Unexpected Widow, Now What?
I took my husband in for surgery and came home a widow…
"Sign here," the nurse instructed. "What am I signing?" my husband asked. "It's an acknowledgment of the risks of this surgery, including death," the nurse replied. He was having coronary artery bypass grafting (CABG) surgery, a fairly common procedure.
"Oh, OK," he said, signing his name, likely without considering that death was a real possibility. I know I certainly didn't think it could happen. "That won't happen," I thought, pushing the idea aside.
"My husband was a flight paramedic, and as medical professionals, we had talked openly about our end-of-life wishes. He had even written his down for us. Our three sons were aware of his preferences and fully supported them." | Credit: Getty
As an emergency nurse, I've seen countless patients sign consent forms for surgery, never expecting the worst-case scenario. It always feels like a formality, just one of those things we do before a procedure, rarely believing that the risk of death could become a reality.
At the time, I was the emergency department manager and knew almost everyone working in the hospital. I was comforted by that fact as we went through the process of preparing for surgery. I knew everyone involved: the surgeon, the nurses, the radiology techs, the lab techs. What I didn't know, was that my husband would never wake up again after the surgery. He suffered a massive stroke during the procedure and immediately fell into a coma. I was in shock, trapped in a fog of disbelief and devastation. I felt numb, shattered and completely lost.
My husband was a flight paramedic, and as medical professionals, we had talked openly about our end-of-life wishes. He had even written his down for us. Our three sons were aware of his preferences and fully supported them. When the time came, I made a heartbreaking phone call to the extended family, asking them to come to say their final goodbyes. After the family and his lifelong best friend had their time to say goodbye, we contacted the organ donation team. I signed a Do Not Resuscitate (DNR) form and placed my husband in hospice care. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. He passed away peacefully the next morning, just four days after the surgery, surrounded by the love of his family.
The Aftermath
The next few days passed in a blur as our sons stepped in to help me organize the celebration of life service. My husband was deeply loved and well-known in the community, and more than 500 people attended to honor him. But once the service was over and the dust settled, I was left alone with my thoughts facing the overwhelming question of how to move forward from the life I had known for 33 years. The reality hit me like a wave: "I'm 51, and I'm a widow."
The sheer number of tasks that came with losing my husband was overwhelming: death certificates, bank accounts, life insurance, finances, retirement, vehicle registration and so much more. It felt endless.
Each time I had to fill out a form and check the box labeled "widow," it was a gut punch to my soul. I quickly realized just how unprepared I was to handle all these details. But how could anyone truly prepare for something like this? I never imagined I'd be facing it so soon. I learned the difficult steps of what to do when a loved one dies through hands-on experience.
I quickly grew to despise platitudes and found myself angry at the people who uttered them.
The emotional rollercoaster that ensued was unbelievable. I quickly grew to despise platitudes and found myself angry at the people who uttered them. Platitudes like, "He's in a better place," "At least you had the time with him that you did," "I know how you feel," and "Everything happens for a reason," left me seething with frustration.
He was already in a good place — here with us — and we wanted more time with him! How could anyone truly know how I feel? And as far as a good reason, what reason could justify this loss? It took me a long time to understand that they meant well. They were likely repeating words they had heard before, believing them to be the right thing to say. Slowly, I learned to extend grace to them.
What I found most comforting, however, were the people who simply sat with me offering their presence, love and support and allowing me to share when I was ready.
I struggled with my emotions in so many ways. I was dealing with my grief, which was completely engulfing. I was dealing with the grief of my three sons, daughters-in-law and granddaughters. My heart was breaking for them. My sons lost their father, my daughters-in-law lost a father figure, and my granddaughters lost their Papa.
One of the worst moments was seeing our 5-year-old granddaughter clutching a picture of her Papa to her chest, laying on the couch, with her eyes closed. It shattered my heart. I was consumed by guilt, and still am at times, feeling that my overwhelming grief kept me from being there for my family as much as they needed.
Adding to the complexity of my grief, my perspective as a nurse caused me to replay the medical aspects of what happened over and over in my mind and my dreams.
Adding to the complexity of my grief, my perspective as a nurse caused me to replay the medical aspects of what happened over and over in my mind and my dreams. I kept questioning why and how it happened. Could it have been prevented? Did the surgeon make a mistake?
I found myself reaching out to other medical professionals, trying to make sense of it all, and searching for something, anything, that might bring me peace. This personal experience has honestly made me want to leave bedside nursing and seek to help people in other ways; this is one reason why I transitioned to a health/wellness writer. Many writers have helped me during my time of grief, and I desire to be a beacon of light to others during theirs.
I wish I could say I've consistently made good, healthy choices along the way, but that wouldn't be entirely true. What I have learned is how to set boundaries, incorporate the Nurturing Yourself When You're Grieving philosophy and recognize grief triggers that come along.
Grief has taught me to embrace the moments here and now and live life to its fullest. I don't always succeed with this, but it is what I am striving for.
I have found that being alone in nature has helped me significantly. I have spent time alone by the ocean, hiking mild to moderate trails, sitting by a river, watching wildlife and enjoying many beautiful sunsets. My time alone in nature and with my family and very close friends has helped calm my spirit and reminded me that I am still here for a reason.
It is close to six years now since my husband's death. Losing him has been the most profound and life-altering experience I've ever faced. Grief has taught me to embrace the moments here and now and live life to its fullest. I don't always succeed with this, but it is what I am striving for.
I have learned that it is OK to miss what was while embracing and loving what now is and that there is room in my heart for both. Sharing this story is part of my healing and reminds me that even in loss, there is still hope and the strength to keep going. There is still so much life to live and love to share.
