My husband took a Hawaii vacation instead of helping me after my mom died. I attended the funeral alone, devastated. He returned to an unexpected scene as I taught him a lifelong lesson.
I knew when my phone showed the doctor’s number at work. My heart sunk before responding.
Verna left. Just like that. One moment she had a little lung infection, the next… confusion ensued.
No memory of driving home. One minute at my work, the next fumbling with keys, tears in my eyes. In the driveway was Theron’s automobile.
He probably spent another “work from home” day, viewing sports on mute while pretending to check emails.
“Theron?” My voice echoed at home. I need you, Theron.”
He entered the kitchen doorway with a coffee, appearing slightly offended at the intrusion. What’s wrong? You look awful.”
The words caught between my heart and throat when I tried to speak. I shook my head and reached out like a child. He put down his cup and offered me an awkward pat like he was comforting a stranger.
Finally, “My mom,” I choked. “She died, Theron. Verna died.”
Briefly, his arms tightened. “Oh. Wow. That’s… Sorry, honey.”
He retreated. “Want takeout tonight? Maybe that Thai place you like?”
I blankly nodded, barely hearing him. Verna left. The woman who taught me to ride a bike, worked two jobs to support me in college, and still calls me on Sundays, is now gone.
The following morning, reality hit hard. So much to accomplish! I planned the funeral, called loved ones, and sorted through life memories. Our vacation came to mind while creating lists at the kitchen table.
“Theron, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I replied, looking up from my phone. “The funeral is likely next week, and—”
“Cancel?” Putting down his newspaper, Theron frowned. “Elara, those tickets are nonrefundable. We’d lose thousands. I’ve also reserved resort golf slots.”
I looked, sure I’d misheard. “Theron, my mother died.”
As if suppressing anger, he folded the paper carefully.
“I know you’re upset, but funerals are for family. As your husband, no one will notice if I’m gone. Your cousins barely know me.”
His words slapped. “Just my husband?”
“You understand.” Instead of looking at me, he fixed his tie. Additionally, someone should use the tickets. You can handle things, whereas I struggle with emotions.
Theron appeared clear for the first time in our fifteen years together.
How had I overlooked his indifference when I expressed my feelings? How he handled emotions like annoying interruptions to his organized life?
The next week was tearful and busy.
When I cried, Theron would touch my shoulder and suggest “Maybe try a sleeping pill” or “How about watching something funny?”
The day before the funeral, he kissed my cheek and said, “Text me if you need me!” He went for Hawaii.
Like he could help from 4,000 miles away. Like he’d want to.
Rainy Thursday, I buried my mother. Theron uploaded Instagram posts of beach beverages with small umbrellas while I listened to the pastor talk about eternal life. He titled one “#IslandVibes”. “#BestLife.”
Something snapped in our calm house that night, surrounded by condolence dishes I couldn’t eat.
I’d excused Theron’s emotional detachment for 15 years. “He’s just not a feelings guy,” I told pals. “He loves differently.”
How, exactly? To avoid genuine conversations with expensive gifts? He might escape life’s challenges with huge trips?
Realtor Livia was my friend. One call started my plan.
“You want me to what?” she laughed in disbelief.
“List our house. Tomorrow, online-only open house. Mention the car comes with it.”
“The convertible? Theron’s child? Elara, he’ll fail! The automobile is his pride and joy.”
“That’s the point,” I said. “That car is his passion. Definitely more than me.”
Are you sure? Grief can bring out crazy behavior…”
Never have I been more sure. Can you?”
The next morning, “buyers” arrived on time. Sipping coffee at the kitchen table, I watched them hawk Theron’s Porsche.
I smiled when Theron’s Uber arrived. Showtime.
Theron stormed in, beet-red. “Elara! Why is my automobile being touched? Some person questioned if the leather seats were original!”
Coffee was sipped slowly. Yeah, that. Selling my house. Consider the car a nice reward. Seals the deal.”
Selling the— He pulled out his phone, stuttering. “Are you insane? I’ll call Livia to record this listing!”
“Go ahead,” I answered calmly. I’m sure she’d like your message. Maybe tell her about your travels. How was the beach? You took beautiful photos.”
He stared, realizing. “Is this a form of retribution? Did I fail?
What do you mean? Just like you, I put myself first.” My fury showed as I stood. I’m just your wife. Right? Not family.
The next hour was a chaos. Theron rushed about chasing buyers and pleading with me to reconsider. The lady of an older couple insisted on saying the Porsche was great for her “weekend drives.”
Theron might weep, I thought. Before Livia texted saying she was out of pals to send over, I let him panic.
“Okay, fine,” I told Theron. You’re right. I won’t sell the house.” I paused for effect. “Or the car.”
Theron sank in relief. “Thank God. Elara, I—
I raised my hand. Theron, things are changing. You couldn’t skip vacations once my mother died. You were too busy taking beach pictures to notice I needed my husband.”
He looked guilty. I’m sorry. I didn’t think—
“You didn’t. Now you will. Because your next pull won’t be a bogus listing. You can bet your leather seats on that.”
He nodded like a chastised child. “How can I fix it?”
“Behave like a partner, not a roommate who shares my bed. My mom’s gone, Theron. My sole parent died, so I need time to grieve. Real sadness, not the kind a lovely dinner or shiny present can fix.”
“I…” His jaw tensed, face stiffened. I love you and want to try to be the man you need, Elara.
Current conditions are imperfect. Theron still has money-insoluble emotions. He attends therapy twice a month and inquired how I felt about Verna last week.
He listened to me talk about missing her Sunday calls and how I still reach for the phone to say something witty before remembering she’s gone. He even revealed his emotions.
Small steps.
Sometimes I wonder what Verna would say. I can almost hear her giggle and see her shaking head.
“That’s my girl,” she said. Do not let them see you break—show them the ‘For Sale’ sign.”
She showed me strength takes various kinds. Knowing when to push back and when to push through discomfort are both important.