I thought my husband would support me when my mom died, but instead, he chose to go on a vacation to Hawaii instead of helping me through my grief. I had to face the funeral alone. But when he came back, he walked into something he never saw coming—a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
It started while I was at work. My phone buzzed, and when I saw the doctor’s number, I just knew something was wrong. My heart sank even before I answered.
Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute, she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. I went from sitting at my desk to standing in front of my house, barely able to open the door because my hands were shaking, my eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days. This usually meant ESPN was on low in the background while he pretended to answer emails.
“John?” My voice echoed through the house, weak and broken. “I need you.”
He walked into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking a little annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”
I tried to speak, but my throat tightened, and I couldn’t get the words out. I reached out for him, needing him to comfort me. He sighed and gave me an awkward pat on the back, like he was comforting someone he barely knew.
“My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.”
His grip tightened for a second. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.”
But then, just as quickly, he stepped back. “Do you want me to order takeout? Maybe Thai?”
I nodded, feeling completely numb.
The next day, it all became real. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, calling family, sorting through a lifetime of memories. I sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers and lists, and suddenly remembered our planned vacation.
“John, we’ll have to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—”
“Cancel?” He lowered his newspaper and frowned. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. And I’ve already booked my golf games.”
I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.”
He folded the newspaper neatly, in that way he does when he’s annoyed but doesn’t want to show it too much.
“I know 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’ll handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.”
It felt like he had punched me in the stomach. “Just my husband?”
“You know what I mean,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes and fixing his tie. “Besides, someone should use the tickets. Text me if you need anything.”
In that moment, I saw him clearly for the first time in our 15 years of marriage.
The next week flew by in a blur. John would sometimes pat my shoulder or suggest I watch a funny movie to “cheer up.” But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting photos on Instagram of sunsets and cocktails with the hashtag, “#LivingMyBestLife.” Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday.
That night, I sat in our empty house, surrounded by untouched casseroles from people offering their sympathy. Something inside me snapped. For years, I had made excuses for John’s lack of emotion. “He’s just not a feelings guy,” I used to tell myself. “He shows love in other ways.” But now? I was done pretending.
I picked up my phone and called Sarah, a realtor friend of mine. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche.”
“His Porsche? Eddie, he’s going to freak out!” she replied, surprised.
“That’s the point,” I said calmly.
The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping my coffee, watching as they admired John’s prized possession—his Porsche. When his Uber pulled into the driveway, I smiled to myself. Showtime.
John burst through the door, red-faced and furious. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!”
“Oh, that,” I said sweetly. “I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”
He grabbed his phone, panicked. “This is insane! I’m calling Sarah!”
“Go ahead,” I said with a smirk. “Maybe you can tell her how amazing your vacation was. How was the beach?”
His expression changed as the truth sank in. “Wait… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?”
I stood up, letting my anger spill out. “You abandoned 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 tried to get rid of the buyers, begging me to stop the sale. When Sarah finally texted me saying her clients were leaving, I decided to give him a small break—just this once.
“Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car,” I said. “This time.”
John let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—”
I raised my hand to stop 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 ashamed, finally understanding how badly he had messed up. “What can I do to fix this?” he asked, almost pleading.
“You can start by showing up—being my partner, not just a roommate. I lost my mother, John. You can’t fix that kind of grief with a vacation or a nice dinner.”
He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I’m willing to try.”
It’s not perfect yet. John is still learning how to deal with emotions, but he’s going to therapy now. Just last week, he asked me how I was feeling about my 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. And for the first time, he listened—really listened. He even shared a little about his own feelings.
It’s a start. Baby steps.
Sometimes, I wonder what Mom would think of all this. I can almost hear her laughing and 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 isn’t always about pushing through the pain. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to push back.
What would you do in this situation? Share your thoughts in the comments!
