Today is the 6th anniversary of Rob's passing. Every year, the grief hits me unexpectedly. I want to share an excerpt of my upcoming memoir. The following is a portion of my chapter on grief.
Rob
Rob and Stephanie were friends from the Honor Academy, where I watched their love story unfold from the very beginning. Rob was athletic, his long limbs lean and muscular from his daily runs. His angular face was framed with warm brown facial hair that was longer than his crew cut style. Rob’s smile exposed his gums just as much as his slightly crooked teeth. One thing was clear - how much he adored Stephanie. At first, she had no interest in him, but he wooed her with romance from the moment they met. He did all the usual things - flowers, chocolates, romantic dates - but he was so completely smitten with her that she couldn’t help falling for him in return. Through the power of social media, we were able to keep in touch over the years, and I watched their relationship bloom after we left the Honor Academy. She lived in Oklahoma, while he lived in Canada. When he finally proposed in June 2010, he got down on one knee in the place that represented them both - the Canadian-American border. Stephanie blogged about their journey through all the hard times - their honeymoon baby that she didn’t want but she fell in love the moment he was born, the arduous journey to obtain Rob’s dual-citizenship in America, their subsequent financial struggles because Rob couldn’t get a job without the proper visa, their mutual quest to gain back their health.
Our lives were so similar and so different at the same time. We got married the same month they got engaged. They got pregnant before us, but we both had sons named Josiah. I followed Stephanie’s blog through every monthly update for years, and they had finally reached a point where they were financially stable. Rob had a good paying job, Stephanie was able to concentrate on her photography business, and they had just purchased a new car. Rob was working on his goal of running through all the streets in their little town in Oklahoma; he tracked those runs on a map stuck to the fridge. Little did anyone know that when he left for his run that evening, it would be his last. He was only 28.
2017 was already one of the most hectic years ever for me, with my daughter being born in February, moving to a new apartment in June weeks before my husband was laid off, and starting my teaching credential program in July. I was thrilled yet terrified at getting my first teaching job, but before August was even over, my students and scheduled course load had changed twice. My days were extremely long - teaching all day, classes three nights a week, and pumping breastmilk for my six-month-old every chance I got. I should have been spending my weekends resting, but unfortunately, I filled most of my time with lesson planning and grading. After a full day, the “Sunday Scaries” were setting in, and I relished the chance to spend a few moments nursing my daughter before my husband rocked her to sleep. I snuggled my baby girl closer for just a minute before passing her off to her daddy. The bright light of the kitchen stung my eyes as I stepped out of her dark nursery and breathed in a deep sigh. I noticed the fridge light was out as I pulled out a container of leftover fried rice, sniffed it for good measure, and popped it into the microwave. I leaned forward over the counter, resting on the heels of my hands while I watched my food rotate in the glow of the microwave. My mind was blank, as it often was by the end of the day, just counting the moments until I could finally rest my head on my pillow. I was already fantasizing about my cup of coffee that would greet me the next morning. It took a second to register that my food was ready when the timer beeped. I blinked and shook my head for a moment to clear my already blank mind before I grabbed a fork, shoving the drawer closed with my hip, and then collapsed into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. I mindlessly scrolled through social media as I shoveled forkfuls of salty chicken fried rice into my mouth before going to bed to repeat the whole exhausting cycle again. My husband texted me from the other room, “did you hear about this?” In the thumbnail picture of the GoFundMe, I saw the smiling faces of Stephanie and Rob. My heart dropped into my stomach. I clicked the link and gasped. “NO,” I screamed internally, tears falling before I even had a chance to process the information. I felt my world tip.
Rob was struck and killed instantly by a distracted driver on their phone, and suddenly my friend Stephanie was left as a single mom of a five-year-old. I had a habit of walking daily as a way to spend a few quiet minutes by myself. At any moment, I could have ended up in the same situation as Rob. There are no words to describe how devastating a loss like that is.
Stephanie is not only a photographer but a talented writer. In the few months before Rob’s passing, Stephanie started a project with her small photography business called “Women Who Rise,” which featured profile snapshots of women persevering through unbelievable trials - cancer, domestic abuse, mental illness, infertility, loss of a spouse. And suddenly, Stephanie became a woman who would rise up. “I have no doubt that it's not coincidence I started this Women Who Rise project. Over the past several weeks I've spoken with and photographed women who have been through this tragedy I'm now facing. They are on the other side of the ashes, and I am clinging to their stories right now,” Stephanie wrote only 9 days after Rob’s passing. “But even in the midst of this unimaginable and indescribable ache, there's a hope that's holding me.” I am so grateful that she chronicled her entire journey with grief as she dealt with everything openly over the next several years. I saw the world through the lens of Stephanie’s eyes as I read her beautiful words: “Death took something from me, and I grew. I lost love, and I learned to love deeper. Death saved me. It awakened me. It removed the grip of this world and tethered my heart to heaven.” How can someone move on after the loss of someone so precious? Rob’s fervor, his passion, his abundant love – it still ripples out through Stephanie and his son, Josiah. They had to tread through rough waters in the months and years after his passing, navigating through a foggy, unfocused spyglass pointed at the horizon of the future. We have no idea of the impact that we will leave on those around us. Our responsibility is to leave our mark so the world will be better when we are gone. The legacy Rob left behind is a testament to how well he defined his line. Through Stephanie’s journey, I saw a strength like I never thought possible. Through Rob, I learned how to cherish my family and celebrate all the little things that I could miss.
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