because of my lack of credit history and pay stubs during that time. My credit history was nearly nonexistent since he was the primary account holder on most credit cards. When I moved out as a single mom, I rented a place that fortunately accepted me based on my word and a large deposit. When I was finally able to buy my first home as a divorcee and newly single mom, I had to write multiple letters explaining why I divorced and why, as an attorney, I had no recent work or earning history to qualify for a home purchase. Fortunately, I secured a job at my old law firm where I worked fifteen years earlier. Still, without recent employment history, my decision to stay home and raise my family, followed by leaving my marriage and getting divorced, proved a significant hurdle I was determined to overcome. I wrote letters detailing my situation and pleaded for the home loan. I was asked to provide collateral and eventually given an extremely high-interest loan. Still, I became a homeowner as a single mom and took pride in owning a beautiful home where I would raise my children.  My new beginning and newfound happiness was taking shape as a single mom.

As a single mom in our new home, I created a beautiful life for my children. I was recently divorced, and building my credit history while re-establishing my life in my forties felt both terrifying and liberating. But no one sees this side of the equation. The choice was either to remain in silent misery in a financially comfortable setting, where everyone thought we had the perfect life, or to find genuine happiness for myself and my children by leaving the marriage, going through the divorce, and becoming a single mom.  

I chose to take a risk, go all in myself and take the leap of faith.  I knew that I had so much life left to live and to stay in a contemptuous marriage was not an option.  Although I was filled with fear of how I would handle the overwhelming responsibilities of single mom life as a divorcee, I couldn’t let fear fuel my choice to stay trapped in a hopeless and bitter marriage.   I took a calculated risk relying on my education, experience, and faith in God that he would guide me as a single mom.  And God did just that, he guided me to find the love of my life. 

Our fairytale was shattered on April 27, 2018, and our nightmare began. Jeff received a terminal diagnosis: cancer. Fear coursed through my entire body. I was in shock the moment I heard the words “terminal diagnosis.” I felt paralyzed and frozen in fear. Jeff’s terminal diagnosis was three to six months to live; that is when my anticipatory grief began. Often, we think of grief as the pain we feel when someone we love passes away. Yet, grief and anticipatory grief encompass a much broader meaning. For me, the day of his terminal diagnosis marked the start of our anticipatory grief. We lived in the fear and agony of his impending death, knowing it was inevitable. We grieved for the dreams we would never share and for the limited time that remained due to his terminal diagnosis. That anticipatory grief was intertwined in our daily lives. But the day would come when I would have to face my grief alone after he was gone. I did not allow my mind to wander into those fearful corners of my thoughts; that grief, that was something I could not prepare for, nor was I ready to accept. We lived in fear every day, acutely aware that Jeff’s death was imminent; it was impossible to forget the terminal diagnosis. However, we couldn’t let the fears of our shattered future dreams and anticipatory grief consume us. We chose to focus on what we could control and compartmentalize the fear surrounding the terminal diagnosis. We could control how we lived, loved one another, and fought cancer with the fear of death fueling our fire. We learned to compartmentalize our fear and anticipatory grief as best we could, though it was always present. From that day forward, our lives were filled with pain medications, doctor appointments, surgeries, and treatments as we attempted to manage the terminal diagnosis and put our fears and anticipatory grief on a shelf.  

We took the approach that living in a state of grief and fear was not productive for trying to save Jeff from a terminal diagnosis; it would only cripple us. Furthermore, living in fear of his impending death and the anticipatory grief would only wear away at whatever time we had left together. We could not let the terminal diagnosis infect our love and the little time we had remaining. 

We wanted to ensure we captured every precious moment left. With aggressive treatments and advocacy, we could transform those three to six months into three and a half years. While fear and anticipatory grief were always close by, we made sure to find beauty amid the chaos and cancer. It wasn’t easy to avoid thinking about Jeff’s terminal diagnosis; there were days when the fear felt less present, but often it overwhelmed us. 

One of the tools I’ve carried throughout my life, which also helped me cope with the pain of losing my husband Jeff years later, is the understanding that most things in life are temporary. When we find ourselves in the depths of grief and fear, it can feel endless, but it is, in fact, temporary. Developing strategies to find reprieve during those difficult times is essential. Those challenging moments become more manageable if we cultivate skills that guide us toward peace, positivity, and gratitude amid our grief. We must not allow the heartbreak of cancer or the painful loss of a spouse paralyze us. Moving through grief instead of getting stuck in it is one of the tools we can use to move forward and weave happiness into our grief.

Once you hear the words “terminal cancer diagnosis,” it initially feels impossible to be hopeful. The word “cancer” permeates your mind, and hope for any future evaporates as the word cancer races through your thoughts, leaving you feeling paralyzed. Once we accepted that Jeff’s cancer would be part of our lives, we chose not to let cancer swallow us whole. Shortly after Jeff was diagnosed, just days before his first surgery and treatment began, we realized we could not allow the cancer diagnosis to dictate our destiny. At that moment, refusing to let the defeat of the word cancer consume us, we came up with the idea to create a bucket list. It wasn’t just a list of places to travel or things to do; our bucket list became a symbol of hope.  Our bucket list was a lifeline, a raft that we could float on while letting our minds drift away from cancer and into beautiful moments, creating meaningful memories infused with Hope. We didn’t know if we would ever complete the bucket list, but it offered our minds and hearts a place of peace and a promise of hope on the horizon. Still, that piece of paper, where we etched our bucket list of hope in a quiet, dimly lit restaurant days before Jeff’s first surgery, was more than just a list full of hopes and possible dreams; it was also a distraction from the hopelessness that cancer brought into our daily lives.

With the support of our bucket list, we transformed a three-to-six-month cancer diagnosis into three and a half years, and we cherished that precious time we gained. During those gifted years, our bucket list helped us remain hopeful as we lifted each other up when we felt the other slipping. We aggressively confronted the cancer each day, but in those brief periods between cancer treatments and surgeries when Jeff felt stable, we took out our bucket list of hope and lived life in vivid colors. He was dying, and the cancer was winning, but not while we checked off memories from our bucket list. In those moments of hopeful living, we felt invincible again, even if briefly, as we marked each item off our bucket list. It recharged our spirits and strengthened our resolve to continue our fight for more time.

This bucket list was more impactful than we imagined; we didn’t realize the power and control it restored in our lives where cancer loomed so large. The bucket list offered hope, strength, resilience, and rewards for the battle we fought relentlessly for years.  The bucket list of hope was also a distraction from cancer. Somehow, the bucket list made cancer feel less overwhelming and brought hope to the forefront. 

I thank God daily for the many gifts in my life, even though it has also been filled with immense heartache and pain. I believe there is hope and beauty in any situation, even the most tragic and painful ones. If we look past the cancer and the pain and replace heartache and grief with hope, healing, and gratitude, then, in the end, we can look back on all the blessings, weaving happiness through the grief. 

Even almost four years later, the title still does not roll off my tongue naturally, although it has softened. “Widow” is a painful reminder of the torturous cancer battle Jeff and I fought side by side valiantly, finding pockets of joy throughout the painful journey until the day he died. We never let a diagnosis infect our love or dictate our destiny. I never thought saying the word “widow” would ever feel normal. However, wearing the title of widow at fifty-three was a tough pill to swallow; it felt impossible to weave into my identity. Admittedly, there have been times I forgot I was a widow as I moved through life, joy and pain. In the beginning, when the grief was so intense and I never believed joy and happiness would weave into my life again, the title of widow felt all-consuming. Out of self-preservation of the love we want to hold onto forever, none of us ever wants to contemplate widowhood; it’s almost too painful to imagine. Locking the thought of widowhood out of our minds is far easier than facing the painful reality head-on. However, we mustn’t let fear fuel our actions. We can transform heartache into healing by learning to embrace all aspects of widowhood, from lost love to painful and beautiful memories, weaving joy through grief. This approach allows for more comprehensive healing, as we weave joy into the pain rather than waiting for the grief to end before finding joy again.

It’s been a misconception for years that widowhood means we must sit in a dark room, enduring endless pain, wearing the black widow veil and not allowing light or joy into our lives. We don’t have to live in misery and pain to remember our loved ones honorably. I once heard that it was dishonoring a deceased loved one if, as a widow, we brought joy back into our lives too soon. I’m here to unequivocally tell you that as a widow, it’s acceptable and healthy to find joy, laughter, and even love, weaving them all together while grieving. There is no specific timeframe for grief or for when it’s acceptable to reintroduce joy into your life. Our hearts will always carry the pain from the love we lost, albeit in different measures. Over time, that pain will soften and transform. 

Through effort and processing my feelings of drowning in sorrow, I no longer hide my title as a widow, nor am I afraid to say it; I have adapted to weaving it into my life. There are moments when the word widow carries painful memories, weighing me down to a fragile state and leaving no room for joy to seep in through the cracks, making the pain feel debilitating all over again, even years later. However, those intense, painful moments occur less frequently as I focus more on joy than sadness.  

Most days, I can say the word “widow” with a sense of pride, remembering that I honor Jeff and the life we created as I share and weave stories of his memory and our love. It’s healing and essential to our thriving and surviving that, as widows, we allow ourselves to laugh and cry through the pain and permit ourselves to grieve while simultaneously weaving joy back into our lives at every opportunity, without guilt.

One of the most impactful tools Jeff and I devised was a bucket list. This was a bucket list of hope, aimed at creating memories and inspiring us to continue fighting for more time together. When we received the terminal diagnosis of three to six months to live, we felt frozen in time, wondering if we would ever have another opportunity to create beautiful memories. Time stood still in that hospital room the day he was diagnosed, and all our dreams and future memories we hoped to make were shattered. The pain coursing through our bodies was debilitating; we couldn’t believe that our magical love story was coming to an end, and we couldn’t stop time. We faced so many fears, including the worry of whether we could create more memories together. Not realizing it at the time, that bucket list became a lifeline of hope. We fought cancer and each new tumor aggressively to buy more time together so we could have more memories to cherish. Time was our most precious commodity, and this bucket list strengthened our resolve to push through the fear and pain to create more memories. We were grateful that during that fight, we gained an additional three years together. All our efforts to fight for more time were successful; our bucket list was a vital part of that. Although we wanted as much time as God would gift us, we remained thankful for the time we were given—those additional three years to create memories for our hearts as we checked off our bucket list. 

Shortly after Jeff’s diagnosis, before his first surgery and treatments, we sat together in a dimly lit restaurant, cherishing every moment and creating a bucket list. A list filled with hope and memories. On that bucket list were many places to experience and make memories together, such as a road trip to Northern California through Big Sur, watching a Seahawks game in Seattle, and visiting Paris. This bucket list renewed our spirits, which felt depleted each day, as we struggled to find the strength to move forward and fight for more Time. We would revisit the bucket list and envision the memories we would create, allowing us to escape from cancer momentarily. While we could never truly escape cancer, the joy of making those memories recharged our determination to seek more time. Each checkmark on the bucket list allowed us to reflect on the photos and memories in our hearts, knowing that together we were, at least for a while, setting cancer aside and effectively buying more time together.

One of the mottos that Jeff and I lived by was to never lead a life with regrets. Although the terminal cancer diagnosis changed everything, we couldn’t allow that diagnosis to dictate our destiny; we never wanted to look back and ponder all the what-ifs and almost maybes. We aimed to live as much as possible together and to buy as much time as God would gift us.

Our bucket list was an integral part of living a life without regrets. We understood that every shot we didn’t take was a lost opportunity. Together, we hoped and prayed for more time in those dark valleys and on those mountains as we gave praise to God, fighting for more time while exploring the world and checking items off our bucket list. We created joyful memories from that bucket list when Jeff was between treatments; we were buying life’s most precious gift: time together.  

After losing Jeff, the time we spent together and the memories we created were vital to my healing. When I reflect on these memories, I’m often met with tears, but they also bring a smile to my heart where only devastating pain once existed. I am eternally grateful for the beauty we created from that tiny piece of paper we penned from our bucket list of hope, where so many beautiful memories reside.

When I became a widow on September 1, 2021, I somehow believed I could escape the title that carried so much pain; I was mistaken. There were countless layers of widow grief that I had to cope with; my mind and heart couldn’t keep up, making a support system essential. One of the emotional struggles of grief wasn’t just the loss of my love but also shedding another layer of my identity; I was no longer a “we”; it was now just me, “a Widow.” All invitations were now directed at me alone. Even though I was independent, I sometimes felt abandoned during my grief due to the lack of a support circle from other widows. The thought of never seeing Jeff in our home, in our bed, getting ready with me, and holding hands during the entire car ride was debilitating. Although my friends and family tried to support me in my grief, no one knew what to say. The many levels of grief were suffocating at times. We shared such a unique and magical love; I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Yet, drawing on the support, inner strength, and courage I had relied upon so many times in the past, I knew I would be able to move forward through the painful grief and navigate this new life without my love as a widow.

I found a few other young widows who listened to my painful grief as I sobbed, providing me with so much loving support. However, I longed for a larger support group of widows who understood my pain and with whom I could talk regularly. I lacked an extensive network of widow support, an outlet to gain advice and share stories, and a safe place to express this heavy burden of widow grief openly. I was a widow before my mom; this reality felt sharp and isolating. It seemed as though no one could truly understand my pain or the heavy weight I carried as a badge, honoring my love. I wanted to speak freely and feel supported without judgment, where my words weren’t measured. I wanted to share all the doubts and uncertainties surrounding my widow’s grief with others who understood me. While I was blessed with incredible support, I wished for a circle of people who could empathize with my pain. Talking to another widow about my anger, deep sadness, and desperation—a constant worry about whether the pain would ever subside—felt different. The word ‘cancer’ carried so much weight, but the word ‘widow’ added an entirely different layer of grief. It meant the life I once knew with Jeff, our plans for a future filled with love and memories with family and friends, no longer existed; my life had transformed into debilitating grief. 

Understanding the intense grief I felt after losing my brother in our twenties, and later when my love Jeff passed away and I became a widow, I revisited the coping mechanisms that had helped me navigate the deep hole of grief I carried for my brother. Drawing on my grief skills allowed me to support others through their grief over the Years. One thing I learned about loss, was that grief, never completely leaves us. Instead, grief moves forward with us and evolves. Over time, the sharpness of painful grief and the harshness of the word widow soften. Within a supportive community, we can learn to thrive and survive after such a devastating loss. 

After losing both my brother and the love of my life, I unleashed coping skills that allowed me not only to survive but also to find joy and happiness as a widow while I navigated my grief. Giving myself space and grace to sit vulnerably with my grief and allowing myself to feel the pain and work through it was essential for my survival.

When Jeff was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I reached into the toolbox of strategies I had developed and tapped into the strength and resilience I had honed over the years after experiencing many painful losses. I knew that to be an effective caregiver, I had to implement self-care strategies whenever time permitted; this would be essential for my survival as a caregiver. Self-care is sometimes mistaken for selfishness and is often accompanied by guilt on the part of the caregiver. Taking time to refill my cup, practice self-care, and replenish my soul was critical for my well-being and survival during those challenging cancer years. For over three years, we created strategies to battle the cancer, but I also developed strategies to ensure that I could return day after day and lovingly be the best caregiver for Jeff; self-care was vital for my self-preservation.  

Some self-care strategies I established as a caregiver included physical, emotional, social, and spiritual practices. For my physical self-care caregiver strategies, I implemented strategies such as: running, eating healthy to fuel my body, staying hydrated, getting sleep whenever possible, and taking breaks. Furthermore, as a caregiver I needed to implement strategies for emotional self-care strategies like seeking support from friends or a therapist, acknowledging overwhelming feelings, spending time alone for reflection, setting boundaries, and engaging in activities such as watching movies, listening to music, or reading. Jeff’s aggressive cancer kept us in and out of hospitals regularly as we sought new pain medications and treatments. These self-care strategies helped me create a more loving environment for Jeff as he fought cancer. I also recognized that mental self-care strategies were vital as a caregiver, so I made sure to meditate and stay organized to avoid feeling overwhelmed by the numerous pills, treatments, and appointments for Jeff.  Additionally, I learned to delegate tasks to family and friends to alleviate some of my burdens as a caregiver.  Some social self-care strategies I embraced as a caregiver involved spending time with close friends or family on the phone or occasionally in person. I methodically accepted help from those I could rely on, which lifted my spirits during the many challenging moments throughout the more than three-year cancer battle. My spiritual self-care caregiver strategies included daily prayers that Jeff and I read together, attending religious services when he was stable, and finding grounding in nature outdoors.  There were numerous times where I almost reached my capacity and hit caregiver burnout.  If not for these self-care strategies, I may have mentally maxed out from sheer exhaustion.  

These self-care strategies were essential for my well-being and survival during those painful years when we fought cancer relentlessly. I am extremely grateful that I relied on my past experiences to help me navigate those challenging times.

I understood that being a caregiver is demanding. From my young adulthood and caregiving for my brother, I realized that caregiving can reduce even the strongest person to a fragile state. As a caregiver for my brother, I discovered the importance of self-care, which became the foundation of my self-care strategies. I learned that you can’t pour from an empty cup as a caregiver. Self-care is not selfish; it enabled me to provide better care for Jeff so we could continue building more strategies to buy more time together.  

Painful losses have been my harshest teachers, but they’ve taught me resilience.

As a young preteen, I attended Gam-Anon meetings with my parents due to my dad’s gambling addiction. This is where I first heard the Serenity Prayer.  The Serenity Prayer reads: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. The Serenity Prayer encourages acceptance, courage, and wisdom. Little did I know that as a young girl I would be forced to attend what felt like boring Gam-Anon meetings, when in reality, listening, learning, and hearing that Serenity Prayer said repeatedly taught me so much about courage and wisdom. I regularly attended these meetings with my parents and gained wisdom I didn’t realize I would apply throughout my life. The group recited the Serenity Prayer aloud before the meeting started. The Serenity Prayer was also spoken again at the end. I listened attentively to how each person in attendance found peace in accepting the things they could not change, sought strength to find the courage to change what they could, and acquired the wisdom to know the difference.  

When Jeff was diagnosed with cancer, the Serenity Prayer became vital to my survival during those three and a half years we battled cancer and fought for more time. Courage and wisdom were essential to navigate the battleground of cancer while keeping our love intact. I tapped into my inner strength to find the courage to take consistent action wherever possible. Embracing the Serenity Prayer, I recognized that there were some things beyond our control, but also circumstances we could influence. I remember asking God for the wisdom to help me discern the difference, enabling me to choose which battles we would courageously face and how we would confront them. It was in those moments of wisdom in the Serenity Prayer that I found acceptance and peace regarding Jeff’s terminal diagnosis. Through this wisdom of the Serenity Prayer, I learned to summon my courage and fight daily for over three years, continually praying to God not to alter our circumstances but instead to grant me the wisdom to recognize what I could influence. For me, the Serenity Prayer serves as a powerful reminder that when I’m confronted with seemingly insurmountable challenges in life, I should draw upon my courage to focus on what I can control, let go of what I cannot control, and trust in a higher power for strength and wisdom. After losing my love, I continued to rely on the Serenity Prayer as I grieved and healed. I had to learn to accept that Jeff would never wake up next to me calling me “Honeybee” and that I would never feel his touch again. I faced countless painful truths that I had to force myself to accept in order to survive the aching healing process. Leaning on the Serenity Prayer, I prayed daily for God to help me find the courage to recognize what I could change and the wisdom to understand the difference between circumstances that could and could not be altered. In moments of reflection and wisdom, I discovered my courage to act on what I could change. I allowed myself space and grace to move through the pain as I began to build a new life, one that painfully did not include Jeff.  

While I couldn’t change the fact that Jeff was no longer with me every day, I could find the courage and strength to carry his memory and honor our love.

The Serenity Prayer has impacted my life in countless ways during turbulent times when I needed guidance, wisdom, and courage. Though I couldn’t see it then, I am grateful that I attended those Gam-Anon meetings with my parents; without that experience, I might not have discovered the Serenity Prayer, tapped into my resilience, and persevered through a time when I felt utterly broken. 

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.