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11
I’ve been dreading this day for weeks, but it’s finally here.
One year.
It’s been one year since I lost him.
One year since I knew what my life plan was.
One year since God or the universe or whatever ripped the rug right out from under me.
365 days.8,760 hours.525,600 minutes.However you want to look at it, it’s the same amount of time.And yet right now, it feels like it was yesterday.Like we just left the hospital worried about Kasen and lay down in bed together, Robbie placing a tender kiss on my forehead like he did every night before he fell asleep.
My body feels like lead as I force myself from my bed—our bed—and into the shower.Tears mix silently with the water pelting down on me, and by the time I get out, I can’t even remember if I washed my hair or not.
I throw on my favorite pair of leggings, a tank top, and one of Robbie’s long-sleeved, red plaid button-down shirts.It’s ginormous on me, but there’s something comforting about wearing his clothes today.I pull the collar up to my nose, close my eyes, and breathe deep.For a second, I almost convince myself there’s a hint of his smell left, but even in my imagination it’s so faint that tears immediately spring to my eyes again.
My knees give out and I crumple to the floor in the fetal position, my tears turning to sobs that rack my body.I can’t breathe.The pain is unrelenting, but I’ve been here before—many times in fact since Robbie died.I know it won’t last and I have to ride it out, but that’s so much easier when I’m not in the thick of an emotional riptide sucking me under.
The tears come, and they come, and they come.Until finally, like the sun bursting through a cloudy sky on a rainy day, they subside and the vise grip around my heart eases, leaving exhaustion in its place.Slowly, I push myself up and stand on wobbly legs.I take a step, then two, then three, determined to keep putting one foot in front of the other so I can do what I need to do today.
I grab my keys and the flowers I bought yesterday and make my way to my car, but when I get in, I don’t start it.I let the keys dangle from the ignition until I feel sure enough that I’ll make it to my destination safely.I probably should’ve asked Tristan to drive me today—I wanted to—but ultimately decided I needed to do this by myself.
The drive is short, which plants another seed of remorse that I don’t come here as often as I should.I park and stare out at the grassy field scattered with gray grave markers.My strength falters, but I close my eyes and remind myself why I need to do this.
I can’t let him be alone—not today.
Each step closer to his grave feels heavy, like I’m wearing cement shoes.And yet, my heart is tugging me toward him like it knows its other half is nearby.I reach his grave, and his name blurs as tears fall once more.My already-weak knees give out for the second time today, but I have just enough strength to slowly bend to the ground until I’m resting on my knees, the bouquet of flowers lying next to me and my hands covering my face.
It hurts to be here.
Pulling my hands from my face, I reach out and trace his name with my fingers.
Robert Michael Nolan.
“I miss you so much,” I whisper.“This isn’t how it was supposed to be.You promised you’d never leave me.”My voice chokes and I feel whatever strength I had seeping out.My body feels overwhelmed by emotion—devastating heartbreak and fierce anger swirl together in my gut fighting for dominance.I’m angry that we’re here, that this is what our relationship came to—me crying my eyes out in front of my husband’s grave at only twenty-six years old.At the same time, I’m heartbroken for all that he’s missing, all the things we never got to do.But also grateful for the love we had while we had it.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I repeat.“I don’t know how to do any of this without you.I don’t know how to move on.I don’t know how to be anything but your wife.”
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
“I feel so stupid, talking to a piece of granite like you’re really here, like you can actually hear me completely losing it.I can only imagine the lecture you would give me if you could see me now.”
I tilt my face to the sun and let the tears fall.Everyone said time would heal, but if there’s anything his death has taught me, it’s that sometimes time doesn’t heal all wounds.
“I wish I could talk to you one more time.Just once.To tell you I love you.You changed my life, Robbie Nolan.You loved me so honestly.I know you’d want me to find happiness with someone else, but…what if no one will ever love me like that again?”I whisper my greatest fear.Forget my ineptness at dating.What if I never find a love like I had with Robbie ever again?What if it doesn’t exist?
I let the warmth from the sun wash over me as my tears start to slow.A tickle on my hand prompts me to open my eyes.A beautiful orange monarch butterfly rests there, its wings fluttering and its antennae twitching, but it doesn’t fly away.A peace I haven’t felt in a long time settles over me, and then I hear it.
A delicate whisper on the warm California breeze.My name.Robbie’s voice.
Now I know I’ve truly gone and lost my mind, but it feels so good to hear his voice again.The butterfly flaps its delicate wafer-thin wings and then takes flight, fluttering around me before finally flying away.
As crazy as it sounds, it feels like it was Robbie, telling me everything would eventually be okay.
I must be a masochist to inflict this much pain on myself.After leaving the cemetery, I came home and decided it would be a great idea to go through some more of Robbie’s belongings.Tristan’s been helping me the past few weeks, but today I wanted to do it by myself.
There’s something bittersweet about going through his things—it makes me miss him so much it hurts, but it also makes me feel close to him.I’ve actually cried from happy memories instead of just reliving the loss of him.
Pouring a large glass of wine, I take a fortifying sip and then open his closet.My fingers glide along the arms of several dress shirts of various colors, the ones he usually wore for press events.I’m not sure where to start; there’s a lot more in here than I expected.Shoes scatter across the floor, and that seems like the easiest thing to sort through, so I grab a giant black trash bag and start pairing up shoes I can donate to charity.Tucked to the far left side is a whole stack of shoeboxes—holding his most pristine pairs, I’m sure.I start pulling boxes out, opening them up to see what’s inside and then placing them to the side of the donation bag.I’ll ask Tristan about these before I donate them.
I pull out another box and frown at how light it is.Opening the box, I can see why.There aren’t any shoes in this box, but instead it’s full of papers and a couple of envelopes.I pull them out one at a time, not really sure what I’m looking at.Some of them look like test results for some bloodwork he had done.According to the date, he got these results a few months before he died.
Still not sure what to make of them or what they mean, I place them aside and pull out two envelopes—one addressed to me and the other addressed to Tristan—in Robbie’s signature scrawl.Sliding my finger under the flap, I rip it open and pull out several small sheets of paper.My gaze scans the letter, my eyes watering knowing he wrote this for me, but then confusion replaces any sadness because his death was sudden.Why would he write me a letter for after he died if he didn’t know he was going to?
And then my gaze lingers on one line that changes everything.
