My Husband Died Unexpectedly. Then I Faced Every Parent’s Worst Nightmare

My husband Ronnie Loza went to get a message and just never came home. A blood clot released from his leg, lodging in his heart.
He passed away in January 2012 at the age of 44, leaving me a 41-year-old widow to raise our 18- and 9-year-old sons alone.
My youngest son Steven and I attended grief groups together, along with my niece who was 12 at the time. These groups were beneficial to all of us.
However, after a year and a half, they abruptly closed our center without notice, or even allowed us to say goodbye to people who became like family.
We were all struggling with our grief, and we all grieved differently. My oldest Zach, kept so much in and didn’t show as much grief externally, but Steven wore it on his sleeve.
I knew I had to do something, so I went to college and got my bachelor’s degree with a major in psychology and a minor in sociology with the goal of opening a new center.
It was an incredible amount of work, but also healing for me. I had to put my grief someplace to ensure he didn’t die in vain.
In 2018, our organization Ronnie’s House for Hope was officially a 501(c)(3) nonprofit. We provide peer support grief services to children, teens, and families coping with death at no charge to our families.
We have groups in the school system and at our new center. Allowing grievers a safe space to explore their grief, learn about it, and process it with others who have shared experiences.
Our family is so proud of what we created out of our darkest days. There is something very powerful and healing about helping others get through the darkness and allow them to see some light again.
Allowing parents to learn what a child’s grief looks like and how it differs from theirs.
Raising a grieving child has so many additional challenges. It is a journey and not a destination.
It is not like arriving at a place where suddenly the grief is gone. It is about learning to incorporate grief into your life, like an unwelcome house guest. Eventually, allowing it to walk side by side with the joy you learn to find.
Steven never seemed to find a place of peace after losing his dad, then his uncle (his dad’s brother) who he was so close to only six years later.
I tried everything you could imagine to help him.
He was coping with ADD already but developed depression, anxiety, and PTSD. That is so much weight for such a tender boy. He held this so close and really struggled to let go of things, being such a sensitive kid.
Steven started to self-medicate to deal with the enormity of emotions he felt. I saw big swings in his behavior, taking risks, and acting out.
His heart was made of gold and always doing everything he could for those around him, never wanting anyone to hurt. The trouble is he struggled to offer himself the same grace.
Steven graduated from high school, which was a huge accomplishment with a 3.8 GPA, and only four months later, my beautiful boy died from fentanyl poisoning.
Left to die by three individuals with everything they needed to help him. They had Narcan, phones, and a parent nearby—but they chose to do nothing.
He had just turned 18 four months ago. How could this be?
Again, life is not only turned upside down but my life is completely shattered. I honestly didn’t believe I would be able to go on.
After seven months, my oldest son Zachary was very worried about me as I hadn’t left the couch in days. I was compilating every possible way to kill myself without hurting anyone. I didn’t want to die; I just couldn’t handle the pain.
It was then I knew I had to find a way to survive and loaded my truck, one of my dogs, and headed to Montana.
I spent two months with my dad, stepped away from my life, and started to sort out my thoughts, feelings, and myself in an environment that was calm, peaceful, and supportive.
I was lucky my son and niece took over all my responsibilities at home and allowed me the time I needed. I know it wasn’t easy for them either, but it meant so much to me.
By the time I was coming home, I learned that I had to do something to help save the lives of others like my son. He would want me to not only share his story but to help.
I created the Forever 18 Fentanyl Awareness program at Ronnie’s House for Hope. Where there is fentanyl, there are grievers.
I was lucky to contract with our county Riverside University Health Services and their drug education program Friday Night Live. I now travel around Riverside County, California educating our youth, parents, and adults.
They learn about Steven, the 911 Good Samaritan Law, not putting their life in the hands of their friends, and even dispersing Narcan to adults.
It is an incredibly healing thing to have these kids come back to me and share how their life has changed, or how they saved someone now knowing what to do.
My son’s ashes travel with me for some of these powerful presentations, and I can feel his presence with me at every one.
I have been grieving for 12 years now. I have learned that navigating grief means being active in my healing.
I had to be a participant in the grief. I learned to cope with the anger and frustration by working on my home and doing all the projects my husband and I dreamed of.
Learning how to use bobcats, building brick walkways and walls, and even building a twin bed swing. My grief is literally in all the beautiful things I created.
I have learned that to navigate the guilt, fear, and regrets that I think so many moms who have lost a child feel, it had to start with me.
I had to finally go back and heal all parts of myself. I needed to gain insight into myself, peeling back so many layers, and start to understand me.
There are days when the grief and pain take me to my knees, not as frequently as it used to. My grief is a living thing, it will be with me always. However, I have worked hard to grow with it.
I am proud of the things that have been created from tragedy. We do work that helps grievers and saves lives.
Both my husband and my son would be so proud of the legacy they leave behind. My love for them and all they gave me is what has made it all possible.
I am a work in progress as grief has no end and is constantly changing, but I am grateful I can grieve with gratitude and remember what I had and still have, not just what I lost.
Jennifer Loza is the founder and CEO of Ronnie’s House for Hope.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
This essay was produced in partnership with Evermore, a national nonpartisan nonprofit dedicated to making the work a more livable place for all bereaved people.
If you or someone you know is considering suicide, please contact the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by dialing 988, text “988” to the Crisis Text Line at 741741 or go to 988lifeline.org.
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