Tag: Bereaved husband




By Renata de Dios

Thirteen months ago my friend isolated himself from the world after the love of his life died.  It was right before Christmas 2018.  Nothing could get him out of his depression.   Nothing could lure him out of that bungalow on County Road 9 that held him hostage to the memories of his wife’s three-year illness.  Toward the end of the three years, she started to turn the corner to good health, but only to be struck down again.  This time there was no return.  She died in a hospital with my friend by her side.

Just a few weeks ago, we turned our clocks ahead in anticipation of Spring.  It was then that my friend miraculously sprung out of his depression and started to make plans to move out of that bungalow on County Road 9 into a small cottage near his long-time friend.  It all happened so fast.  One day a junk man was picking up his old stuff. And the next day he was making arrangements for his belongings to be moved to his new home so he could start his new life.  All was good.

Then, without warning, the coronavirus hit the U.S. like an atomic bomb, killing my friend’s dreams for the time being.  Who would believe it?  A couple of special news reports and my friend’s life had to be put on hold.  Not just my friend’s life — everyone’s life.  Not just in the U.S., but around the world. 

This week my friend would have been traveling with his faithful cat to his new home to start his new life, just in time for Spring.  It would have been a time for him to be reborn and renewed.  It would have been a time for hope.  Now that will all have to wait.  But to every season, there is a purpose… and summer will be here before we know it.




Called death

Weather Report from the Other Side

When I’m in a cold lonely place and feeling down, like tonight in 13-degree (-10 C) Upstate New York, I think of my wife who is in a far colder and lonelier place.

Fourteen months ago in Intensive Care I held her hand, still warm in mine, to me a sign of life, and watched the moving line on the life-support machine and talked to unconscious mind because I was told that hearing and touch are the last sensations to go and the hours went by and her hand turned cold and the nurse said it’s time and the machine was turned off and I was cast into a void of loneliness and fear. People lose loved ones every day so I’m not putting myself in a special category, I’m just telling my story.

In the hellish months since, well-meaning people have talked to me about God and Heaven, and I have tried to understand and embrace the notion, but in the end (as of tonight anyway) they remain fantasies — wonderful and lovely fantasies to be sure, but to my mind, illusions (I could say delusions, if I wanted to be cynical, but I don’t want to be cynical, I want to keep, as they say, an open mind).

Fourteen months to the day and the loss and the pain have never diminished, and, despite prayers and desperate cries in the night for the faintest presence of her spirit, some kind of sign from an “after life,” a glimmer of hope from “God” — nothing.

All my stubbornly realistic mind can grasp is that my wife is in an oblivion that is colder and lonelier than where I am tonight in 13-degrees Upstate New York.