What If...

Cathy's Story


When I married James* in 1978, I was 21 years old. I never could have imagined then that I’d be a widow by 26, or that I’d have a 9-month-old baby to take care of on my own.  As soon as we became pregnant, James started talking about Insurance, but I was hesitant. I was 24, but James was already thinking like an adult. It’s not that I wasn’t an adult; the topic of life insurance was just scary. I was pregnant with our yet-to-be-born child, and the last thing I wanted to think about was one of us dying.  James passed away on a Tuesday in March. The weekend before, we’d had an especially good time together. That Monday evening, my neighbor came over to watch a show. James sat with us but left early and was already asleep when I joined him later.  The next morning, he left for work without me seeing him. Whether he kissed me goodbye while I slept, I’ll never know. I had a hair appointment with the woman across the street. I was sitting in a chair in her basement when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I turned to see my brother, Paul, who, like James, was a construction worker. He looked at me and said, “Cathy, we have to go.”  I remember him pulling me out of the chair, and driving to the hospital. My first words were, “How bad?” He just squeezed my hand.

When we arrived at the ER, the other construction workers were there. It was hard for them to look at me—and that’s when I knew.  My story is a reminder that once you have a family—no matter your age—life insurance is absolutely essential.  I didn’t want to think about that at the time, but lucky for me, my husband had.  James had been in an accident on the construction site. Winds were 50 mph-plus that day, and a wall he was working on had collapsed. To avoid being hit, James had jumped off the wall and landed on his back. When the wall fell, a piece of cinder block hit him in the chest, cracking a rib and severing his aorta.  The coroner said that he died instantly.

When you're the widowed mother of a 9-month-old baby, life becomes hazy. Since James died on the job, I was able to receive workman’s comp until I remarried (Leslie was entitled to the payments until she was 18), as well as social security payments for both me and Leslie.  The combination of workman’s comp, social security and life insurance gave me options, like being able to work part-time instead of full-time at the type of jobs best suited for a single parent. As a nurse, I’d worked days and nights--sometimes 12 hours at a time. The money that we received allowed me to work part-time instead of full-time, and I could take my time finding jobs that were more flexible and better suited for a now-single parent.  In the end, it turned out that I was incredibly lucky that my husband understood the importance of providing that safety net, even though he never thought we'd need to use it. Leslie and I couldn’t be more thankful.