Linda Brown

Loss of Spouse, Mike, to an atrial fibrillation event

Hi Linda! What’s your story?

My name is Linda, and I’ve lived my whole 61 years here in Central New York State (there is more to New York State than NYC! lol). I have grown children, three sons and two stepdaughters, all of whom I adore. They all live a few hours away from me, scattered up and down the East Coast. I still work full time – I’m a small handful of years away from retirement – for a district superintendent of schools and our school board. I am an identical twin and we are fortunate that my parents are both still with us.

In 2018, I was diagnosed with invasive ductile carcinoma in my left breast. There is cancer in my immediate family: my identical twin sister beat brain cancer, I am currently “no evidence of disease” status with my breast cancer, and my dad beat prostate cancer and is currently fighting lymphoma. Because of this history and other past health issues, it is super important to me to feel strong and in control of my health as much as possible. I like to be active in my spare time: walks on my neighborhood nature trail, weight training classes at my gym, Pilates, yoga. I have a close group of friends and I love to spend time with my girlfriends, gossiping over some wine and laughing. I love to travel and hope to find more time to see new places.  

What was life like before the loss of your spouse, Mike?

Mike and I met in 2013 at a charity golf tournament that he hosted annually, and we were never apart after that day. We had both been in long term marriages to other people before we met, and we always said that our previous lives taught us how to be successful together in our relationship.  

We had an intense and passionate relationship, with typical marital ups and downs. We felt so lucky to have found each other, and we said so often. From the beginning, we focused on sharing our love and new life with our children from our first marriages. We felt this was a solid base in our relationship. Our five blended kids enjoyed each other and bonded from their first meeting, my sons loved Mike and I love his daughters – and yes, we know how fortunate we are to have that happen.  When we married, my sons were Mike’s groomsmen and my stepdaughters were my bridesmaids. We joked that we were like the Brady Bunch, and we have a text group called “all Brady’d up” because that’s what my stepdaughter said in one of the wedding toasts. We built an extremely loving blended family; not just with our kids, but also with our siblings, extended families, and in-laws – both current and previous. People often thought we were odd to include our ex-families in events, but we enjoyed their company and saw no reason to stop socializing just because we were no longer married to our original spouses. It made life easier for our kids as well.  My ex-husband and ex in-laws and my husband’s ex-wife were all at his funeral, a testament to how much Mike was loved and how blended we are.

Mike had his own company as a building contractor for more than 30 years.  He worked extremely hard and he played just as hard.  He often came home from work bone tired but he liked to cook and he liked to enjoy his food and drink. Cooking relaxed him (to my benefit!). My fondest times with him – and one of the things I miss most painfully – were our nightly sessions having some wine and cooking together, reliving our day with each other.  Mike was incredibly generous with his family, friends, and our community. As just one example, he hosted a yearly golf tournament to benefit a local hospice organization for over a decade and raised more than $150,000.  Mike also LOVED to entertain. His wish to share our home, any good fortune that he had, food, drink, everything we had, with friends and family was his character personified. We loved entertaining our kids, family, and friends. We loved taking trips together and with our loved ones. He was the most generous soul I have ever met.

You shared with me that Mike died suddenly. Can you share what happened? 

Mike was a big, strong guy, healthy in every way except for a chronic atrial fibrillation heart rhythm that he had for years. He treated the AFib with medication but, as he lost tolerance for the meds, he sought out and ended up having a cardiac ablation procedure to electronically fix the problem. His procedure took place in June 2020 and was a complete success. He never had an abnormal rhythm after the ablation. Six months later, the cardiologist and heart surgeon took Mike off his blood thinners – a standard procedure after successful ablation. I wasn’t so sure about this, but Mike was elated. He absolutely hated taking the blood thinners and medications to slow his heart rate, and he could not wait to stop them.

Five months later, on a bright and sunny Saturday morning in May 2021, Mike and I were getting ready for one of our backyard parties for our family. I was surprising him with my oldest son’s attendance from Brooklyn, and he was surprising me with my middle son’s attendance from California. Very typical!  

Mike was running errands and picking up some pizza dough to make pizzas in his brand new pride and joy: an outdoor pizza oven.  I was doing yard work when the hospital called to say they had Mike in the emergency room, that he had “had an incident at the grocery store,” and could I find someone to bring me to the hospital?  I could tell by the way they answered my questions that he was not okay. I was alone, so I drove myself to the hospital.  

When I arrived, he was being attended to in a curtained ER cubicle.  Two nurses asked me some questions in the hallway outside the cubicle including, “did I want to see him?” I said, “Of course I do, but I’ll wait until he’s okay and you’re done working on him.”  That’s when they said, “the only work we’re able to do on him is CPR until you get here to say goodbye.”  Mike was already gone when he got to the ER.

I went into the cubicle in absolute shock. He was Mike, but not Mike. He was wearing the shorts and shirt he left the house in that morning, but he was not there with me. I kissed him goodbye as someone straddled his chest, still giving CPR. I don’t think I’ll ever erase that scene from my brain and I’m not sure I want to because it’s the last time I saw Mike. Later, the autopsy revealed that he did not have a heart attack or any damage to his heart. He died of an atrial fibrillation event one week shy of his 55th birthday.  

How did you cope in the immediate days and weeks after his death?

I’m just starting to fully remember and place events during that time period.

The afternoon he died, all of our kids and my sister came to our house and we huddled there together for the week between his death and his service. There was a steady stream of people coming to see me, but I hid away in my bedroom most of the time.  With the exception of my sister and a couple of close girlfriends, I only wanted to see and be with our kids. I barely slept or ate. I wrote his obituary at 3 am while the house slept.  My stepdaughters created a slide show to play at his memorial service. The girls wrote eulogies for their dad. The kids and I chose music, photos, and people to speak at the service, and kept ourselves occupied with details of the service which, in retrospect, was a godsend.  Not only did I welcome the distraction, but the service was also the only time during the early days/weeks that I felt close to Mike.  I know with absolute certainty that he would have loved what we did for him.

Everyone left after a week or so, but my oldest stepdaughter and her fiancé stayed an extra week+ with me. I was so grateful!  My stepson-in-law sorted through everything I did not have the emotional strength to do – Mike’s business, accounts, banking, etc.  Mike had five construction jobs in progress at the time of his death, and my son-in-law laid the groundwork for me to keep my hand on the wheel of his company until these jobs were done. There were lawyer meetings, accountant meetings, job crew meetings, vendor meetings, banking meetings… and that was just relative to Mike’s business. Beyond dealing with his company, I had a full-time job, a household to maintain, a mortgage to pay, etc. etc.

To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. I slept like shit. I lost 15 pounds. I cried constantly – literally constantly – as much from frustration and panic as from sadness.

I coped by maintaining tunnel vision and literally putting one foot in front of the other. I could not veer away from my daily to-do list without panic setting in. I coped by venting and crying to a couple of close friends, my sister, and a couple of family members. I coped with the help of my workplace. My boss and coworkers all admired Mike and surrounded me with the kindest and most supportive atmosphere. I coped by seeing my therapist (who I had been seeing even before Mike died).  My therapy appointments were so difficult, but having a safe place to say anything and everything about Mike and the situation was priceless. My therapist happens to be a widow, and that helped too. I coped by getting myself to my primary care doctor and getting a prescription for Lexapro. I recognized that I could not function while crying and fighting panic attacks. It has made a big difference.

The absolute hardest part is the constant loneliness. Being alone in the house we shared was excruciating. Coming home from work to an empty house was so painful. I am an independent person who in my real life has no problem with my own company, but this was not just being alone – this was crushing loneliness for Mike. It is a physical pain, and it is sometimes unbearable.

I saw my friends when I was up to it. In the beginning, when they knew I couldn’t handle being out in public, they came to my house.  But as the weeks went by, I would steel myself and meet them out and make an appearance. Sometimes, I hated every second of it but I knew I could not sit home by myself. 

I traveled. My stepdaughters had me join them on a trip to Cape Cod about 7 weeks after Mike died. I went to Nashville that fall with a group of my friends, then to San Francisco with my sister and to Palm Springs with a girlfriend. Looking back, I see that I was trying to force myself to have fun, trying to do things that would make me feel like I was “normal.”  Don’t get me wrong, I had some good days and fun moments … but as I look back, I remember other moments of sobbing alone in hotel rooms and missing Mike so acutely. No matter where I was or who was surrounding me, I couldn’t outrun the fact that my husband had died suddenly and I was alone and in pain.

What has been a specific low point or struggle you experienced since his death? 

This is hard to write. I have been absolutely consumed by a wish to see Mike in my dreams. Because he left the house for a quick grocery trip and never came home, I have an acute sense of unfinished business and a lack of closure.  I crave one more conversation, one more look at him, one more interaction with him. I want to see him and know that he’s okay. My stepdaughter had very vivid dreams with very emotional and heartfelt conversations with him – I wanted that. The more time that passed without a connection, the more I began allowing “imposter syndrome” feelings to creep in (if he really loved me, he’d show up!) about our relationship.  I absolutely tortured myself with this struggle until recently, in the last few weeks, when I did some honest work in therapy to work through this. It’s a work in progress.

How did you manage to find joy in those low moments?

I didn’t. 

I existed and functioned, but I was very aware that I was living a joyless life. I wished for joy and I craved happiness, but I just could not feel any. I felt very stuck.

There were two recent turning points: one, listening to Anderson Cooper’s “All There Is” podcast. Yes, I have people in my real life who have grieved/are grieving. But for some reason, his stories, and particularly his guests’ stories, made me feel understood and like I wasn’t on some crazy lady grief island all by myself.  It snapped me out of my spiral and made me have empathy for grievers other than myself.

Another turning point was stumbling on your Forced Joy Project Instagram page. The name – Forced Joy – smacked me in the face! It made me see instantly that joy wouldn’t just come back to me, I had to participate and seek out what makes me happy again. There are many, MANY widow accounts out there and you can get sucked into other people’s misery without addressing how to relieve your own. The Forced Joy Project account is more hopeful, and that is something I desperately need and appreciate.

How do you live life differently from before the loss (if at all)? Has your attitude about life shifted? Any unexpected changes?

I still have a very hard time going to the grocery store.  Mike literally died in their parking lot, and it took me months until I felt strong enough to have a friend bring me to the grocery store. To this day, I’d rather pick up an Instacart than actually go inside. But I’m trying.

Mike’s contracting business was central to our lives and I had to dismantle all of it, by myself.  It felt horrible to systematically dispose of something he built for 30+ years.  But financially and logistically it had to be done.  Now that his equipment, tools, building, vehicles, etc are all gone and the bills have been paid, it’s a much, MUCH more simple life without Mike’s business. I feel guilty feeling that and saying it out loud.

The biggest change is that I sold our house we had together and bought/renovated my own smaller house. I LOVED our home and wish I still had that life – but I don’t.  And this new start is what I need to move forward on my own and begin to love that life too.

I have learned to put my pride aside and ask for help.  Again, I’m a pretty independent person and asking is hard for me. I hope this is a new skill that will stay with me.  

I have learned that I am way stronger than I thought I was. I feel like I’ve climbed 50 mountains with everything that has happened and everything I have overcome in the last 18 months.

What do you want others to know about grief?

Grief is so lonely. It is especially lonely when you’re a widow. I used to envy my kids who had partners to help them through the process. That’s a hard thing to admit. The constant loneliness is extremely difficult to navigate. 

Grief is all-consuming and exhausting.  It’s like having a newborn baby – it literally takes over your life for a while. I think you have to give yourself grace and not say “I should be doing this or feeling that” and act as though you haven’t just had a gigantic life change.  Let yourself do what you intuitively feel you need to do.

How can a person best be there to support a loved one who is grieving?

Support without expectation of acknowledgment. I so appreciated texts that just sent a simple message or even just a heart emoji that let me know I had someone’s support and that I didn’t have to necessarily answer. 

I would also say don’t ask the person what they need. We can’t think and we probably don’t know!!  Show up and dig in to help. One girlfriend didn’t call to ask what I needed – she just arranged to have an extra refrigerator brought to my house for all the food/drink that swamped us after Mike died.  Another friend took it upon herself to shop for funeral outfits for me – brilliant!!  My point is, know who you’re trying to support and just do what they need without being intrusive.

Most importantly, don’t stop supporting after one month, six months, one year.  A simple “how are you doing?” text or note makes you feel less alone no matter how long ago the loss was. 

What would you tell others who are going through something similar?

For me, I found that there are no concrete stages of grief and certainly no timeline.  I say this because you can get frustrated or wonder what is wrong with you if you feel some sort of way that a book or an article on the internet tells you should be behind you.  There is nothing “wrong” with how an individual person reacts to the death of a loved one.  You have to feel it to get through it.

Don’t expect to feel magically better after the first anniversary. In many ways the beginning of the second year was even more difficult for me.  You will get through it.

If you could say anything without worrying about how others would react, what would you say?

I worry that if my breast cancer returns, I’ll have to deal with it alone without Mike to support me.

I have less patience for people who give space to small issues that make them unhappy. I want to yell, “be thankful this is all you have to bitch about!”

Finally, I would say that death brings out the absolute worst in people when it comes to money and pride. And that sucks.

If you could go back and spend one more day with your husband, what would you do?

This question makes me cry, thinking about putting everything I love about Mike and me into just one day.  

I would love to wake up on a late spring/early summer morning, lazily, in Mike’s arms… then go on one of the spontaneous excursions he loved to take. Maybe lunch at a winery? Or a drive around the lake?  Then spend the afternoon lounging in our backyard by the pool, expecting our kids to show up for dinner. We’d all grill and laugh and swim and play music, eat and drink, then we’d kick the kids out and have a night alone together under the stars on our patio.  

I would literally give up everything to have this day.

Any resources that were helpful for you that others might be able to utilize?

Other than my answer previous answer about finding joy, what has been helpful to me is setting up a scholarship in Mike’s name. He built his contracting company based on what he learned at a secondary school that provides career and technical education – and he was so generous in his life and in our community.  This scholarship annually supports a high school senior who is standing now where Mike stood before.  

It has been helpful and very healing to carry on his name and his legacy of generosity.

What brings you joy now? 

My oldest stepdaughter was married 3 months after Mike died, and my son was married just two months ago.  Both of those events brought me joy.  My younger stepdaughter has rediscovered a music career that she let go dormant for almost 10 years. One of Mike’s biggest frustrations was that she wasn’t using her writing and singing talents - so now that she is, that brings me so much happiness. I truly can feel his happiness for his daughters and my sons, too. ☺   I think that as our kids develop even more in their own lives – their own children, houses, etc – I’m sure that will bring me even more joy.  

I’m hoping that when I’m ready, I’ll find companionship that will bring me joy.  

Want to know more about Linda and her story? Follow her on Instagram @lindabmarie.