I thought the hardest part of losing my wife was learning how to raise five children alone. I had no idea a single secret hidden in my garage was about to destroy the last piece of my old life.
My wife, Sarah, passed away six months ago, causing my world to fall apart. Some mornings, I still wake up expecting to hear her downstairs making coffee before the kids rise. Then reality hits me all over again.
I was suddenly a 43-year-old father raising five children alone.
Everything about the day Sarah passed still replayed constantly in my head.
I still wake up expecting to hear her downstairs.
***
It had started normally enough. My mother, Diane, came over that Saturday morning while we prepared for a barbecue in the backyard. Sarah was sitting in the sun while I worked on the grill.
Then my wife suddenly slumped back in the patio chair and pressed her hand against her chest.
At first, she said she was dizzy, but 10 minutes later, she couldn’t stand.
The ambulance came quickly, but not quickly enough.
It had started normally enough.
***
I still remember sitting in that hospital hallway, watching doctors rush past while my mother held Emma, our youngest daughter, against her shoulder.
Then a doctor walked toward me with that look people recognize before a single word is spoken.
Sarah was gone.
Afterwards, everything became a blur.
My mother handled almost everything. She organized the funeral, made meals, helped with the kids, and kept telling me not to worry about anything except grieving.
Sarah was gone.
At the time, I was grateful because I could barely function.
I was so deep in grief that I wasn’t eating properly, and I barely slept.
At Sarah’s funeral, my oldest son, Mason, had to grab my arm because my legs nearly gave out while I was walking toward the front row. But life kept moving whether I was ready or not to be a widower with five kids.
The kids still needed breakfast.
Homework still had to be signed.
So I learned how to survive.
