Thoughts on the Three Year Anniversary of His Death

So this was the day. The last day I was whole.

I’m still healthy. I’m still happy. I’m still hopeful. But half of me is gone.

He left around 7:30 pm. We text most of the evening. He said me missed me and Zoya. I said he should go ahead and come home. He said he might. I had an early meeting the next morning so I fell asleep at midnight after sending a “:)”. I woke up at 4:00 am and he wasn’t in bed.

I was sure he had come home and given me a kiss. I called and looked all over. I drove downtown where “find my phone” said his phone was. The medical examiner called at 7:00 am and said he has been killed. He had been shot at 1:00 am.

Last year it was great comfort to realize that he would not be any further away when I woke up, when the anniversary of the nightmare of a night was over.

Sometimes I don’t know how I survived that night. Sometimes I remember God was my strength. The friends and family at my house the next day kept me moving.

The last three years have blessedly been the shortest of my life. The three years I was with him stand out as the blessedly longest years. Some years have a weight to them that defy their brevity.

Our perfect May was over. June 1, 2016, at 1:00 am. We used our last days so wisely.

This week has been a relapse to survival mode, but soon I’m ready to return to intentional living. It’s not about living out of fear that these are someone’s last days, but living so that if someone dies you are confident you made the most out of the limited time you have; because all life is limited whether you die in your sleep at age 102 or are killed in a carjacking at age 34.

I miss you Azizam and love you with all my heart.