You know, it’s funny how sometimes we put everything we have into something, only to realize that it could be gone at any moment and you’re left with nothing but a fleeting memory of what once was. Sometimes, you spend your life living for other people, losing yourself in the process. That’s how I was. I lived my life for my family. I gave them everything I had, sacrificing all the little things in life that made me happy just so I could make life a little easier for them. Still, even now, looking back, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. There may have been days in my life back then where I felt unfulfilled and useless, but the good days far outweighed the bad. I loved my family more than anything, and I was willing to do anything for them.

            My husband, Shawn, was the most amazing man. He was always trying to find new ways to live every day to its fullest potential. We hadn’t had an easy life. On our first date, it hit me that he had been through more in his 22 years of life than most people go through in their entire lifetimes. His father had died when he was young, leaving him to be the man of the house before he was old enough to even comprehend the implications of his new role in the family. His first fiancée cheated on him with his best friend, resulting in an unexpected pregnancy. And when his best friend walked out on his own child, Shawn stepped in to be a father to a little girl who served as a constant reminder of his ex’s unfaithfulness. His second fiancée was only interested in one thing – an escape from her life. She never loved him, and cheated on him with multiple guys, only caring about finding a way into fame and out of obscurity. His third, and final fiancée before me, had been killed in a terrible drunk driving accident two weeks before the wedding. And on top of it all, he had been diagnosed with cancer at 17, and had been fighting with his disease for years before I ever even met him. Then, after years of radiation treatment and chemo, his cancer had finally gone into remission. Sure, we had that ever-present worry looming over our heads throughout our entire marriage, wondering if and when the cancer would ever decide to strike again, but we never let that stop us from living our lives. If anything, it helped us to realize that you can’t take anything for granted.

            Maybe that’s why everything in our relationship seemed so rushed. Granted, I had known Shawn for two years before we ever even thought of starting a relationship. I had met him through a mutual friend, Ashley, who happened to be his girlfriend at the time. I had met Ashley at the concert of our favorite musical group, The Backstreet Boys. Anyway, Ashley introduced me to Shawn, and after awhile, we all became extremely close. That was the only time I met him face-to-face until our first date. And after a messy break-up with Ashley, she broke all ties from her previous life, and Shawn and I grew even closer. I stood by him over the next two years, from his battle with depression after the loss of his fiancée to the death of his brother – who was the only person he was close to in his family. Then, after only talking over the phone for two years, we finally decided to meet in person again. That led to our first date. And then, only six months after our first date, we were engaged. Two months after his proposal, we were married. And nine months after our wedding, I gave birth to our first and only son, Tristan James.

            A lot of people disagreed with our marriage, saying we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into or that we were rushing into a commitment too soon – including his mother. But Shawn and I knew better. We knew that what we had was stronger than anyone else could see. We knew that we would make it. And we did. We proved everybody wrong. We were married for 11 blissfully happy years. Until tragedy struck.

            I remember the day just like it was yesterday. That morning, we had gotten into a fight about who would pick Tristan up from school. I had just gotten a new job, finally getting back to work after being a stay-at-home mom for 9 ½ years. It was my first full week at the job, and I couldn’t risk leaving early without possibly jeopardizing my job. He was supposed to get off at 2:00, but one of his co-workers had called him that morning and asked him to stay two extra hours to cover part of his shift because he had the flu and couldn’t come in – hospital policy. I remember the last thing I said to him, face-to-face, was, “Ashley was right. You are a selfish asshole.” That day at work, my mind wasn’t on the task at hand. In fact, my mind was a million miles away from work. I kept thinking about Shawn and our argument. I guess he felt the same way because just as I was about to pick up the phone and call him to apologize, he called me. We made plans to call our sitter, Jenny, and spend the night together, alone, like we used to do.

            That night never came. At least not in the way I expected. As soon as I got home from work, I had this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I decided to lie down and take a nap before Shawn got home. Twenty minutes later, my life changed forever. I woke up to a pounding on my door and that intense queasy feeling growing stronger with every step I took. When I opened the door and found two officers with grim smiles, I knew that whatever they had to tell me was not going to be good. I don’t remember them telling me about the accident. I don’t remember the ride to the hospital. And I definitely don’t remember answering any of their questions. But apparently, all of that happened. They told me that Shawn had died on the scene, but that Tristan had been rushed to the hospital and taken into surgery as soon as he arrived. He was in critical condition and things didn’t look good. Still, no matter what anyone said, I refused to leave my son’s side. That first day, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t do much of anything. I don’t really remember much at all. The next thing I do remember, however, was hearing the steady beep of the machine measuring his pulse change to a screeching, constant tone. I was immediately pushed out of the room and into the hall while the doctors and nurses fought to save my only remaining tie to my husband. But their attempts were futile, and at 3:14 AM the next morning, my son joined my husband.

            That was one of the hardest days of my life. The moment they told me my son was gone, the rein I had on my emotions broke, and I felt a plethora of emotions overcome my exhausted, frail frame. I don’t remember calling my best friends, Serine and Casey. In fact, I barely remember anything that happened over the next few days. I do, however, remember waking up to my two best friends and their boyfriends fast asleep in the stiff, white hospital chairs while I lay in the bed, tubes coming from seemingly every inch of my body.

            I later found out that my body had gone into shock, and in order to deal with the whirlwind of emotions coursing through my mind, my body had put itself into a temporary coma. It had been seven days since the day I lost the two most important people in my life.

            I knew that nothing in my life would ever be the same again. And a part of me truly believed that I would never love anyone the way I loved Shawn. In a way, that still holds true today. No one will ever take the place of Shawn in my heart. Not even my husband. But I did learn that I could love again. I learned that even though my husband and son were gone, I was still here for a reason. It took me awhile to realize that, but when I finally did, I realized I could love again. I wasn’t betraying Shawn. I was simply living.

            That’s why I’m writing this. I decided that if I could find the strength to rediscover my life, then maybe people going through a similar situation could find the strength too, and realize that they’re not alone. So here’s my story. A story of life, love, and loss. A story of hope.