The Reconstruction of a Widow

Curious about why she always dined by herself, the waiter asked the pretty blond American, “Why are you here alone?”

Sitting in the restaurant in Northern France, the woman answered his question with the dirty, honest truth.

She told the waiter how her husband had been murdered just months before, and how the killer then turned the weapon on himself. She told him how she had decided to escape the chaos back home, to clear her head, and to visit the last place she remembered being “the old Rebecca”—the Rebecca before the tragedy, before she was known as Matt Gulakowski's girlfriend, wife and widow.

She told him that she had come back to Northern France to find who she was before her world exploded.

In response, the waiter wisely replied, “Oh, you are reconstructing.”

“Perfect,” she said. “You're so right. I'm reconstructing.”

It was a moment of enlightenment for Rebecca Braaten, who left the United States for 10 days last year in an attempt to transcend her suffering and confusion. Just a few months prior to her French getaway—a year ago last week—Braaten's husband, Mathew Gulakowski, was shot and killed through a small hole in the wall of his business. The bizarre murder-suicide that made headlines statewide left Braaten shocked, exhausted and weeping. But as the first anniversary of her husband's death came and went last week, Braaten showed that she has persevered in the face of tragedy.

In fact, she is not just surviving, she is thriving in her own personal renaissance.

“When something like this happens, it doesn't just rock your foundation, it annihilates it and all you are left with is a giant crater and a mound of dirt,” she said. “So I have a choice, and not even God above can tell me I don't get a redo in any part of my life that I want to. That means that I can rebuild those foundations.”



In late April 2007, Matt Gulakowski was moving out of his woodworking shop in a Mulberry Road industrial park. His business, Pro Formance Creations, had grown too big for the small unit.

But the main reason for Gulakowski's exodus was the escalating conflict between him and 45-year-old Barry Sheb, the man who rented the unit next door. Sheb had often complained to management about the fumes coming from Gulakowski's unit, and had even called law enforcement. According to emails Gulakowski sent to Sheb's landlord, he had made several efforts to lessen the intensity of the fumes and his only option was to move. In one email Gulakowski said he was growing worried about the dispute.

“I no longer feel safe operating my business in that location with Barry as my neighbor,” Matt wrote.

His predictions were right on: Sheb had cut a 4-inch hole in the wall that separated the units, and on April 30, 2007, as Gulakowski was moving the last load out of his unit, Sheb fired his .357 Ruger through the hole, killing the young man.

Rebecca Gulakowski was at work when she got a call from a friend, saying something happened and her husband may not be alive. Confused and sitting on the sidewalk in front of Bath Garden Center and Nursery, where she worked, she heard the sirens of the SWAT team.

Later, in the emergency room at Poudre Valley Hospital, a hospital staffer then told her she was a widow. “Your husband's been shot and he's dead,” she was told.



But that was a year ago, when Braaten sat with this reporter in her backyard, red-eyed and tired, horrified that her husband, known to friends as “Ski,” would only be remembered as a victim and not the creative builder, the adored son, brother and husband, and the celebrated friend that he was. The day of his death was replaying over and over in her head. There was pain and tears, and more pain and more tears. Then there was exhaustion.

Twelve months later, however, Braaten is no longer that woman. Her golden bob frames her smiling face, highlighting her pixyish features. Sitting in an Old Town sandwich shop, as springtime snowflakes dance about outside, Braaten's royal blue sweater makes her eyes look even bluer and clearer.

Clear is a good word to describe Braaten these days. Older by only a year, she is decades wiser than she was just 12 months ago.

Braaten was raised by strong, independent women who taught her to be strong and independent as well. The Washington native had traveled the world with the Air Force before leaving the military, moving to Fort Collins and meeting and marrying Gulakowski.

It was the strength and passion of the “old Rebecca” that she yearned for in the wake of her husband's death. For the first month she says she was just numb, “just kind of sleep walking.” Braaten took the rest of the year off and traveled. She decided to move out of her and her husband's home, which is owned by her in-laws.

“After a month, I took some of my friends' advice, saying, 'You need to take control of your life right now,'” Braaten said. “And so, I ended up moving. I needed to own my house, to have a home with no strings attached.”

It was the first major effort in an attempt to reclaim her life.

“I just remember saying, 'OK Rebecca, you had a good life before you were married. You traveled all over the world. You've got good career prospects. Your life is not over. You're only, at that time, 33,'” she said. “I can't die with him. Mathew would not want me to die with him. The situation was so bizarre, I couldn't have dreamed it up. So there was nothing left to do but accept it.”

Given how public her husband's death was, Braaten had no option of denial. She had accepted the situation—as crazy and unexpected as it was—and she began looking to the future.

“All I could think was 'it's my job to represent my husband and myself, and learn from him,'” she said. “I got a big eye-opening view of the bad side of human nature. ... But through that I've seen how amazing people can be. I've wanted for nothing this last year. All I can say is that I'm OK. I really have the community to thank for that.”

Things began to fall into place for Braaten in a startling way. In the wake of tragedy, fate seemed to work in her favor: “Things have fallen into place like the universe said, 'OK, she's had enough.'” She happened upon her dream house and was given an amazingly good deal. She decided to change her job and career, something she had dreamed of for a long time but was unable to pursue , and was accepted into the construction management program at Colorado State University.

And in the reconstruction of her own life, she decided to go back to her maiden name.

“Compared to a year ago, I hardly recognize myself. I look in the mirror and say, this is a better Rebecca who has learned so much about my own abilities. This last year for me has been about regaining who I was before I got married,” she said. “I needed to start over.”

And as her new life began to evolve in just the right way, Braaten soon discovered things about herself and her relationship. She owes much gratitude to counseling and grief-share programs, where she began to see that her situation was not as bad as others'. She saw that her grief was much different than the Gulakowski family's and much different than the family of the man who murdered her husband.

“Other people in that (grief-share) group have dealt with children dying or suicide. In addition to grief, they had so much guilt. And the guilt seemed to hurt them more than grieving,” she said. “I would not wish what I went through on anyone, but I'm grateful I do not have that element of guilt, of 'what if.' It was so crazy I could not have predicted it. And that in and of itself is a blessing.”

She also had to come to terms with her and her husband's relationship: the good times, the bad, and nothing but the truth.

“I went through periods of just being angry because the reality was I never saw my husband. I rarely saw him. It still bothers me, as you can tell,” she said. “People tell you, 'Think of the good times.' And I was like, 'Huh?' We didn't have any daily routines together. We didn't have any traditions together. This situation has forced me to look at that (part of our relationship).

“When someone goes like that, you get a big helping of what you did or didn't have together served up right under your nose,” she continued. “I was left holding a bag full of unfinished business. There was no resolution and all I can do is look at it honestly and learn from it.”

The thing that the couple had fought most about—the lack of time they had together—was in a strange way the very thing that helped Braaten heal.

Still, she has made a place for Gulakowski in her life. She often visits a bench, which she had dedicated to her husband after his death, near the lake at City Park and she talks to him. She thanks him for all that he taught her, through life and death. She has kept pieces of his art, creations and collections: a fish tank stand, some stained glass pieces, their shared music collection, every card he ever gave her. And the old Schwinn tandem.

“There is a part of me, I gotta be honest, at my age I really hope I find someone to ride that bike with again. But there is a part of me that thinks I should give it to another couple to ride,” she said. “But for now, I'm keeping it.”

Love, she hopes, is in her future. As is adventure and travel, as she trusts fate to guide her. She knows no matter what happens, she'll be ready to handle it.

“I'll never forget the eight years I had with him. I'll never forget what I learned through him, both about life and about myself,” she said. “I feel grateful that I can take all those lessons and incorporate them into who I was before.”