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.
Mom Fights Back! DMV Demands She Surrender Her Vanity Plate After 15 Years
A mother of four was shocked when New Hampshire’s DMV told her she had to give up the vanity plates she had for 15 years.
The plates were a playful reminder to her sons to use the bathroom before getting in the car. However, the DMV didn’t see it that way and decided the plates referred to “sexual or excretory acts.”
In 2019, Wendy Auger from Rochester, New Hampshire, was told by the DMV to turn in her vanity license plate after using it for 15 years.
“It would be a real shame if I lose it,” said Wendy, who often gets compliments on her funny plates.
Referencing the state’s motto, “Live free or die,” she added, “If I have to take it off, then I won’t be able to live free.”
Her plates read “PB4WEGO,” reminding her kids to “pee before we go” before getting in the car.
“What parent hasn’t said that to their kids before leaving the house?” she asks. “I’m not one to protest, but this is just ridiculous.”
However, the DMV sent her a letter saying the plates needed to be turned in because they believe the letters refer to “sexual or excretory acts.”
“I’m not a political activist,” she tells CNN. “But this plate isn’t offensive. It’s part of our family and who I am, and there was no reason for them to take it away.”
At the time, Auger had 10 days to return her plate and was allowed to pick another custom plate for free.
After getting the letter, she posted it on Facebook with photos of her plates.
Her post quickly went viral.
One person commented on Auger’s social media page, saying, “This is so ridiculous… It’s funny and cute, and it’s a great reminder!” Another person wrote, “What’s going on?! You’ve had that plate FOREVER.”
A third person suggested, “Maybe it should say Pee or Pay…??? lol”
Responding to those who encouraged her to fight the decision, Auger joked, “Live free or die my arse,” and added, “I might get a plate that says ‘dmv sux,’ but I might get pulled over a lot!”
Her post gained a lot of attention on social media and eventually caught the eye of New Hampshire Governor Chris Sununu. He sent her a message saying: “Hey Wendy, it’s Chris Sununu. Just wanted to let you know we fixed that issue. Sorry for the mix-up and the delay, but common sense won out in the end.”
On August 28, 2019, Auger shared a new Facebook message, announcing her victory.
“This Sassy Momma Has Her Plates!!!,” writes Auger.
What is the funniest license plate you’ve seen? Please let us know what you think and then share this story so we can hear from others!
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