The Day I Laid My Husband to Rest
October 16, 2025. The day I laid my husband to rest.
Even as I write those words, they don’t feel real. It feels impossible that this is my story now – that I am writing as a widow. Just seeing that word beside my name still feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else. But this is my reality, and today marked a chapter I never wanted to face.
It was Dany’s funeral. A day I both dreaded and prayed for strength to endure. And somehow, by the grace of God, I did. Because truthfully, it’s only by His peace – the kind that surpasses all understanding – that I’ve been able to stand, speak, and even breathe through this.
For 111 days, people have been praying for me. I’ve felt those prayers more deeply than I can put into words. People at church have prayed over me, strangers have reached out online, friends have sent messages, family has held me up. I know that those prayers are the reason I’ve had the strength I do.
We all prayed for a miracle for Dany. We prayed with hope and with faith that God would restore him. But in the end, God’s will was for Dany to be home – whole, healed, and in heaven. As painful as that is, there’s peace in knowing that Dany is with God. There’s peace in knowing his story didn’t end – it simply continued in eternity. Because the truth is, life doesn’t end here. It just changes. The body returns to dust, but the soul lives on.
That’s why they call it a celebration of life. Because even though our hearts break on this side of heaven, there’s celebration in knowing the person we love is alive in the kingdom of God, where there’s no pain, no sorrow, and no more suffering.
Today, I stood in a room filled with people – around 500 hearts who came to honor him, to support our family, to grieve alongside us. And while I felt every ounce of love, I also felt the weight of the moment pressing down. It was as if I was both there and not there. My body moved, my lips spoke, but my mind floated somewhere in between – lingering between grief and the quiet comfort of God’s grace.
There were moments I had to hold onto the church pew or the table at the hall just to steady myself, moments when I felt lightheaded from the flood of emotions that came in waves. And yet, somehow, I kept standing. Not because I’m strong on my own, but because God was holding me upright when I didn’t have the strength to do it myself.
"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." — Isaiah 41:10
I’m a deeply private person. I always have been. And showing emotion in front of others doesn’t come naturally to me. My grandmother raised me to be strong, graceful, and poised – to carry myself and handle things with dignity. That’s stayed with me all my life.
I cried. My heart shattered in a thousand quiet ways. But I also remained composed despite how I felt because that’s how I’ve always known how to survive – with quiet grace, with prayer in my heart, and with faith anchoring me through every wave of pain.
What most don’t see are the moments that come after – when I walk through the front door of my home, close it behind me, and finally exhale. My home has become my sanctuary – the place where I can let the tears fall freely, where I can break, where I can talk to God about every ache that words can’t reach.
That’s where I grieve. In the stillness. In the solitude. In the safety of my four walls.
Today was one of the hardest days of my life. But even in the heartbreak, I’m thankful. Because I know I didn’t walk through it alone. God walked with me – and He carried me through it.
And for that, I will forever be grateful.
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:7
