Car still packed. Hospital bags collecting dust. The half drank Pepsi bottle still in the fridge. That is just a few of the time stamped areas 10 months into one of the most devastating moments of my life. I am just continuing to tiptoe around these statuesque landmarks afraid of even slightly disrupting them. When will I declutter those areas? Do I have to? Is it like a milestone in this grief journey that I must achieve? Why did I become frozen in time?
I have been in this ongoing mental cycle of “I really need to clean this up,” and “I wouldn’t dare to move that.” Just thinking about looking at my vanity and no longer seeing Paco’s deodorant, lotion, and medications makes my chest tight. I often wonder what exactly would happen if I finally bit the bullet and tidied up. Most people look at these menial items and see toiletries, I see my husband’s life. I see Paco waking me up every day with coffee and a smile, then after making sure I have feet on the floor, getting himself ready for the day with those exact items. Then there is the cushion from the back of our couch that is still in the car. When Paco was in the hospital in unimaginable pain his one main request was to have the couch cushion, because that couch cushion was his only source of comfort to be able to sleep. I really tried to talk him out of me bringing a huge couch cushion into the hospital, honestly out of embarrassment and confusion. Can you guess what is still in my car… the couch cushion. It is almost like I am still waiting for that opportunity to take him that cushion just like he wanted. Every single item, piece, element that belonged to Paco was frozen in place. Almost hauntingly. As a reminder that no matter how long they sit there he is not coming back. Yet, I cannot seem to force myself to take that leap into reorganizing a life that once was. I have been called lazy and a hoarder, but all I know is that I cannot let go of the things my husband once touched. That he once gave life to. There is almost a part of me that feels if these things are removed, he will be forgotten, as if he is being evicted from his own home. Finding not only the motivation, but mental strength, to take on this task has been lost to me and I am not sure if I even want to find it.
There are some projects I have completed, slowly and not without emotional turmoil, to bring closure to the order of our home. Paco was born and raised in Chiapas, Mexico, never having left until April 2024 when our K1 visa was approved for him to move to the United States with me. He was incredibly devoted to his country, and I admired every aspect of his culture. I made it a mission to learn as much as I could and still do. After Paco’s passing, I have kept in touch with his mother and sister who have continued to teach me their customs. Through them I was shown a new way to mourn, taking those treasured items and placing them on an altar. Being raised southern Baptist, the word altar raises eyebrows, and I have been met with hesitant reactions. Yet, keeping true to the cultural significance and intent brought so much peace to me in my grief journey. It was a physical outlet for my grief. I was able to collect those items around the house, such as clothing and other nick-nacks, and display them without having them linger in their final resting place from Paco’s hands. I have two altars currently, one in a room in the middle of our home and a smaller one in our bedroom. The altars bring me comfort and a ledge to place my grief for safe keeping.
While there are still areas that need work it was a wonderful way to start transitioning into melting time. Transitioning into a new chapter where Paco is allowed to be present in our home, while also providing room for a new chapter to unfold. I have come to realize that there is no timeline associated with healing from the loss of a spouse. I am allowed to hold onto humble items as if they were gold, and no one can take that from me. I am allowed to melt time at my own pace.
About Shanna Puckett-Anguiano
Shanna Puckett-Anguiano lost her husband after just four short months of marriage on October 1st, 2024. Shanna and Paco Anguiano were in a long-distance relationship for nearly four years prior to their marriage, as Paco was from Chiapas, Mexico. Shanna and Paco did not let the stigmas and hardships of the K1 visa come between their strong bonds. Anyone who truly knew this couple would quickly correct anyone’s doubt, with even Shanna’s father expressing his thoughts at Paco’s funeral saying, “every father’s wish is for their daughter is to find a man who loves them unconditionally, and that is exactly the man Paco was.” Paco was diagnosed with synovial sarcoma on September 20th, 2024, which coincidentally was also Shanna’s 30th birthday. Paco lost his life unexpectedly to that cancer 11 days later, a week before treatment was scheduled to begin.
Shanna continues to reside in her small hometown, located in the upstate of South Carolina. She is accompanied at home by her two dogs (Indi & Suki), two cats (Es & Sister), and college bound 18-year-old sister Emma; who lovingly moved in after the passing of Paco for support. Shanna has been a court reporter for the past 5 years and serves as chairperson of children’s ministry at her home church. She is currently in the process of obtaining additinal certifications to continue moving up in her career. Shanna has developed a donation drive in her husband’s name in celebration of his birthday in the month of July called Paco’s Smile. This drive collects material and monetary donations for her local county cancer association. Shanna is an advocate for mental health, cancer awareness, and over all kindness being spread throughout the world. She prays to carry on the legacy of her husband, Jose Francisco Ovando Anguiano, by showing grace, gratitude, and a toothy grin just as he did every day.