I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over supporting me through my grief. Devastated, I went through the funeral all by myself. But when he came back, he walked into a situation he never expected—one he’d never forget.
It all started while I was at work. The doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and even before I answered, I somehow knew what was coming. My heart sank deep.
Mom was gone. Just like that. One moment she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My whole world came crashing down.
Everything after that is a blur. I remember sitting at my desk, and then suddenly, I was at home, struggling with my keys, my eyes full of tears. John’s car was parked in the driveway. He was having one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN was on low while he half-heartedly answered emails.
“John?” My voice echoed in the house, shaky and desperate. “I need you.”
He came into the kitchen, holding his coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”
I tried to speak, but my words got caught in my throat. I reached out, needing comfort, but all I got was a quick, awkward pat on the back, like I was just some distant acquaintance.
“My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone,” I finally managed to get out.
His grip tightened for a second. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.”
But just as quickly, he let go and stepped back. “Do you want me to order takeout? Maybe Thai?”
I nodded, feeling completely numb.
The next day, the weight of everything hit me hard. There was so much to deal with—planning the funeral, calling family, sorting through years of memories. I sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by lists, when I remembered our planned vacation.
“John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, still looking at 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 in shock. “John, my mother just died.”
He folded the newspaper with perfect precision, the way he did when he was more irritated than concerned.
“I understand you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.”
It felt like he had punched me in the gut. “Just my husband?”
“You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.”
At that moment, I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage.
The next week was 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 pictures of sunsets and cocktails on Instagram. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one of his captions said, while I buried my mother in the rain, completely alone.
That night, I sat in our empty house, surrounded by sympathy casseroles no one had touched, and something inside me snapped. For years, I’d been making excuses for John’s emotional distance. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I used to say. “He shows love in other ways.” But now? I was done pretending.
I called my friend Sarah, who’s a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? And make sure John’s Porsche is included.”
“His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll flip!” Sarah said, surprised.
“That’s the point,” I replied, calm and determined.
The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee, watching as they admired John’s precious car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I smiled to myself. Showtime.
John stormed into the house, 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 fumbled for his phone, completely flustered. “This is insane! I’m calling Sarah right now!”
“Go ahead,” I said with a smirk. “Maybe you can tell her all about your amazing vacation. How was the beach?”
His face changed as the truth finally sank in. “Wait… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?”
I stood up, finally 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 tried to shoo away the buyers and begged me to stop the sale. By the time Sarah texted me saying her clients had left, I decided to give him a small break—just this once.
“Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car,” I said. Then I added, “This time.”
John sighed with 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 hung his head, looking ashamed, finally realizing just how badly he had screwed up. “What can I do to fix this?” he asked.
“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 fancy dinner.”
He nodded slowly. “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 show his emotions, but he’s going to therapy. Just last week, 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 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 can look different. Sometimes, it’s about pushing through the pain, and sometimes, it’s about knowing when to push back.
What would you do in this situation? Share your thoughts in the comments!
