Six Months of Living Without My Husband

I have read books. I have listened to Podcasts. I have tried group therapy. I did EMDR therapy. I continue to receive virtual counseling each week. All of these and I am barely treading through the waters of grief. My own tears feel as though they could build an ocean. However, the bottom is not covered with sand, shells, or living animals. It is filled with memories, love, and my mentality. Floating at the top is the shell of my oversized body, facing down, bound by a weighted vest and flailing in attempt to grasp air.

Take a moment to think of Harry Potter's Dementors sucking the soul out of him; it is similar, but far worse. I am not paralyzed in the moment. I am living through it, somehow grasping just enough air to continue to hold my children above water and not letting my mentality sink them below.

Am I being overdramatic? No. This is real. Grief is all-consuming.

Does that mean my children are not enough? No. You are not just grieving the loss of your husband. You are grieving the loss of their father/stepfather. You are grieving the life you were supposed to have. You are feeling the weight of parenting alone; you are feeling anger, frustration, and defeat in moments when being a solo parent overwhelms you. When you watch your children play, you see the moments he is missing. It is not solely grief of your husband; it is also the grief of all the things you dreamed of and imagined for your children. There is also a small piece of him missing from each of them; you are trying to fill that void.

My therapist told me, “Give yourself some grace, okay? You are doing a lot. This IS a lot. It is okay to be tired. It is expected with what you are going through." Well, that is all fine and dandy... but how does that help me? Telling myself it is okay to not be okay, as people put it, is all too complex of a statement for one to grasp in such a state as mine.

There has been a significant rise in the number of moments I cannot breathe. Finalities that you do not think of, expect, or could anticipate happening unless you have been in this situation before or possibly watched endless movies or documentaries on the life of the next of kin after a loss. I had never thought of myself as 'next of kin' prior to Jeff's passing. Months ago, I experienced that process and learned what tasks needed to happen to "close things out" so to speak. It is horrible to say it that way, but it is the truth. The last day of April was the six-month marker and only couple of weeks shy of that, I began to have another round of "final tasks."

April 22, 2023: I pulled up in the driveway after his car was picked up. Unfortunately, my sons knew the moment was coming (I made sure it happened when I was not home). My oldest came over to my side of the car where my hands were locked on the steering wheel and could not let go. I was frozen. Broken. He said, "It is okay, breathe, breathe mom." He patiently waited and continued to repeat himself. Eventually, I was able to release my hands from the wheel. I sobbed. This is not fair. It was not supposed to be this way. My son said, "he is always with you," while gently pressing his finger into my chest.

April 24, 2023: It was only a couple days later, and I heard back from the officer that I was able to get my husband's phone back. I did not think that would hit me. I drove there with my daughter strapped into her car-seat in the back and feeling nervous, but okay. I walked into the Sherriff's office, a simple rectangular room with instructions to dial a number on the phone to the left. I did and explained I was there to meet Officer XX to get my husband's phone back. They told me he would be out shortly. Our little adventurer was a little restless. She wanted to keep smacking a sign and every time she did it hit the wall. My nerves were on edge.

When the officer came out, he asked for my ID to confirm it was in fact Jeffrey Ronald Hoskin’s wife. Then he had to go and ready the paperwork for me to sign for the release of his property. It had already taken all these months to get the appropriate approvals for me to be able to get it back. With that said, he came back out and the tears hit.

I could not speak as he opened the envelope, the plastic bag, then the foil it was bound in. I was in disbelief of how many times it was wrapped in foil. It took a solid amount of time for him to hand it over. Still speechless, I accepted it into my hands. He was kind and compassionate. He knew this was a tremendously difficult moment. He gave my daughter a Junior Officer sticker and we went on our way. He walked us out to our car and told me to be safe.

April 28, 2023: Jeff's 39th anniversary of his birth. We typically call that one's birthday, but it feels odd to say it is his birthday when he is not here to celebrate it. I started my day working my usual hours and paying no mind to the actual significance of the day. I was on a meeting and sirens went zipping by the house. I started sobbing and I was ever so grateful to be able to be muted during this meeting.

Last year, we kept it simple for his birthday. We just hung out in our backyard, had cake, and spent time being present with one another. He loved that we sang him happy birthday and he got to blow out candles (with special assistance from our middle child). I will never forget his words, "This is the best birthday I've ever had." I told him he was being silly, but he meant it. He explained he had everything he wanted, he felt immensely lucky that this was his life. It was his first birthday with his daughter in his arms, and the first we spent together as a family. (All five of us)

April 29, 2023: Jeff's first 'Celebration of Life' for his birthday. I wanted to have loved ones, both friends and family, join at our house. No special plans other than to be together in honor of our loved one. He would have loved every moment, other than potentially all the preparation. It would have stressed him out to have all the kerfuffle. Ha-ha. I personally was disappointed I did not see more faces, but he would have loved every second even if not a single person showed.

His family, my family, and a couple friends joined together with a pot-luck style picnic, a fire in the pit, a finely pruned yard (thanks to my dad and my oldest son for whipping that in shape just before people arrived), and the sunshine that fuels our bodies. He loved being outdoors, no matter where or what the weather was, outdoors was the place to be.

April 30, 2023: It hits me. I survived the birthday, I survived the gathering, now it was the day that marked six months and it was sinking in. I just celebrated my dead husband's birthday. He lived a short 38 years. It feels so wrong, but I am grateful he repeated to not just me, but family as well, "I can die a happy man now. I have my daughter and I have my lovely wife and I gained two sons." Life was perfect for him. I wish the last conversation we had wasn’t over the phone and about making sure there was no tomato on his damn McDonald’s burger.

May 2, 2023: I checked my mailbox and there was a notice saying I had a letter at the post office. I went to pick it up and the gentleman said, "It looks like it is for a Jeffrey Hoskin. I replied, "Oh, that is my husband... he passed away." He apologized and said he could return it to the sender. Then a few moments later he realized he couldn’t do that since he had already scanned it. I told him I would take it. It was from the bank that Jeff's car loan was through. Keep in mind, I have already sent them his death certificate, had several conversations with them, and arranged for the car to be picked up...but I suppose they needed to cover their bases.

I found it odd that he was receiving a letter from them and thought maybe it was just old. No, they wanted to notify him that his vehicle was voluntarily surrendered and if they heard no response in 8 days, they would sell his vehicle at auction. I rolled my eyes. Nonsense. Why is it necessary to write to him to ask his permission when they have proof that he is no longer with us. I honestly found it rude. I guess there are people out there that try and pull a fast one on someone to take away a belonging such as a vehicle.

May 3, 2023: It was a very warm and sunny day, but I was consumed by grief. I went outside dressed in sweatpants, slippers, a ratty shirt, and an oversized sherpa sweater and laid on the ground. I wore my sunglasses and just stared at the sky with my body laying limp on the old, warped wood that we call a deck. I was trying to feel my soul; I felt nothing.

May 6, 2023: I woke up from my phone buzzing at 1:40 AM. It was my youngest son calling from his father's house. I answered and he was in a terrible state. He was fumbling his words and I couldn't understand him. I told him to take a breath and he was able to speak clearly, "The most terrible thing just happened." He proceeded to tell me that his necklace broke, the one that holds his 'Daddy-Jeff's' ashes. He said, "Jeff is okay, I have him. He is fine. He's okay, mom." Still sobbing and with sniffles, he said, "Can I please get a new one?" Of course, I said yes. From his story, I gathered it was just the chain that was broken. He must've been wearing it while he was sleeping and twisted just right to make the ring pop open. I was able to calm him, and he went back to bed.

Shortly after, I messaged his dad to tell him what happened. He said, "I just got the pieces.... I can fix it no problem." A few minutes later messaged again, "I went into the garage with the chain and triangle and with some soft precision pliers and a micro bead of a solder filler, it's back together and stronger so the clasp won't break off." He followed up with pictures.

After these back-to-back events and toss in some solo parenting, working full-time, and not sleeping consistently, led to severe breakdowns. Tears beyond tears and an overwhelming feeling of blackness spreading inside my heart. What gangrene must feel like, but only superficial, or maybe when a limb is amputated, and you can still feel the pain of the limb that isn’t there. Some people pass away from a broken heart. A part of me cannot comprehend why I haven't with the excruciating state I am in. Somehow, I am still here, my heart is still pumping even though his is not.

Nothing will ever be comparable to the night I lost him but living on while being badgered by one event after another is debilitating. Not to mention, suddenly, I am having all of these hormonal changes with my cycle, sleep deprivation, and lack of nutrition. I will find my way; it just takes patience and time. I feel crippled in time right now, I am stuck, and it feels like everyone is just going about in front of me as if I am not even here. There are days that I feel invisible and there are days that I wish I were invisible. On the other hand, there are nights that I do sleep, and I have a dream with him in it. On the mornings that follow, I feel revived again. I have no idea if he is there and knows when he needs to pay me a visit because I am truly sinking, or if it is just my body's fight-or-flight mode creating a way for me to survive.

My leg bounces constantly in attempt to make the time pass faster or maybe that is what keeps reminding me I am in fact, alive. Or is this all just a really, really bad nightmare?