One night, Margo received a call that changed her life forever. Her husband, who had been previously deployed to Kuwait and Iraq, was shot in a military training exercise in Fort Leonardwood, Missouri. He did not survive.
At the time, Margo was only thirty years old, and had three young children.
We don’t talk enough in this country about grief and death. We don’t know what to say to each other or how to act. As Margo tells us here, our instinct to say “I’m sorry” is not always the right one. Sometimes, as Margo says below, all the bereaved really wants to is to keep the memory of their loved one alive. When you think about it, that is such a simple way to bring comfort to someone who is grieving: ask about the person who is gone.
I talked to Margo about widowhood, grief, and the things that kept her going in the face of unimaginable loss.
On what happened
Pascual was a drill sergeant in the U.S. Army. He had just completed ten years and made the E7 list, or Sargent First Class, a rank that would, as he jokingly said to me that day, “take an act of Congress or death to get me out of the Army now.”
The week before he died, I took the kids to see him at work, he hugged us, yelled at a group of privates walking by, and we said our I love yous. The night before, we discussed my going to back to San Antonio to work until Christmas, so my mom would be able to watch the kids. So that day, I forget the day of the week exactly, I was going to drive home. I had the truck packed with just a few things, three kids in car seats, and a dog named Princess.
When I got to San Antonio, I called Pas, told him we were all good. I went to the old ambulance company I worked for, and they hired me on the spot. Two days later, Pas and I talked, it was a Wednesday. I was excited because the company was going to pay me more now that I was an EMT-Intermediate; we could now afford a better Christmas.
That night, around 3 a.m. I got a call from my brother-in-law, Tony. He lived in Missouri near our house. It wasn’t his number, and at first, I ignored it. My mom used to say, “don’t call after nine unless you’re dead or dying.” Anyway, after the third call, I answered. I had to walk into the living room because we had terrible reception. It was Tony, and he was crying. Like really crying. I could not understand what he was saying. He was almost hysterical. Then my brain finally made sense of what he said.
“Pascalito is dead.”
It was Thursday, 3 a.m. August 15th, 2003.
Pascual’s commander, Capt. Turner got on the line and said, “I am sorry Margo, I need to inform you that Sgt. Murillo was shot downrange in a training accident”. He was crying, too. I know he was trying to be the commander and be strong, but he was our friend, and he could not hold it together.
I do not exactly remember what happened next. I must have been crying, wailing, screaming, maybe? Julio, my little boy, was seven, came out of his room and was asking, “What’s wrong, Mommy?” My mom and dad came running out of their bedroom. I think my mom took the phone. I’m not sure. She must have because my dad just hugged me.
I remember telling Julio that his daddy was in an accident and that he had died. That means he is in Heaven. I don’t think he understood, but he acted bravely. A few long hours later, the Chaplin, and two other soldiers showed up at my parents’ house to give us the official notice. You know, like the car in all the movies, where some official man knocks on the door to deliver bad news. The difference was, I already received the bad news. I knew what they were going to say. I didn’t want to open the door. My mom, the Air Force Veteran, did her duty and let them in. She made sure I did what I was expected to do as a military brat and military wife.
Being a widow is one thing, but to be such a young widow seems like a particularly hard category to fall into. I imagine your whole idea of what your life was going to be changes. What was or what were the hardest things to deal with after Pascual passed away?
The hardest thing for me was trying to be strong. Being raised in a military family means not showing emotion, facing adversity head-on, and marching on. I had three very young children, 7, 5, and 3. I tried very hard not to cry in front of them. I wanted to be brave. How was I going to take care of them? I had a job, but it would never be enough to make ends meet. I was only 30! I had just turned 30! What the hell was I supposed to do now?
In my craziness, and that’s what I will call that period, I went to work. I cried all the way there, was crying when I got there, and my coworker sent me home. I had a funeral to plan.
I remember sometime later; my mom took me to an army bereavement thing at Fort Sam, it was full of old ladies who had lost their husbands to cancer, stroke, or just good ole’ old age. I was 30! I wanted to scream at them! I am only 30! I got up and left. They were crying when I “shared” my story.
Other hard things to deal with were the nightmares. I had the dream, the one where someone shows up and says they were joking, they were not dead. I was already back at work and had started paramedic school again. (Did I mention I had finished the program in Missouri, only needed 1000 hours of ambulance clinical, but had to start the program all over in San Antonio?)
Anyway, I would work 48 hours on the weekends, school Monday – Wednesday, and clinical on Thursdays and Fridays. I was an absent mom. I did not want to deal with the pain in my little kid’s eyes. I did not want to deal with my grief. I just went to work and school; I started drinking on my days off.
I know our instinct is to say, how did you go on? But, really, you have three children, you didn’t really have a choice. You had to go on. But what supports did you have that allowed you to continue to function?
I was lucky. I had my mom. She was my rock. She is not a huggy person. Some might say she is cold. But really, my mom is full of emotion. Yes, I wanted to curl up, cover my head, and never wake up. I tried to pretend Pas was deployed; he would come home soon. She made sure I got up every morning, made sure I cooked breakfast for the kids; make sure I drove them to school; make sure I went to work; make sure the house was clean and laundry finished. She moved in with me, to be my mom. I could not deal with the day-to-day. I was only able to deal with the moment. She made that possible. She worried about me all the time, but my mom gave me determination; one of the best things she could do for me.
My best friend, Melissa, would joke around with me. She was also my rock. She would say things like, “there is no silver lining, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, you are never going to get the pony, put on your big girl panties and suck it up.” She figured that walking on eggshells was stupid and if you can’t joke about the shitty hand you’re dealt; you would end up dead too.
My step-mom, Joyce, was also a stronghold for me. She was no nonsense. Joyce sat me down one day and said she understood how hard this all was, she loved me, and then said, Cut your shit! I needed that. I was drinking anytime I was not at work. I showed up for class drunk one time. For lunch, my classmates and I hit the bar a few times. Again, this was my crazy time. I was a mess. Joyce reminded me I had a life. She didn’t just say you have kids; she said: “you have a life!”
I did not know any other widows my age. There was no group for me, heck, if there were I’m sure it would have been full of women drinking wine and bitching.
What kind of supports did the Army provide to you?
I don’t think the Army offered me support. I am not sure they knew what to do with us, the young spouses of the deceased. We are in a different category. We had just started fighting the desert war and we were the leftovers. I think they threw money at us and hoped for the best. But honestly, there was no real direction.
They told me how to bury my husband, but they didn’t tell me what to do after that. They thanked me for my service. I got a letter from the President; I guess that was cool? I mentioned earlier, they have a bereavement group, but that was not for people my age, it was stupid. I did not know any other widows my age. There was no group for me, heck, if there were I’m sure it would have been full of women drinking wine and bitching.
Joyce reminded me I had a life. She didn’t just say you have kids; she said: “You have a life!”
What do widows need, in the immediate, and in the long term? What were some of the things that meant the most to you in the aftermath of your husband’s death?
What do widows need? I would say we don’t treat us with kid gloves. Just be real. Ask questions. I still love to talk about Pas. He was a fantastic father and husband. It is always strange to me when I tell people my husband died because I get the “I’m so sorry” response. I realize it is an automatic reply. It is not anyone’s fault. One time, a woman at the bank broke out crying. I wanted to cry for her.
So when we say, my husband, spouse, significant other, passed, died, was killed, maybe don’t say I’m sorry. Because the automatic response of “thank you” or “it’s okay” does not make sense. I guess what I am trying to say is, don’t be afraid to ask about the person we lost.
The things that have meant the most to me are my friends and family who treat me like a regular person. They don’t tiptoe around the subject. They reminisce and also talk about the future. My cousin-in-law, Liz, has become like a sister to me. She pushed me forward but also does not let me forget my past. She was one of the significant people to let me know it was okay to date again. Being in love was okay. She has met my boyfriend, vacationed with us, and genuinely likes him. Liz thinks he is good for me.
Did people treat you differently when you became a widow?
Yes! When people find out I am a widow, they sometimes they freak out! I find it amusing now. I would say more-often-than-not, no one knows I am a widow. I am too young for people even to consider that an option. I once had a friend who said, “Everybody loves a widow!”
So when we say, my husband, spouse, significant other, passed, died, was killed, maybe don’t say I’m sorry. Because the automatic response of “thank you” or “it’s okay” does not make sense. I guess what I am trying to say is, don’t be afraid to ask about the person we lost.
How did you, and how do you, speak to your children about death?
My kids were very young when their dad died. I did not try to hide it. I did, however, sugarcoat it. I said their daddy was in heaven, and he died a hero. I never allowed them to use his death as a crutch. They were not going to be little assholes just because they didn’t have a dad; they did, he was just not living. I remind them that life is precious and they, more than most, know how fleeting it is. I answered their questions with age-appropriate responses. I think I told Julio that our bodies are like spacesuits, and when we die, we leave our spacesuit here, and our spirit goes to God.
We visit the cemetery often, we talk about their dad. I cry now, and I learned that by not grieving, I was teaching them not to mourn. I want them to know it is okay to feel and crying is not a sign of weakness.
Can you speak about the Catch-22 of the Army rules?
Oh yes, the Catch-22. A wonderfully, ridiculous rule. If I remarry before the age of, I think 65, I will lose all my military benefits. Those are medical and Pascual’s pension. I had three little kids to raise, and at the time, marriage was the last thing on my mind. But I am young, and what about all the other survivors? (We are now called “surviving spouses.”) Are they destined to be alone forever? It is unfair! Like, oh we are sorry this horrible thing happened, but here is some money and medical benefits, so don’t you go and get married now; buh-bye. It infuriates me. I do not believe this is fair to any surviving spouse. They are already suffering from loss of a spouse, now add the fear of not being financially or medically cared for just because they decided to move forward! It feels like a punishment.
I am fortunate that I have a great job now and have medical benefits of my own. Two of my children are in college, and one is a senior in high school. I feel like I can breathe now, like maybe I could get married if I wanted to. It is a shame for some surviving spouses who are not in my position. They live in fear of sharing love with anyone. We get a letter once a year that asks if we are married or living with someone we consider a significant other. The need to lie, I think, is not only painful for the widow but also the significant other.
Embrace the loss, let it smother you, then, when you are ready, breathe again. Accept the memories like stepping stones on your hike.
Everyone experiences grief differently and describes it differently. Some people call it a river, or a wave, or an ocean. Some people say it’s a weight that never leaves you. How would you describe your journey through grief? How has it changed over the years?
My journey? It has been a hike. I have stumbled, fallen, trudged onward, reached plateaus, sat down and struggled with moving forward. I have scraped my knees, prayed for the strength to keep going when it gets too hard. Sometimes, I think I have reached the pinnacle and looked back only to start all over again. But mostly, because I have my people, like on Grey’s Anatomy, I keep moving. I don’t know what my goal is? To reach the top and not feel grief? I don’t think that will ever happen, but ultimately, I want to know that I have lived a good life and that maybe I have helped someone else in the process.
How did your husband’s death affect your outlook on life?
My outlook on life, hmm. That’s a good question. Some of my friends think I am too easy going. It annoys them that I don’t get irritated or bothered. I do, but I choose not to sweat the small things. I take my time answering questions. Heck, I question my actions all the time! I fear offending people, tomorrow they might die, and I don’t want my anger to be the last thing they remember. Perhaps this makes me weak? I think it makes me thoughtful. Life is too short to be distracted by irrelevant arguments, enjoy it while you can.
What would you tell people, particularly young widows, who may be going through something similar?
I would say, as honestly as I can and as gentle as possible, you will never get over this. This pain will never entirely go away. But, you will get through it. Embrace the loss, let it smother you, then, when you are ready, breathe again. Accept the memories like stepping stones on your hike. Let them help you reach a place where you feel comfortable enough to let the sunshine again. Loss and life is a hike, but you can’t give up, or you will miss the ultimate view at the top. This advice is not just for widows; it is for anyone who has experienced loss.
And what are some favorite memories of Pascual?
I have so many fond memories, it is hard to choose, but I suppose the way he was with his kids is one of my favorite. The first time we found out we were pregnant, we both cried. I was too young, only 22 and Pas was barely 21. We had just moved to Germany, and he was just an E4 in the Army, that’s pretty low on the totem pole for rank and pay. Once we resigned ourselves to becoming parents, we made our “plans.” You know the ones: I will never be that kind of parent; my baby will never eat, drink, play with that. We bought some ridiculous things too. I suppose the stroller was not very ridiculous, but we never used it. Pas carried Julio everywhere. He did the same with Alicia and Simeon. Pas was always holding them; he loved to fall asleep holding on to them. They were still sleeping in our bed up until he died because he wanted to be close to them.
He always made time for them, even when he worked long hours. Played video games with the boys, took all of them for rides in our car and on his motorcycle. He made it to every baseball game and was always up for an adventure. One time, he locked himself out of the barracks and decided to push Alicia and Julio up and in an open window to fetch them. They were maybe 3 and 5. We laughed so hard because they were just running around instead of getting the keys. Why did we think that was a good idea?
Margo, you are so strong. I know that is a trite thing to say, but really, you have three beautiful children you love you so much. Life is so confusing. Why do bad things happen to good people? We’ll never know the answers. All we can do is look to others for strength, keep our sense of humor, and trudge on. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
Futher reading:
The confusing system of military benefits
The charity I try to donate to every year – Wounded Warrior Project
Margo Padron-Murillo says
Thank you for allowing me to put feeling into words.
Teri Woo says
Beautiful share Margo. Mary, you asked all the right questions. Our family all respect and love you, Margo, because of the person you are and mostly because of the kind of parent you are despite hardship and loss most of us cannot imagine.
The one and only Leela! says
I happened on this letter just now. I also happen to be Margo’s mom. The one thing I can say about Margo is that she’s a lot stronger and braver than some people. I’ve told my kids never depend on anyone to take care of you. Always make sure you can take care of you. Education is the one thing is most important thing you can have. The one thing no one can take away from you. Always have a backup plan, then have a backup plan in case the first doesn’t work. Make sure you can care for your children. Make sure to teach them good morals and respect for others. I’m so proud of my daughter. She’s had a few bumps in the road but she always gets up, dusts herself off and keeps going. When Pascual died she had a hard time at first. She didn’t want to stop being busy. She didn’t want to face what happened. I told her above everything else, her friends, her job, even her education, she had to be the first thing her kids saw when they opened their eyes in the morning. The kids are always watching so please set a good example for them. The first and last thing they see everyday. Your babies come first always. She has two degrees in emergency medicine, she’s working on her masters. Two of her kids have graduated from high school and have gone on to college. The youngest will graduate this year and will go to college also. I’m so proud of the young adults they’ve become. I’ve told the kids their daddy will always be looking down on them. When they fall, he’s their to pick them up and puts them on the right path again. They can talk to him anytime they want or feel they need him. There will always be someone out there that will want them to fail. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Margo and my grand children are my most important things in my life. They keep me going. So watch their dust as they succeed in anything they put their minds on.