Surviving the Screen: How I Traded My Late Husband’s Legacy of Overwork for Peace

I was 34 with a two-year-old when I lost my husband and partner of close to 13 years to overwork. It was a screechingly abrupt ending to a life I was piecing together brick by brick, like a Lego set. With him gone at the ridiculously young age of 35, I felt the very foundation of my life grow shaky. To the outside world, I seemed resilient; I threw myself back into the corporate world a mere four months after his passing. I could no longer sit at home undertaking freelance gigs. I took it upon myself to become both father and mother—a task I initially failed at miserably. 

At first, I behaved just like he had. I drowned myself in work, logging in at 2 AM and 3 AM for inconsequential tasks that could easily have been done during official office hours. In hindsight, the overwork numbed the intense pain of what felt like a deep betrayal. I felt cheated by my late husband, who had always prioritized work over our marriage, our son, and our home. I wondered why we had even gotten married in the first place if all he wanted to do was work and die. I was a "lock-and-key" wife, married to a high-flying management consultant who simply refused to slow down. I met his sleeping back on a few weekends, but for the most part, I was always home alone. I shuttled back and forth to the office, eventually carrying a massive baby bump with no husband at home. The loneliness crushed me, culminating in a complicated pregnancy that forced me onto bedrest by the sixth month. 

The point I am trying to make is that overwork does not impress me. I have witnessed a man live by his laptop and die by his laptop. And guess what happened when he died on the job? I received his laptop bag—minus the laptop. That is all he was to his Big 4 management consulting firm: a resource who won an important client for their organization. 

I still remember the last 24 hours he was alive. He shopped distractedly for shorts to wear at home at R City Mall, Ghatkopar, quickly rushed back, turned on his laptop, and continued to fine-tune a pitch presentation to win over an oil and gas company. I remember watching his tense face on that Sunday evening, still unable to shut down from work, and I sighed. He didn't take in the beautiful Powai sunset from our airy 10th-floor apartment; he barely even looked at our two-year-old boy that day. By the next evening at that exact same time, he was gone forever. 

I remember breaking down in front of his ex-boss and screaming, "Take me to him!" To my grief-stricken brain, he looked more alive and handsome than ever. It is a moment I will never forget—my handsome, young husband's sleeping face, with a very confused two-year-old being held above him. 

The next couple of dozen months were utter hell as I was forced to accept this new reality. Slowly and steadily, however, I learned that overwork is rubbish. Prioritizing your health and your family are the only two things that truly matter. I have always loved my work too—the only time I took a step back to freelance was when I wanted to have a baby—but I always prioritized home and family over my career, and I continue to do so today. 

I do not live by the laptop, and I do not log in beyond office hours. I am entirely unimpressed by those who overwork and consider working to be the only important part of their existence. My 7.5-year-old son, my health, my family, my friends, and my peace of mind are vastly more important than a career of 16 years and counting. My job is not my personality or my core identity. It is simply something I enjoy doing because I like a daily challenge. A new delivery or a shift in a deadline thrills me, but I will never let it kill me—not today, not tomorrow, and definitely not the day after. 

The disappointment I felt toward my late husband slowly turned to acceptance, and finally, to forgiveness. In forgiving him, I found my peace. And that is my story of handling grief.