I lost my partner as we entered isolation. Now, I'm helping others find their second act

This First Person article is the experience of Melanie Diotte, an entrepreneur in Montreal. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

"Things always have a way of working themselves out. Don't worry so much about the details," Vince always said to me.

My partner was an accomplished executive until he retired six days before his passing. When Vince died, I joined a club I never wanted to join — the club of young widows.

Vince was diagnosed with stage three pancreatic cancer in July 2019. I remember feeling numb when the diagnosis was delivered. Our lives changed forever from that point on. There was a constant flow of statistics, risk probabilities and decisions that needed to be made quickly.

I was thrown into the world of being a primary caregiver. I worked with a care team, scheduled appointments and stayed with Vince through his tests and treatments.

I did this all while keeping my recruitment agency afloat and caring for three kids — trying to help them navigate and understand a situation I hadn't quite figured out yet.

After 13 years together, I saw him for the last time the weekend before the world shut down. In March 2020, we held Vince's funeral.

That day, I felt my identity was gone. I was no longer his wife. I no longer had my best friend to share my innermost thoughts and feelings with. I needed to find a new identity for myself.

Everything changed the day he passed: the way I ate, the way I slept, the way I watched TV. It felt like I had lost a limb and had to adapt in real time.

Two things did not change: I continued to be a mother and a business owner.

But though that remained true, it all felt like a blur after Vince's death and the arrival of COVID-19.

I felt overwhelmed trying to figure it all out, and more alone than ever.

I was paralyzed. My partner was taken away, my work fizzled away, my home was going to be taken away and this was all only made worse by the pandemic.

To my surprise, there were folks who I had perceived as acquaintances and work colleagues who never failed to check in.

They didn't perform any grand gestures, but they consistently asked me how I was doing and that was enough to keep me going.

One day, I heard Vince's voice tell me "OK, this is ridiculous. You have got to get out of bed and stop this nonsense."

I realized that he wasn't coming back — that I had to get back to life and I had to do it alone.

The crazy COVID times meant that I couldn't see my doctor or meet with clients as I used to. I had to sharpen up my own skills with new ways to communicate and reach out.

There was a lot of work to do and I had to get cracking.

It felt like I turned a page into a whole new book of my life. I felt no amount of counselling or therapy was going to give me the tools I needed to help myself. I thought, only another widow could do that. My questions needed to be addressed with empathy, not sympathy.

The traditional support systems in place for new widows did help somewhat. My grief therapist got me started with journaling my thoughts.

But it was when I started sharing some of those journal entries through my blog and Facebook group that I really started to gain the support and confidence I needed to move forward. The outpouring of private messages and conversations with other widows spoke volumes.

And after countless conversations with them, I had an epiphany.

I realized I can't control life. I couldn't control Vince's health; there are things in life where you just have to trust the process.

I tried to control it all, and I'm here to tell you that you can't.

But there are also things you can control. You can control your job search, your decisions and the types of boundaries you set for yourself.

Once I started making that shift in the way I approached life, things started to make more sense. The new Melanie was starting to come together with a fresh focus.

I realized how much more I had to give. I want to be the voice that lets people know that there is light at the end of the tunnel, to support them in their journey and to help them navigate the choppy waters of life.

It's so easy to lose yourself. Finding yourself again is hard work that doesn't need to be done alone.

With that revelation, I signed myself up to earn my certification as a life coach. I have over a decade of career counselling experience, but this was different.

Our careers are a small part and a small representation of what makes us happy, what drives us and what fulfills us.

I want to provide others with concrete tools and advice, beyond my own experiences, to help them make decisions that will serve the person they want to be in every aspect of their lives.

I get asked if I miss the person I used to be. Absolutely. That Melanie was real, she existed and she had a good life.

But that doesn't mean that this Melanie today can't have a good life, too.

It's shaping up to be a solid second chapter of widowhood.

CBC Quebec welcomes your pitches for First Person essays. Please email povquebec@cbc.ca for details.