IT HAPPENED TO ME: My Husband and the Father of My Child Was Murdered

I became a widow and a single mother at the age of 23.
Publish date:
January 17, 2014
widow, murder, husband

He’s dead. The words I couldn’t hear, didn’t want to hear and definitely wouldn’t believe. My husband, the love of my life and the father of my 7-month-old-daughter was dead.

We had met 3 years before at a convenience store and I was blown away by how tall and handsome he was. Before long, he became my best friend and lover. When I got pregnant, we were both terrified to become parents, but the day our daughter was born was one of the best days of our lives.

We lived a great life together. He worked and I stayed home with our daughter. We loved watching her grow and he was an amazing father. Sure, we had our problems, but we worked through them and loved each other so passionately. People always told us that when we looked at each other you could see the love we had for each other radiating around us.

Thanksgiving came and went, then Christmas. New Year’s Eve we got the chance to have a little fun while my mom watched our daughter.

A couple of days after New Year’s 2013, my husband asked me if he could go out with a buddy he hadn’t seen in a while. I said yes of course.

He wasn’t driving at the time so, I dropped him off at a bar, kissed him, told him I loved him and told him to call me by 1 o’clock if he needed to be picked up.

I went home, put the baby to bed and watched TV. I had a hard time going to sleep because he wasn’t home yet. By 4 o’clock in the morning, he still wasn’t home, so I tried to call him. No answer. I sent him a text and he told me to pick him up and sent me an address.

I bundled up the baby and we went to get him. By the time I got to this address, he wasn’t answering my phone calls or my text messages anymore, so I left. I texted him and told him to call me the second he got my message, I was worried, but not too worried.

As I approached our house, I saw a police car. The police car turned the same way I was, and then it followed me down our street. I knew immediately they were going to my house. It was just one of those gut feelings.

As I pulled up to our house, flashing lights were everywhere. I ran inside and was stopped by two policemen who asked me who lived in the house. I told them it was me, my husband and my daughter.I asked over and over where my husband was and no one would tell me. Finally, I heard a noise in the basement and flew down the stairs.

There, at the bottom, was my husband, bleeding. He'd been stabbed. I started crying and yelling and telling him to get up. He tried, but he was too weak.

I don't know what happened to my husband between texting me and ending up in the basement. I don't know how my husband got home. I assume they man who allegedly stabbed my husband, whom he'd met that night, was the one who drove my husband home, but I don't know that for certain.

I assume he was in the basement because our dog had just had puppies and I think he was showing them to the guy he was with, but again, I don't know for sure. I don't know much of anything about how my own husband died.

The guy who allegedly stabbed him has been incarcerated for the last year and pretrial is set to begin on Monday. I hope to find out more, because It's very frustrating not knowing what happened.

The police led me out of my house and into the back of a police car (my mother had come to get my daughter). They took me to the police station but wouldn’t tell me about my husband. Finally his brother called me and told me those two dreaded words: “He’s dead.”

The next few days were a blur. All I can remember is crying and more crying and finally falling asleep from pure exhaustion. Seeing my daughter for the first time afterward was very hard and very emotional. I had a hard time holding her and looking at her because all I could see was her daddy, and all I could think about was the fact that now she didn’t have a daddy.

The funeral came and went in a blur. The investigators released my house back to me, finally. (It takes a long time to process a crime scene). The house was a mess when I got back, blood and finger print powder and our belongings everywhere. I never knew the police didn’t clean all that stuff up.

I was a mess for weeks. My husband’s best friend came and stayed with me for a while to help me with my daughter. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t accept that my husband really wasn’t coming home. I wasn’t going to see him again, touch him again, and kiss him again. My daughter would never know her daddy.

I spent the next week in the basement, lying in the exact spot I found him, crying (the dried blood was still there). When the cleaning company came to clean everything up, I had to leave my house, because in a weird way I didn’t want them to clean it. When I got home afterward, I went downstairs and cried some more. I felt like the last piece of my husband was gone.

Eventually, I moved back in with my mother. With my husband gone, I couldn’t afford our house by myself. He was the one with a full-time job, I was on maternity leave.

I spent the next couple of months in a dangerous downward spiral. During the day, I was a doting mother, but as soon as my daughter went to bed I would go out and drink or do cocaine to numb the pain of my husband being gone. I couldn’t face reality yet. I just wasn’t ready to live without him. I thought the drinking and the drugs would make everything better. It didn’t.

One day I finally had enough. I was stuck in self-pity mode and forgot that I had a job to do. I had to raise our daughter. I had to be a good mother. I stopped drinking and doing drugs, I stayed home with my daughter every night. It was hard, because now I was facing reality. The reality of being a widow and a single mom at only 23 years old. It seemed overwhelming.

I eventually started going to counseling, got a full-time job and started living a “normal” life again. My daughter’s first birthday was this summer and celebrating it was bittersweet without my husband. Every milestone from here on will be bittersweet without him.

I’m proud of myself for picking myself up and doing what I should be doing. My husband may not be here but he gave me the most precious gift, our daughter. I will forever love him and always be so grateful for the time we shared together and the memories I will have.

When my daughter is old enough to understand, I will tell her about her daddy and tell her how much he loved her. Until then, I will do everything I can to be the best mother I can be.

It’s a constant struggle to deal with losing my husband, and with a trial coming up I will have to relive every single moment and feeling of losing him all over again. I cry at least once a day still. There will be the smallest thing that will remind me of him and the tears will come. I hope that one day I will be able to smile instead of cry, but for now I’m doing my best.