On December 21, 2024, I experienced an instant loss. I revisit the logistics of that day over and over again.
We were supposed to have a fun week of various Christmas activities with friends and family and spend a long weekend in Boston’s version of Winter Wonderland.
But then I got an ominous visit from my brother-in-law, who had to drop the worst news imaginable. In just a few short minutes, I learned that my husband collapsed and lost consciousness at an event in India – miles away from us and just hours after we had spoken about his travels to return home.
With my clinical powers of deduction, it wasn’t rocket science to figure out that he passed away instantly. At the same time, there was some semblance of hope in my mind that perhaps he was in the ICU or there were additional measures in place to preserve life.
Our story is unique because my husband was a dreamer. When I met him, he told me he always wanted to create something and disrupt it in a positive way—especially in India. It was a long road, but in 2015, he launched the first Greek yogurt in India, EPIGAMIA.
We have been global citizens throughout the years, and he was a transatlantic traveler. We lived in two different cities and traveled back and forth. We managed life with two kids through COVID and eventually settled into a new community of friends we never thought we’d have.
Despite all the sacrifices and struggles with FaceTime and the kids, my husband somehow found a way to ensure his presence was always there. He would go back and forth for weeks at a time, and sometimes, those weeks became a month.
Our relationship was a true partnership. He worked towards creating our future while I held down our present and ensured everything operated smoothly daily. Both roles were equally important and full of their own challenges.
When I realized he was gone, I didn’t think about how I would function because I knew how to function without him physically being there. But I had no idea how to plan for the future or execute a vision because I had never thought so far ahead. I was always just focused on today.
And that’s when I broke down. The loss of a spouse for many is the loss of identity because, after certain years of marriage, you become more intertwined than you realize. He and I were very different, almost like a true yin and yang. But together, we created such a balance. When he passed away, it was the most unsteady I’ve ever felt in my life.
I’ve always been independent, and most will say I’m very strong, so perhaps this new devastating challenge would be another opportunity to utilize more of my strength.
And that’s when my anger kicked in. Instead of letting it bring me down, I started channeling it with the help of group grief therapy, support groups, therapy sessions, and writing.
I learned that grief is not linear. It comes and goes and waves for myself and my sons. There are moments in a day when we find ourselves profusely, crying out of the blue, feeling the lowest depths of sadness. And then there are moments where we laugh and find a happy memory only to wish he was there with us.
The instant loss of a spouse is certainly a tough adjustment in any capacity, no matter how many years you’ve been married. However, you don’t have to lose your identity in the process. Your purpose will pivot, and you’ll find a way to keep moving forward.
I share my story because I genuinely feel like my husband set me up for success. While he’s not physically here to share it with me, he ensured that while I had to endure many challenging moments, there was nothing but love and support all around me.
