My mind races, thoughts and memories crashing together like the ocean waves against the shore. Memories of laughter, love, and excitement fill my head, and I'm powerless to stop them. I stop, letting the memory of a life ended too soon envelope me. Suddenly, I'm jolted from my trance, the shrill honk of a car horn bringing me back to reality. For just a brief moment, I was in a place of comfort and peace. As I continue the mundane drive to work, my mind continues to race. By description, you would think that today would be some big anniversary or milestone event--but you would be wrong. The trigger for this moment? A song playing on the radio, as the cool fall air blows through the windows. I am reminded of the fact that it's not just important dates that trigger the flashbacks--it is anything that my mind chooses.

When I lost my husband suddenly, everything changed. Nothing felt familiar. Nothing felt right. I was suddenly left standing still in a world that refused to stop. Time, places, dates --everything was whizzing by me at the speed of light. I couldn't shake the feeling that I no longer "belonged" anywhere. My sense of comfort and peace was ripped away from me, leaving me broken and alone to raise a newborn. I suddenly didn't fit in with my friends. They couldn't understand the "new" me. They were all getting married, having babies, or living their lives with no cares in the world. Nobody had time for the widow. Nobody understood how I could be fine one minute, and then a sobbing ball of mush on the floor the next minute. It wasn't until lately that I realized something: When you lose someone you love, it's not just the anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays that trigger memories. Every single day is a memory.

I can remember the very first time that I had a mental breakdown over the mere sight of a memory trigger. I was out at the grocery store with my mother-in-law about one month after my husband died. We were walking down the aisles, and we passed a display full of raisin bran. I automatically reached for a box, fully intending to take it home for Brent. After all, he loved raisin bran, and ate it every single morning. Suddenly, reality hit me, and I couldn't breathe. He would never get that box of cereal. He would never eat it again. I started bawling in the cereal aisle, tears pouring down my face as I struggled not to scream. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I walked away, clutching our baby girl, allowing her sweet smell and warm body comfort me. Life would never be the same again.

As the days and months have passed (19 months and three days to be exact), I have been hit with "memory moments" by things that a "normal" person would never understand. The song on the radio that reminds me of a drive we took with no destination. The smell of coffee brewing that triggers the memory of our Sunday morning routine. The smell of fall that triggers the memory of us anxiously awaiting the arrival of our daughter. The movie clip of the movie we first watched together. Such small things, but such powerful memories.

I can't begin to tell you the amount of pain that I keep hidden. The absolute devastation and pride I feel as I watch our daughter grow and learn, knowing that he is missing it all. As important dates approach, such as our daughter's second birthday, I am jolted back to moments two years ago as we prepared for her arrival. Every single day, I am reminded that this "new" life is not a dream --it is a brutal reality that I take moment by moment. Every day, a small reminder brings back the most bittersweet memories. My heart aches with each one, but it is also warmed by the fact that he DID live. He existed. That reminder brings a smile to my face. My heart may be broken, but it is filled with a love that will never die. I have learned that I have more love than I ever dreamed possible. I can find a new safe harbor in this turbulent life. I can live. Memories are the most prized possessions I will ever have --and I plan to treasure each one, no matter how painful or bittersweet. I will continue to make more memories to add to my trove. After all, if every day is a memory, why not make them worthwhile?