Those are the words I wrote in my bullet journal on May 6, 2023. “And then Scott died.” Scott was my husband of 27 years.

He died suddenly in his sleep. His alarm woke me up and when I went to touch him he was ice cold. I miss him every day.

He died on Friday of finals week. Which means the enormity of grading final projects and then putting together final grades consumes educators and had been consuming me. Normally final grades would have been sent to my students on Saturday. They got them at 4am on Monday.

When I posted the final grades for students to examine in their learning management system, Canvas, I told them my husband had died which was why they were so late. Several students wrote to me, expressing sorrow for my loss and condolences. Those emails were a life-saver and I treasured each and every one.

My husband’s celebration of life was on Saturday, June 3rd. On Monday the first day of summer session classes began. I wasn’t going to tell my summer students that my husband had died, but after making a few big typos and broken links, I told them via a class announcement. Again, as in the spring semester before, several students reached out to me to express their sorrow and condolences. Some shared their recent loss as well and we got to commiserate. When online classes are condemned for me too impersonal, in this instance, sharing my loss made a connection with a class of world-wide students.

I decided that for my fall 2023 and spring 2024 classes I would tell them of my loss. I have a section on mental health in my syllabus and I told them how I had and still needed so much help. Again, several students came up to me after class and shared their own loss and best wishes with me. One student even thanked me as they were going through terrible grief in losing a parent. We both agreed we understood each other’s pain on some level.

So why am I writing this? Other than it was an event that has radically changed my life and brought me to new depths of grief I never thought possible, there is also an educational point.

Let students know you are human. Tell them about your pain. Then remind yourself over and over again that they are human too. They have their own traumas and pain and sometimes all they will have energy to do is stare at a wall. Remind them that they are human.

I do not know if I will tell future classes of my loss. I do not know how fresh it will still be. Maybe I should warn them for I know grief comes in stages. There may still be days where I cry till my face turns beet red. Maybe I will tell them then if they see it. I do not know.

As I finish up this post, I am reminded about the Taylor Swift’s masterpiece All Too Well – 10 Minutes (Taylor’s Version):

And I know it’s long gone and that magic’s not here no more
And I might be okay but I’m not fine at all

Funny thing about that song. Ms. Swift sang it on Saturday Night Live a few weeks before his passing and Scott had made sure that we would watch it. He had read that Ms. Swift was not singing two songs around five minutes each but one ten minute song. We both said wow together at the end.

I miss you, Scott. I love you. I always will. Thank you for being the love of my life.

Now life goes on.