I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away. Instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. It broke my heart, but I went through the funeral alone. But when he got back, he walked into something he never saw coming—a lesson he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
The day everything changed, I was at work when my phone buzzed, showing the doctor’s number. I just knew what was coming. My stomach dropped before I even picked up the call.
Mom was gone. Just like that. She had been fighting a small lung infection, nothing serious. And then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone. It didn’t make any sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One minute, I was sitting at my desk, and the next, I was home, struggling to get my key in the door, tears blurring my vision. John’s car was in the driveway. It was one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant the TV was on low while he played around with his emails.
“John?” My voice echoed in the quiet house, trembling. “I need you.”
He walked into the kitchen with a coffee mug in hand, his face showing slight annoyance. “What’s wrong? You look awful.”
I tried to speak, but I couldn’t get the words out. My throat felt tight, and all I could do was reach for him, begging for comfort. He sighed, giving me an awkward pat on the back, like he didn’t know how to deal with me.
“My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone,” I finally managed to say.
His grip on my shoulder tightened briefly. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.”
Just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout? Maybe Thai?”
I nodded, feeling numb inside.
The next day, reality came crashing down. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, calling family, sorting through all the memories. I sat at the kitchen table, buried in papers and lists, when I remembered our vacation plans.
“John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, still looking at my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week.”
“Cancel?” He lowered his newspaper and frowned. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Plus, I’ve already booked my golf games.”
I stared at him, speechless. “John, my mother just died.”
He folded the newspaper neatly, the way he always did when he was more annoyed than anything else.
“I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice if I’m not there. You can take care of things here, and you know I’m not good with emotional stuff.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. “Just my husband?”
“You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact and fiddling with his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.”
In that moment, it felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage.
The week that followed passed in a daze. Occasionally, John would pat my shoulder or suggest I watch a comedy to cheer up. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife” was his caption, while I buried my mother in the rain, all by myself.
That night, I sat alone in our house, surrounded by untouched casseroles people had brought over to comfort me. Something inside me snapped. I had spent years making excuses for John’s lack of emotional support. “He’s just not a feelings guy,” I used to say. “He shows love in different ways.” But now? I was done pretending.
I called my friend Sarah, who’s a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? And add John’s Porsche to the deal.”
“His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” Sarah exclaimed.
“That’s the point,” I said calmly.
The next morning, “potential buyers” started arriving. I sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, and watched as they admired John’s precious car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I smiled. It was time for the show.
John stormed in, red-faced. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!”
“Oh, that,” I said sweetly. “I’m selling the house. The Porsche makes a great bonus, don’t you think?”
He fumbled with his phone, completely flustered. “This is insane! I’m calling Sarah right now!”
“Go ahead,” I said. “Maybe you can tell her all about your amazing vacation. How was the beach?”
His expression changed as the realization hit him. “This… is this payback? Did I do something wrong?”
I stood up, letting all the anger I’d been holding in come out. “You left me when I needed you the most. I’m just doing what you do—looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?”
For the next hour, John scrambled to shoo away the buyers and begged me to stop the sale. By the time Sarah texted me that her clients had left, I decided to let him off the hook—partially.
“Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car,” I said. Then I added, “This time.”
John breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—”
I held up my hand, stopping him. “But things are going to change. I needed you, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a real partner, or next time, the ‘For Sale’ sign will be real.”
He looked down, ashamed, finally realizing how badly he had messed up. “What can I do to make it right?” he asked.
“You can start by being here—really being here. Be my partner, not just a roommate. I lost my mother, John. You can’t fix grief with a vacation or a fancy dinner.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.”
It’s not perfect yet. John still struggles with showing his emotions, but he’s going to therapy. Last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. I told him how much I missed her, how I still reach for the phone to call her, only to remember she’s not there anymore. He listened, really listened, and even opened up a bit about his own feelings.
It’s progress. Baby steps.
Sometimes, I wonder what Mom would think of all this. I can almost hear her laughing, shaking her head.
“That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.”
Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength can look different. Sometimes it’s about pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s about knowing when to push back.
Share your thoughts in the comments!
