I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. Devastated, I faced the funeral alone. But when he returned, he walked into a situation he never expected—a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered. Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.“John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.” He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance. “My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.” His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.” Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout?
Maybe Thai?” I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation. “John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—” “Cancel?”
He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.” I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.” He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned. “I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.” It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?” “You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.” I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage. The week that followed was a blur. John occasionally offered a stiff pat on the shoulder or suggested I watch a comedy to lift my mood. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one caption read. Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday. That night, sitting in an empty house, surrounded by untouched sympathy casseroles, something snapped inside me. I had spent years making excuses for John’s emotional absence. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I would say. “He shows his love in other ways.” But I was done pretending.I called my friend Sarah, a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche in the deal.” “His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” “That’s the point.” The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching as they circled John’s beloved car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. It was showtime. John stormed in, face flushed. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!” “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “This is insane! I’ll call Sarah right now!” “Go ahead,” I said sweetly. “Maybe you can tell her about your fabulous vacation. How was the beach?” Realization slowly dawned across his face. “This… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?” I stood, letting my anger finally surface. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. I’m just doing what you do: looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?” John spent the next hour frantically trying to shoo away buyers, while begging me to reconsider. By the time Sarah texted that her friends had run out of patience, I let him off the hook—sort of. “Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car.” I paused. “This time.” He sagged with relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—” I held up my hand. “But things are going to change. I needed my husband, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a partner, or next time, the For Sale sign will be real.” He looked ashamed, finally understanding the gravity of his actions. “What can I do to make this right?” “You can start by showing up. Be a partner, not a roommate. I lost my mother, John. That kind of grief isn’t something you can fix with a vacation or a fancy dinner.” He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.” It’s not perfect now. John still struggles with emotions, but he’s going to therapy, and last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. He listened while I talked about how much I missed her calls and how I sometimes still reach for the phone, only to remember she’s not there. He even opened up a little about his own feelings. It’s progress. Baby steps. I often wonder what Mom would say about all this. I can almost hear her chuckling, shaking her head. “That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.” Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to Jon Bon Jovi and his family for their tragic loss
Days before her birthday, Jon Bon Jovi’s mother Carol Bongiovi passed away.
She was dubbed a “force to be reckoned with” by the singer.
JON Three days prior to being eighty-three, Bon Jovi’s mother, Carol Bongiovi, passed away.
Jon, 62, spoke empathetically about Carol following her death on Tuesday at Monmouth Medical Center in Long Branch, New Jersey.
Jon told PEOPLE, “Our mother was a force to be reckoned with; her spirit and can-do attitude shaped this family.”
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“We will miss her terribly.”
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Carol, a former Playboy bunny, founded the fan club for her son’s band.
She met her future husband, John Bongiovi, Sr., after she enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps in 1959.
After relocating, they reared their children in Sayreville, New Jersey.
Following that, they relocated to Holmdel, New Jersey, where she lived until her passing.
It was reported that Holmdel Funeral Home will oversee Carol’s private funeral.
Her three children, Jon, Anthony, and Matthew, as well as her 63-year-old husband, will miss her.
Jon has previously stated that when he was a child and desired to be a musician, his parents provided him with “incredible support.”
In November 2020, he said, “Even if you weren’t good at your craft, you could work on it if you thought you were,” to The Big Issue.
“As I grew older, I realized how wonderful my parents’ gift to me was.
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“They genuinely believed John F. Kennedy was directing them to travel to the moon.” “You can go to the moon, of course.” Just go, John. I visited that place.
The performer told about how his parents used to take him to concerts when he was seventeen.
When Jon was seventeen, his parents allowed him to perform at events, which allowed him to pursue his aspirations.
“They were always there for me, which was amazing looking back,” he remarked.
“Because I could have to be at school at eight o’clock and get home at one or two in the morning.”
“They just told me to go to school on time, you know that’s my responsibility, but follow your dreams.”
The girl Jon fell in love with in high school, Dorothea Hurley, is the wife he married.
Together, they are parents to three sons, Jesse, Jake, and Romeo, and a thirty-one-year-old daughter, Stephanie.
Model Jake wed Stranger Things actress Millie Bobby Brown in a tiny, private ceremony in May 2024, according to the first story from The Sun.
The parents of Millie and Jon attended the little wedding.
He expressed his excitement for the wedding to The Sun the week prior.
“My grandchildren will have more English ancestry than Italian or any other heritage I may have” That must be absurd, right? The musician screamed.
“Your kids are married and talking to you about having grandchildren all of a sudden? Wow!” In my book, this is the longest chapter.
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