I’m not getting better

Exactly one year ago it was a warm September evening. I had my first practice of the 2013-2014 season with my lacrosse team from 430-630 at Drew University. It was a wonderful practice. The girls worked hard and I remember I was so impressed with the talent very early on. I knew it was going to be a great year.

I got home from work around 8p and I remember as I dropped my car off and was walking to the apartment George had just gotten home and was out with Bodie. He was still wearing his work clothes. I gave him a massive hug and told him all about how good my team looked from the first day and how much potential we had. He looked out of it, he kind of shrugged it off and said he needed to talk to me. Once we got into the apartment I remember he sat down on the bigger couch and I sat diagonally across from him on the love seat. He folded his hands and drew in a deep breath and looked at the ground. I kept asking what was going on? Finally his eyes met mine and they were glossy.

“I’m not getting better. I’m dying.”

His words ring to this day in my ears. He said it so matter of fact, as if he had been practicing saying it to me. But once those words crossed through my skull, my soul imploded and I crashed face first into the pillow hysterically crying. He quickly came to my side and rubbed my back. He said it would be okay but he was crying too. It wasn’t going to be okay. That night I filled out the application at the NYC clerks office to get a marriage license.

A year ago I found out my love was going to die and we decided to elope. We were supposed to get married October 19th but there was a chance he wouldn’t make it to the planned wedding date.

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About J.

Fitness professional, fitness & nutrition writer, widowed at 28. Writing about getting through grief through self-care, physical activity, and the ​constant feeling of being uncomfortable.
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