“Widow” Is an Ugly Word
“When I chose the word ‘unscripted,’ I never imagined this. THIS was not supposed to be in the script.”
About three weeks ago, my husband told me about one of his patients. This man has two grown kids — one with a fancy finance degree who was barely making ends meet, and the other, an influencer (presumably a “non-fancy” degree holder) who was just raking it in.
As I’ve not worked full-time in several years in favor of raising our kids, Brian was gently suggesting I consider nontraditional career paths in my Second Act. (I’m a proud, dual-fancy-degree holder, but I’ve always felt painted into the corporate corner.)
I was pretty surprised by Brian’s gentle nudge. He was a wildly private man. Even when I was building and promoting my coaching business, I was always mindful of what I shared about him, our marriage, and anything that might feel delicate. We always had mutual respect.
I was never sure about the “influencer” route, but I always loved to write. My various, usually commercially futile (yet cathartic) blogs never led to anything. But when Brian told me about his patient’s offspring, I felt an undeniable pull to write again. That’s when I started 40unscripted.
I chose the name because my journey into wifedom, motherhood, and my 40s has been unlike anything I ever expected, in both beautiful and challenging ways. I wanted to write about journeying into the unknown, even as a lifelong planner. I wanted to talk about finding peace, growth, and fulfillment in the precious moments that comprise life.
My first blog post was on March 22, 2025.
My dear husband passed away on April 3, 2025.
When I chose the word “unscripted” for this blog, I never imagined this. THIS was not supposed to be in the script.
My entire life was flipped upside down on the morning of April 3. I’m not ready to go into all of it, if ever, but I can share that his passing was sudden, unexpected, and peaceful. I experienced shock for the first time. And if you know me, you know my lived experience includes incidents with my son that got me close. (These particular incidents also pulled my then-atheist husband into believing in a force bigger and more powerful than what we see earthside.)
I felt the type of shock that had me rolling in wood chips, trying to figure out how to crawl out of my own skin. I performed CPR on the body that once housed my husband’s beautiful, generous, flawed-as-we-all-are soul. I kept looking at the sheriff, begging her to tell me I was dreaming - that this was all a mistake. But it was real. I couldn’t speak for hours. The kind sheriff made all sorts of phone calls for me. I had to point to numbers and names on my phone because I was completely dysfunctional. I remember thinking, “I have to breathe.”
Maybe this is too soon for some to read. I’ve been very open on IG about my days. I don’t blame anyone for unfollowing, disengaging, etc. This is super depressing, sad, hard shit.
I know I’m still in a state of shock, though I’m functioning, and my parasympathetic nervous system has been kind to me. E.g., I am breathing.
I can’t stop thinking about the timing - how Brian was urging me to use my story as a mother and wife navigating my 40s, contemplating my Second Act, and then… he was gone.
Writing is my therapy. Sometimes I read what I’ve written, and it feels out-of-body. I’m not saying I’m an incredible writer, but the flow is real. And it feels good.
It’s been only 13 (long & hard) days, but I no longer want to crawl out of my skin. My children’s smiles and daily joy (kids’ grief is wild and a whole other deal) quite literally carry me through my days. We have family, community, and faith that articulate the real meaning of wealth. We don’t have Daddy in the flesh, but we have his love and spirit. God, do I feel it.
Whatever this writing becomes - however it evolves - I know I want it to serve. If sharing my story helps even one person, especially those grieving alongside me (my husband touched so many lives!), then it will be meaningful.
P.S. There has to be a better word for someone who has loved so deeply and lost so tragically.
One of our banks already has my “status” listed as “widowed,” and it feels so unreal it’s almost funny. I suppose that's why I had to write this post. Because “widow” is an ugly word - and this story, this love, this life we built… was anything but.
