One Year Later

Tuesday, March 3rd has come and passed. It is now officially over a year since I lost Alex.Tuesday was hard, just as I knew it would be.

But Monday was worse.

Monday is the day it all happened. The day everything went south. The day my world changed forever.

On Monday I relived the entire day again — hour by hour, minute by minute.

This is about the time he walked out of the house.
This is the time I got home.
This is the time I heard the knock on the door.

This is the minute I called his mom and had to hand the phone to the troopers because I couldn’t speak.

This is the minute I called Jeremy. I will never forget the sound in his voice — the hurt, the disbelief at what I was telling him.

I remember the look on Daren’s face when he walked through my door. The red tears in his eyes as he wrapped me in a hug.

I relived Monday all over again, and every minute of it hurt.

For some reason I thought I would be able to work on Monday. I told myself it would be okay. That I could get through it.

I was wrong.

Kat was wiser than I was. She took both days off to be with me. She knew what was coming my way, even when I didn’t want to admit it.

Monday was unbelievably hard.

Tuesday the 3rd arrived with a different kind of weight.

A different purpose.
Different distractions.
A different kind of hard.

We had a “surprise” visitor come down to be with us. I had known for a few days that he was coming, but having him there still meant a lot. It reminded me that we’re not in this alone.

He came with us to the site.

He had never been there before.

I showed him around — the tree, the woods. The place that now holds so much meaning.

When everyone arrived, we put up Alex’s shield.

We stood there together, each of us having our own moment with him. Our own thoughts. Our own memories.

And I cried.

Later, back at the house, the feeling was strangely familiar.

Friends gathered again, just like they had a year ago. But this time it was a different house, a different moment in time. The reason was the same, but the feeling had changed.

This time we were there to remember. To support each other. To honor Alex.

After most people left, one friend stayed behind.

We stayed in the kitchen playing board games and sharing frozen pizza — one of Alex’s staples.

It was a day full of love and support.

We went to the site to honor Alex in the best way we knew how.
Friends came to the house to love and support him — and us.

It was an exhausting two days.

By 8 PM my body finally decided it had enough.

I don’t remember the last time I slept that deeply.

A year later the pain is still there. Monday proved that. Some moments still feel just as sharp as they did the day it happened. But Tuesday reminded me of something else too. Alex’s story didn’t end with that day. It continues in the people who show up, in the memories we share, in the frozen pizza in the kitchen, and in a shield standing quietly in the woods. The grief is still heavy, and I know it always will be in some way. But so is the love.

That bond will never be broken, the love will never get lost.