It was a Friday. December 4th. It was my second day back to work after maternity leave. Joe had to be at the office by 4 AM. Typically, when he left early in the morning, he wouldn't turn the lights on, he'd intentionally be really quiet. But that morning, at 3:00 he turned the light on before kissing me goodbye and for whatever reason I just remember him smiling as he walked out the door. I got up at 6:30 like usual. I got Vienna up and fed, took her to my sister-in-law’s house, and went to work. It was a very typical routine morning. Honestly, when I look back on that day, it feels like I’m looking at someone else. I’m looking at this unjaded, innocent person thinking everything is fine, everything is really great. I was at my job, he was at his, our baby was perfect, life couldn’t be better at that moment.
I remember sitting at my desk and seeing that I had three missed calls from Yale New Haven Hospital. I thought they were calling about Vienna’s hospital bill from her delivery. I listened to the voicemail they left and it was the ER doctor saying they needed to talk to me, that they had my husband. It made me nervous, but a year before that Joe had been to the ER, which turned out to be nothing. So, I was expecting it could be the same type of news. I called the doctor back, but I couldn't hear him from the classroom. He was talking a mile a minute. I finally told him to hold on so I could go outside. I went out into the parking lot by the playground and that’s when he went into it. I don't really remember all of it, but he repeated, “We have your husband, he's here.” He went through this whole story about how they received an emergency call earlier that morning and that they tried everything. He told me they worked on him for over an hour. And even after all that, looking back, I still don't think I was expecting what was next. Even with that build-up and all that information, I felt like they were just going to tell me he needed another surgery, an emergency surgery, I don't know. But then the words came out of his mouth. He said, 'I'm sorry, but he passed.'
You have this preconceived notion of what you would be or should be like in that moment, but I didn’t have that dramatic, frantic reaction. I just kept saying “no.” I told the doctor that I didn’t know what he was saying and I needed to get someone else for him to talk to. I went back into the school and knocked on my principal’s door. She was on the phone but hung up immediately when she saw me. I calmly told her, “My husband died and I need you to talk to the doctor.” I was in shock. She took the phone from me and talked to him, but the news wasn’t any different.
I just remember sitting on the floor in the office. There were people all around me, but I just sat there. Numb. You feel like you’re supposed to be hysterical and in that moment I wasn’t. I remember walking out of the building and I can still see everyone's faces staring at me with sympathy. I just didn’t believe it was happening to me.
When I finally got to the emergency room, it felt like I waited an eternity to see him. I felt sick physically, but emotionally I just felt nothing. I walked down the long, cold hallway, hearing the machine beeps in between the silence. I finally got to his room and pulled back the curtain. There he was. As crazy as it sounds, going there and seeing him was a relief. It was my husband, he was there, and he looked the same as he always did. He was everything he'd always been.
For a while thereafter, I'd go from screaming and crying to very matter-of-fact. I constantly kept saying “I don’t want to do this.” I think I was there for 2 or 3 hours until finally, I had to go get Vienna. Sure, there are family members and friends who would have stepped in to take care of her, but I'm her mom and it's my responsibility. I think that’s when I realized that the world keeps turning, even though you feel like yours has stopped.
Hindsight is 20/20... But for me, the night before Joe died afforded us a night that we should have had so many more of. It was my little glimpse into what we had created, what we were, what I wish we could continue to be. There was nothing super grand about it. It was just our routine. It was the first time after maternity leave that he and I both left for work in the morning. It was super simple. At the end of the day, he came home and Vienna was on her playmat. He got his 6-foot-tall body down on the ground and played with her. We did bath time with her together. We had dinner and then sat on the couch and talked. It wasn’t anything remarkable in the grand scheme of things, but now looking back, I don't think that I would have spent it any other way.
I don't know a lot of life with both Joe and Vienna. We only had our life as a family of three for five months. It’s such a frustrating feeling. We had the post-partum, newborn phase when you’re both exhausted, trying to figure this new life out. You’re not focused on each other as much; you’re just trying to survive. So, I feel like I went from surviving to surviving sometimes. It's fucking annoying. I just wish I knew more of life with the three of us.
Early on after Joe passed, people would say, “Thank God you have Vienna!” And while, yes, I’m so grateful to have her, people don’t always realize that as a mother, you’re not just grieving for yourself. I was grieving for my daughter who would grow up without her dad. Trying to carry the weight of all that grief while processing your new reality is something I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
I was 18 when we met. I needed a job, so I applied to the pizza place down the street that his family owned. They hired me that day on the spot. One Friday night, he came in to pick up dinner and we started chatting. We were in the back room and I can vividly remember folding pizza boxes when he asked for my number. I looked at him like he was crazy. He seemed so much older than me at 26.
The following weekend I went to his house, and we hung out the whole night just talking and watching movies. Everyone jokes that I was his 'backpack' and it sounds so cliché, but since that night, there weren't many days we weren't together. We didn't go on our first official date outside of his apartment for almost 6 months. That September, we went to the movies to see Dear John. it was a horrible movie. We sat in the back row and he ordered a jumbo red Slurpee and slurped it the entire time.
He was just funny and really easy. You didn't have to try to impress him. He didn't make you feel like you had to be anything other than who you were. I was just starting college when we met, and he was there for all the big, important moments. I feel like I'm lucky in that way. That sounds funny to say, because ‘lucky’ isn’t usually a word used to describe a widow. But, overall, I look back on our relationship and, I don't know…it really was all good. I mean, of course, there were hard times, but I don't look at it with a whole lot of regret. I don't have a lot of guilt. I don't think there's a minute that goes by that I'm not thinking about a memory with him, or our life. There’s not a minute in the day.
I really wish I had some type of wise, helpful, inspiring advice to share, but the reality is there's no motivational one-liner that's going to get you through the bad times. Sometimes they’re just shitty. I promise you will get up again the next day. You will get through it, even when you feel like you can't, but there's no easy way through it. I remember the days following Joe’s death, I would just pace back and forth in my kitchen and stare at the clock. As time goes on it sucks a little less - or at least you learn to live with it better.
I don't believe that everything happens for a reason, but I do think everything happens because something else happened before it. There’s never going to be a reason that Joe died, it never should have been this way, but he did. And because that happened, the JoeAbate Charitable Foundation is able to exist and support so many people. I think JACF has given me back a sense of control, a sense of purpose. It’s a way to channel all the grief that has come with this reality, and to make sure Joe lives on, not just through Vienna and me, but through making a difference in the lives of others. He had an impact on so many people when he was here, but he often talked about wanting to do more, to be more. My hope is that this could be his more.
If you have a passion for something, then I say lean into that. Find something that sparks even just a little bit of joy. If you have the opportunity to bring purpose into your life, to make some good out of the bad, and use your forte to create positive change for other people, well, why shouldn’t you?
There’s a part of me that doesn't like to think about the future. And that's an honest part. It's also the easy way out because then I don't have to think about life without Joe. But it’s not realistic. I look forward to all the milestones with Vienna and doing life with her, seeing who she becomes, and all the best parts of Joe that are instilled in her. There's also a part of me that has to figure out who I am as this new person. When you're with someone at 18, and go through life together, through all the biggest milestones, they really become a part of your identity. And I'd never change that. He’ll always be a part of my identity. But, I have to figure out who I am on my own. I have to figure out how to feel happy and fulfilled again. It’s still such a work in progress, but founding the JoeAbate Charitable Foundation has slowly been helping me to get there.
JACF forces me to come out of my comfort zone in so many ways. It's a challenge and it's really scary, but it’s made me feel like I'm capable of learning more - I'm capable of trying something, of sharing my story and making a difference. It empowered me to start and share my blog. It’s helped me gain so much perspective by seeing what the Congenital Heart families go through Staying in the Pediatric Cardiac Intensive Care Unit for months at a time, not knowing if their child will get to go home. All of that combined with honoring Joe’s legacy, there’s just a lot of emotion behind it.
We just recently had our third annual marquee event, Light Up The Night. There’s so much work that goes into it and the amount of support we get is truly amazing. We raise funds to support our PCICU families and to provide scholarships for high school students in our micro-internship program, Igniting Talent. For the third year in a row, before the guests arrived, a rainbow appeared right over the ocean that serves as the backdrop to the event. Some would say it’s a coincidence, but I know it’s more than that. I know Joe is very much a part of this organization. I know that he’s proud.
