Pieces of a Widow

It was May 6, 2022, the Friday before Mother’s Day, and I was very excited for the weekend. Monty had great plans; he always made every holiday special. I walked into the office and there were quite a few people gathered at the desk talking about how a pedestrian was hit by a car in front of our building.

“Wow, that’s terrible,” was one of my replies. It sounded horrific. Someone said, “There’s no way the pedestrian survived,” which was one of the last comments I heard as I headed back to Monty’s cubicle to give him another morning kiss. Today we decided to drive separately so he could run errands after work. I got to his cubicle and it was empty. My mind raced and my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my body.

At times of dire need, we often call out to God. On May 6, 2022, I pleaded with God when I called Monty’s phone. I was frantic, crying out, “Oh God, no; oh God, no, no, no . . .” That was when the nurse answered. My worst nightmare became my reality.

Monty and I were friends for 14 years, together for 10 years, and married for 7 years. He was my soulmate, best friend, partner, and lover. We often talked about how we had lived a lifetime in 10 years because we felt so complete and fulfilled with each other. We looked forward to retirement, which was right around the corner. We had so many plans. When those plans were done, we had each other.

“Mrs. Henderson, please come to the hospital as soon as you can,” was all I heard. I staggered to the front desk where my coworkers were still talking about the poor pedestrian.

“It’s Monty,” I said before collapsing.

We felt truly blessed to be together and could see God’s handiwork in our lives. During the early years, we didn’t feel worthy of God’s love or blessings. Our union caused our families pain and, we, in turn were hurting—guilt, sadness, and shame set in. After a few years of repenting, soul searching, and a lot of praying, we began to see ourselves through the eyes of God—forgiven and loved by Him.

“Not Monty! No, not Monty!” I could hear someone yell out. Just then two coworkers lifted me up off the floor and I leaned on them as they took me to my car. One of them drove me to the hospital. We passed the crime scene—there, on its side, was the truck that killed my Baby, my Love.

At the hospital, we were taken to a waiting room in the emergency ward. My heart dropped as I knew this wasn’t a good sign yet I kept hoping he was okay.

At some point, the doctor came in. He held my hands, looked me in the eye and said, “Mrs. Henderson, your husband is dead.” I screamed out and began to cry as I rocked back and forth clutching my phone with his photo to my chest. It was then that my heart split open and broke into a million pieces. I still hear those words and a year later, I still cry out to God, “Why? Why my Monty?”

So where was God? He was right there weeping with me. His heart was aching with mine. He was bringing together my family and friends who would support me. He helped me as I had to remind myself to breathe. He was holding the pieces of my shattered heart and waited until I was ready for Him to help me put it back together. His promise that Monty and I will be reunited in Heaven helps me make it through the dark days. God is here with me right now on this very long, very difficult journey called Grief.