Six months ago, my life changed forever with a single phone call. On the evening of April 29th, I received the devastating news that my healthy, courageous husband had gone into cardiac arrest and lost his fight against COVID-19. I still feel the overwhelming sorrow as I realized the man I intended to share my life with was gone.
His struggle had begun a month earlier, starting with a cough the day after our daughter’s second birthday. Given that Jake worked at a hospital and encountered patients with respiratory issues, we suspected it could be serious. He attempted to get tested right away, but the sites were already overwhelmed and out of tests. Initially, he seemed fine, but soon the fever began. That was when I started to fear the worst. After days of trying, he finally tested positive for COVID-19.
In the days following that diagnosis, I noticed his condition worsen—he was increasingly fatigued, his fever escalated, and his appetite vanished. Every day, I asked him, “Can you breathe?” and he would reassure me, “Yes.” Back then, the inability to breathe was a clear sign to seek emergency care. This continued until the morning of April 3rd when I awoke to the sound of him gasping for air. That’s when I called 911.
He was taken from our home on a stretcher, and that was the last time I saw him. What ensued was 26 days of unbearable emotional turmoil as I navigated an excruciating roller coaster of hope and despair. The only way I could receive updates was through phone calls to the hospital, which became a draining ritual. I often struggled to connect with someone, and there were moments when I received devastating news hours later, making the wait even more agonizing. One day, I discovered that Jake’s heart had stopped for 20 seconds during the night, which shattered my remaining hope.
Each day brought fluctuating reports, with glimmers of recovery quickly followed by setbacks. When I finally received that heart-wrenching call, I knew Jake had lost his battle. I realized I would never hear him say “I love you” again, and my life had irrevocably changed. My immediate thoughts were about how to explain to our two-year-old daughter that her Papa would not be coming home and how to ensure our five-month-old son would know the wonderful man he would never meet.
Now, six months later, as I process the profound loss, I face new challenges as a single mother to a toddler and an infant. The exhaustion is overwhelming, especially as I strive to help my daughter navigate her grief. Those moments when she gazes off into space, missing her Papa, break my heart. At just two-and-a-half, she shouldn’t endure such trauma. Yet, I’ve found that these moments are perfect for reminiscing about him, and I’m amazed at how much she remembers. She was truly a “Daddy’s Girl.”
When I see my son’s smile, reminiscent of his father’s, I feel a mix of joy and sorrow. Joy because I know Jake would be proud of the little boy he is becoming, and sorrow because my son will have no memories of his Papa. These moments reinforce my commitment to preserving Jake’s memory daily. Every night, as I tuck my children in, they kiss a picture of their Papa goodnight. I remind them that he is watching over them, loving and missing them just as we do. When they reach out to kiss his photo, I know I’m helping keep his spirit alive.
Even after half a year, the heartache from COVID-19 lingers. I’m a young widow navigating a new reality while continuing to heal. I often felt isolated in my grief until I received a heartfelt card from someone else enduring a similar loss. This inspired me to create a Facebook group for young widows and widowers who lost their partners to COVID-19. Knowing that we are not alone is incredibly important, and together we can support each other through this challenging journey.
The anguish of losing a life partner to COVID-19 is unfathomable unless you’ve lived it. My life and my children’s lives are forever altered. All I can do now is share our story and find a way to move forward.