John Polo is a widower and step dad.
He is also an author, blogger and speaker.
John met the love of his life, Michelle, at a young age, and the two dated for a year in High School. After eight years apart the two reunited and planned to spend their life together, alongside Michelle’s amazing daughter. Two years after their reunion Michelle was diagnosed with an extremely rare and aggressive cancer. So rare in fact, that the two were told when you consider what type of cancer it was, and where it developed, there is only one case a year in the world of what Michelle had.
Michelle fought valiantly for two and a half years before taking her last breath on January 22, 2016.
It was no easy feat, but while Michelle was in hospice John had a moment that would forever change him. He was able to rid himself of the bitter, and find his better.
John is currently a contributor to a handful of blogs and websites; including Good Men Project, Hope for Widows, The Grief Toolbox and The Mighty.
He also serves on the Hope for Widows Advisory Board, is a speaker for the National Cancer Survivor’s Day Foundation and is a member of the International Association of Professional Writers & Editors.
John has co-authored a journal entitled ‘Hurt to Healing, The Journal from Life to the Afterlife’ and his first book, entitled ‘Widowed: Rants, Raves and Randoms’ will be released on November 11th, 2017.
John’s true passions are writing and speaking about love, loss and hope as he tries to help others honor their pain and see that a hopeful tomorrow can indeed exist.
You can find John’s blog at www.betternotbitterwidower.com and on Facebook.
Living in DC means taking cabs. My husband, Shawn, and I took plenty of cabs for the 13 years we lived in DC together, and he always loved chatting with the drivers. I remember one time when we were going out he got into a long discussion with our driver who had fled Iran during the 1979 revolution. Our friends who were also in the cab were blown away with how much Shawn knew about the revolution. Our driver, who became Shawn’s newest best friend, was pretty impressed, too. But now I’m taking cabs alone, so I prefer using a car...
It’s been a long time since I wore three-inch heels. They sit in my closet, beautifully shiny and begging me to go out. The thing is, I’m perpetually sad, and going out won’t change that. But I’m tired of being at home all the time. In any case, the heels finally won out a few days ago and I got myself downtown. I was going to a political event—something my husband Shawn and I would have done frequently if he were still alive. Most of the people there didn’t know me, and I found it interesting that I was able...
I have heard a lot from single moms and dads, widowed or otherwise, that now they “have to be the mom AND the dad.” While practically, I totally get that, I find I can’t burden myself further with that thought; feeling like I need to be the dad for my children, now that theirs is dead. It’s too exhausting to try to put pressure on myself to do the impossible because I will never, ever be able to take the place of their dad or take the place of a father figure that may be there in the future. Ever....
“Don’t worry, you’ll find another dad for your kids, you’re young,” an older widow told me a week after my 34-year-old husband died. Those words didn’t even register because I didn’t want another dad for my kids, I just wanted the original one not to be dead. “Please God, find another husband for Nicole,” the church’s counselor prayed with me the first time I met him when I was desperate for someone, anyone, to listen to my pain as a I grappled with the confusion and heartache of death and my new role as a widow. The prayer fell on deaf...
“There’s no place for me,” I pointed out to the church staff member who was manning the small group sign-up table. I had walked down the long table of groups, desperate to find a place for a 28-year-old newly widowed mother of a newborn and twin toddlers. “Well, we have a widowed group over here,” he pointed to the 50+ table. I didn’t fit in. “And we have the couples with young children over here,” he added. But I didn’t fit in. “And we have the singles groups over here,” he held up the table. I didn’t fit in. I...
Apparently, it’s National Widow’s Day. May 3. There’s a day for everything now, to sandwich widows between National Eat a Doughnut Day and Dress Your Dog up as a Cartoon Character Day (that has to be a day somewhere, right?) makes it rather trite, don’t you think? Who even knows it’s National Widow’s Day unless a meme told you anyway—unless you’re a widow (or widower, is there a widower day too or is it all lumped into one day I wonder?), and any widow knows she doesn’t need a day to remember she’s a widow. She remembers every. Single. Day. I don’t need one...
My son hasn’t said much or talked much since his father’s death a couple of months ago. The counselor said he’s at the age where he will be closed off. He may be angry or cranky at times, likely for no reason. He is old enough to understand this heartbreak, but doesn’t know quite how to process it. He’s also a pre-teen, which means these would all be normal characteristics that I’d be getting used to anyway. But I don’t like when he doesn’t laugh. I don’t like when he doesn’t smile. I don’t like that he doesn’t talk or ask...
I have a hard time saying no. I say yes to things because I think I should. I say yes because saying no gives me anxiety. I say yes to avoid conflict or because everyone else is saying it. Why is such a simple word so ridiculously intimidating? Maybe because we’re afraid of how we’ll be perceived. We don’t want to hurt other people’s feelings. We think we are superheroes and we can do it all. We’re too focused on pleasing others. There are many reasons we say yes when we really would be better off saying no. But right...
When one parent dies, the child left behind is almost not helpable at first. How do I know a child whose parent dies is almost not helpable? Because it happened to me when I was a child. I lived it. It sounds ominous to be labeled not helpable, but I promise it’s not. I know what can help. I was the classic stubborn, self-conscious teen who thought she could do it all herself. This seems contradictory to be self-conscious but still think you can do it all yourself, but it applied to me mostly when it came to my mom....
They say you can’t help falling in love with someone, like we really don’t have a choice, which may be true. But the real love story happens after the falling, when our feet hit the ground and we are presented with the choice to stay or run after realizing the love story contains our messes, our brokenness, our faults and mistakes, our desires and passions, our pain and deepest regrets, our darkest secrets and greatest triumphs. If you asked me if I would change my choice after hitting the ground with my husband Phil, I would always tell you, “No.”...