Losing My Husband & Discovering His Love
I am not the image that comes to mind when you hear the word widow. Neither am I what typically comes to mind when you think of the word golf. I am a 35-year-old African-American mother of two, and before my husband’s sudden passing two years ago, I would never have thought either of those words would describe me.
In March 2022, I was visiting home on Maui, helping to care for my father who was dying of cancer. I was preparing myself to accept that I would lose my dad when I got the call that would change my life completely. My husband had died suddenly of a heart attack while hiking in Los Angeles. There was no warning, no underlying heart problem we knew about, and now I was the only parent of two boys under 5.
If you’ve ever lost a loved one, you know the anguish. You know, the paradigm shift that grief brings. One day, my life was one way, and now, in the blink of an eye, it’s completely different. The goals that were once important are no longer even fathomable. The longing for someone you expect to walk through the door, the guilt of wishing you could have been there to do something, and the desperate pleading with the universe leave you out of time and space. In the aftermath, I described myself as a non-person, aimlessly waking up and going through the motions only to sleep again in a deep pit of despair. The months and years after my husband’s passing were like a blur; I knew I needed to somehow show up as best I could for my children, and I knew that I had to keep going, but the question I still often wrestle with is: How am I supposed to live without you?
But losing my husband, then soon after my father, and in many ways myself, opened a path for me to become someone else entirely. Immediately after my husband’s passing, I was going through all his things, trying to decide what to keep for our boys and what would be given away. Every shoe and every t-shirt made me wail in pain. It was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. What do you do with the shadows of a life? These objects meant something to someone who no longer exists. What do you do with old watches, shoelaces, and sunglasses that are now the only things left to bring you close to your loved one? The task was arduous, long, and debilitating. But something interesting happened when I found his golf clubs. I was immediately filled with a sense of joy.
My husband was an avid golfer, and the very first time I ever stepped foot on a golf course was with him. I used to love riding around in the cart with him, but I was never interested in playing. I do not come from a background that exposed me to golf, and so it never entered my mind. That was his thing, and I was happy for it to be his thing. I had zero interest in trying it until that day when I was going through his belongings. I looked at his golf clubs and thought, someone has to use these. It was like a primal urge, a deep knowing that someone had to swing these clubs. Someone had to teach this game to our boys; someone had to find peace and connection on the course. That someone would be me. What followed was an obsession with learning this game that, to this day, guides my journey through grief and, indeed, life. If I didn’t have this deep drive and love for golf, I don’t know where I would be. I wake up thinking about it; I end the day practicing my putting before bed. Whenever I have a moment to myself (which is rare), I am on the range or the course. I don’t want to do anything else. It’s an obsession most golfers can understand. But for me, it’s more than just the game; it’s a way I can feel my husband’s presence and begin to cultivate a spiritual relationship with him as he exists now.
At my husband’s memorial service, several of his friends approached me and said they wanted to do a golf tournament to raise money for our son’s education. I knew instantly that the tournament would be my guiding light. It would be a way we could still feel connected to him, doing something he loved and honoring his legacy. I also knew that I wanted this tournament to represent more than just our boys; I wanted to contribute to a cause worthy of my husband. He had been sober for 18 years and was deeply passionate about helping others in recovery. The first Joe Ruggiero Jr Legacy Golf Tournament raised over $5,600 for Clare Matrix Foundation, an organization committed to providing compassionate treatment for those who struggle with addiction. This is one of the things I am most proud of in my life, besides my family. The second annual tournament will be held this summer in Calabasas, California.
I wish I could say I am through the worst of my grief. But that would be a lie. I wish I could say that golf saved me, and now I am on the other side of this tragedy, but that is just not true. I still exist in a bardo, a space between letting go of the past and looking forward to the future. I exist solely for this moment, which is a powerful mentality to bring to the game. What golf has given me is a way to deal with the pain of losing my best friend. It gave me the possibility of a glimmer of hope that one day, I might be able to feel happiness again. It’s given me something to apply myself to without any expectations, and with so much loss behind me…I’ll take it.
