My marriage was perfect until the day I came home from a business trip to find our backyard transformed into a venue for a funeral. My funeral. My husband Jake was standing in front, greeting guests dressed in black. What was going on?
They say love makes people do crazy things. But hosting your living wife’s funeral? That’s a whole new level of insanity.
Jake and I have been married for six years. We met through my college friend Rachel at a dinner party, and I still remember how he made everyone laugh with his terrible dad jokes.
That night, I told Rachel he was different from anyone I’d ever met.
Six months later, he proposed in our favorite coffee shop, and I knew I’d made the best decision of my life by saying yes.
We started trying for a baby right after the wedding.
However, things didn’t go as planned. I’d get a negative test every month and we couldn’t understand what was wrong. After two years of trying, we decided to visit fertility specialists.
At that point, we were really hopeful. We thought this would work and we’d get the positive test results we’d been waiting for.
But I guess fate wasn’t on our side. It was so heartbreaking to see how none of the treatments were working for us.
Meanwhile, the constant questions from well-meaning relatives crushed my soul.
“Have you tried those fertility herbs I told you about?” my aunt Susan would ask at every family gathering. “My neighbor’s daughter swears by them!”
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, kneeling in front of me. “Want to ditch this place and get some terrible diner food?”
I laughed through my tears. “Everyone will know why we’re leaving.”
“Let them know,” he shrugged. “Their opinions don’t pay our bills or make our happiness. We’re perfect just as we are.”
That’s Jake. He always knew how to lift me when the world felt too heavy.
While society kept trying to make me feel like less of a woman for not being a mother, he made me feel whole. Complete.
