Hi! My Husband's Dead, I have Three Kids, and I'm Moving to Mexico

My husband, three kids, and I piled into our little hatchback. I sat in the back between two car seats, and my 9-year-old sat up front, since it had a seatbelt. My spot wasn't really a seat, but a hard plastic dip that was there to discourage us against the seating arrangement we had going. Every little bump hurt my butt, and we were in gravel road country, so there were lots of them.

We were headed to our hometown of Missoula, Montana, taking a late summer vacation before my husband's work hours became insane in the fall. He needed a break from being a ranch hand and mechanic, and we both needed to see family. So, we endured a sweaty (no AC) dusty, ten hour car ride in a four-seat car with five people.

I would have spent way more time with my husband if I'd have had any idea that he'd be dead in five days. The last time I saw him, he was helping his teenaged nephew fix his car, and I said good night casually. He was sweaty and wearing greasy coveralls, so I gave him a quick peck on the lips. I've spent a lot of time over the past few years wishing I'd squeezed him tight and given him a long kiss. I didn't though. I put the kids in the car to go see my mom and told my husband I'd see him tomorrow.
I didn't.

Instead, my mom woke me up too early in the morning for being on vacation. She asked me to follow her onto her deck outside, and I figured she was going to lecture me, since she still did that. She couldn't say anything. She put her cigarette backward in her mouth, bit down, turned it around, and lit it with a BBQ lighter.

"Austin got drunk last night and got in a bad car wreck and died," she spit out quickly.

I spent the next few days mentally rejecting that reality. When I'd had a few days to digest the awful truth, I decided it was time to tell the kids. My oldest was starting to ask why she hadn't seen or talked to her dad for the past few days, so it was time.

I wish I'd have had someone there for moral support, both for the kids and myself.

I sat them down on the couch; My oldest holding her 2-year-old brother. I told them what my mom told me: Their dad had been in a car crash, but before I got out the part about him not surviving, my middle kid asked, "Is he going to be OK?"

I burst into tears, and when I could talk again, I told them that, no, he wasn't OK, and then I heard the worst sound I've ever heard. Mourning children screaming and crying desperately, until they were hoarse. It was awful.

My husband's funeral was terrible, of course. My mom was late, and I couldn't walk up to the grave site alone, so I just sat in my car and waited for her. That made me late, so I never even saw his coffin; They stuck him in the ground without me. That played some pretty fucked up games with my head when I was dealing with the denial phase.

I had to move out of our ranch housing, since it was a benefit of Austin's job, which really sucked. I moved back to Missoula, and I went into a pretty bad depression. My therapist said I was suffering from complicated grief.

Austin had a tiny life insurance policy, and family who I hadn't seen for years came out of the woodwork to drain the meager funds from my bank account. I was just glad to see someone, anyone, and talk to them, so in hindsight, I guess I let it happen.

Eventually, though, I came out of the fog. I was finally able to think of my husband without crying, and I only became horribly sad once in awhile. By 2020, though, I was really kicking myself. When the greedy family members showed up, I should have just said no, and I should have moved my kids to Mexico right away.

That seems like a weird and random thought, I'm sure, but there is a reason. My husband always daydreamed about moving to Mexico. He hoped to work really hard and retire early. He wanted to move to central Mexico in the summer, and somewhere on the Pacific Coast in the winter. I felt a lot of guilt for not taking his insurance money to move the kids there, because I realized that's probably what he would have wanted for all of us.

So, over the next year, I decided I was just going to do it! I've been saving for passports, since four of them are actually really expensive.

Does it seem crazy to move my kids to a foreign country? I understand how it might, but I feel prepared. I have enough income to just barely scrape by in America, so I'll definitely be OK in Mexico. I already homeschool, mostly because two of my kids have some learning issues, and public school just doesn't work with their brains. They do really well at home, and I make sure they get social interaction. They have curriculum, but I'll also be exploring Mexico as some of their education.

I want them to see and explore the beautiful, diverse, culturally rich country, and to feel like they had some really special adventures.

We've been studying Spanish for quite awhile, and we are what I'd call "almost conversational." I hope we'll become fluent by way of immersion.

I know the tone of this piece has been pretty morose, but there is some joy here. I love and miss my husband, but now I feel happiness and peace when I think of him. Our plans to move have me excited for the future, and my kids have something to look forward to. These last few years worth of bitch-slaps from the universe are finally going to be behind us. We've paid our dues. We deserve a win!

I can't wait! I can't think of a better way to honor my husband's memory. He always thought the fact that we spend most of our life at work, away from our loved ones, was BS. We've been through emotional, mental, and financial misery, and we need to have something great to look forward to.

So, this is the very start of our journey, and I hope I can write about our departure soon.

Image: My husband by the fire at the river, the day before he died.