Someone Else’s Tragedy
“He is dead.”
Hearing this is surreal. Time stands still. You check to see if you heard them right. It must be a dream. It can’t be true.
“What did you say?”
We just pulled in the driveway coming home from our 4th of July trip. We stayed with family enjoying each others company, letting the kids stay up late to play, and talking well into the night. We made plans for their them to come down to our house the next weekend, hang out at the pool, and spend more time together. We had always gotten along great. Having the best time every chance we managed to get together, and never wanting it to end.
We stayed up well into the night, around a fire pit talking. There was never a lack of things to talk about. This time she asked me about my husband, the father of my 4 kids. I don’t remember the exact details of the conversation, though there are other parts I remember vividly. We talked about his death, and what it was like to suddenly be a single mother of three.
Yes, that’s not a typo. I have four children. But was a single mother of three. Three years before my husband passed, my son died as well. He was 4 months old. 4 months of late nights, 4 months of snuggles and cuddles. 4 months of bliss before he went to sleep for the final time.
Losing our son set my husband on a downward spiral he was not able to recover from.
It was good to talk about after all these years. To let things out I was never able to tell anyone. To have someone listen from a place of care and concern, and without judgement.
I have heard those words far too many times in my few short years, first my son, then my husband. This time was different. This time I was the “outsider.”
When the name came through the phone I was in disbelief. We had literally just seen him and made plans for the following weekend a few hours prior. There had to be a mistake. It couldn’t be…
This time it was HER husband. He was killed in an accident. And now SHE was the one that was suddenly a single mother of three. SHE. The one who had just stayed up late with me the night before asking me about my story, allowing me to share pieces of my heart that could never be restored, and pieces that had never been shared. SHE. The one every woman was envious of her relationship with her husband. SHE. The one every mom strived to become.
Suddenly SHE was a single mom of three. So why does it, again, feel like ME?
I am starting this blog to share my story. We all have one. No one’s is better or worse. It’s YOUR story. Our story’s shape who we become. Sharing our story allows us to connect, letting go of our story allows us to grow. I hope by sharing my story, you are inspired to share yours.