Padraig followed Pop Pop into his living space at Aunt Riley’s house blindly, and his grandfather stopped to raise a window, letting in the early spring breeze. “Surprisingly warm for March.”

Padraig nodded, thinking he preferred the cold, biting wind of the previous year’s March. It fit his mood better. “Yeah.”

“It was a lovely memorial, son.”

Padraig swallowed heavily. “It was.”

The rest of the family was scattered about Riley’s house, in the living room, dining room, kitchen. Some of the men were sipping scotch out on the screened-in back porch. Pop Pop had pulled him aside a few minutes earlier and asked him to join him in his room.

Padraig was grateful for the chance to escape. He was struggling to hold it together, and while Colm and Kelli meant well, if they gave him one more reassuring pat or smile, he was going to lose his shit and punch something. Or someone. He didn’t doubt for a second that Colm would stand still for the hit if he really needed to take a swing.

His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to swallow down the anger, the despair.

Pop Pop pointed to a chair. “Steady, boy. Have a seat.”

He did as directed, numbly watching as Pop Pop poured a glass of Jameson for both of them. When Pop Pop returned, he claimed the seat next to him and handed him a glass. His grandfather lifted his in a silent toast before taking a sip.

Padraig merely stared at the amber liquid. He and Colm had fallen into an entire bottle of whiskey a few nights ago. It hadn’t helped. Not even a little bit.

Mia had passed away in her sleep two weeks earlier. Given the pain she’d suffered since New Year’s, Padraig was grateful the actual ending had been relatively peaceful. He’d crawled in next to her on the hospital bed they’d moved into their bedroom over Valentine’s weekend and held her as she took her last breath.

She hadn’t wanted a funeral, but had requested a simple memorial service with just the family. Padraig had chosen to hold it today, March twenty-eighth, a year to the day since Mia walked into the pub and changed his life.

“Take a drink of the bourbon, Paddy. Let it warm your insides, lad. Then the two of us are going to have a talk.”

Padraig wanted to refuse, wanted to ask if they could just sit here together in the quiet. He was out of words. He was out of…everything.

Pop Pop lay a hand on his arm. “Drink.”

He lifted the glass and took a longer swig than he probably should have. Pop Pop was right about the heat. The burn as the liquor slid down his throat did warm him up.

“I’m not going to ask how you’re doing,” Pop Pop began, “because I know. You’re alternating between numb and pissed.”

Padraig nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ve been there. I get it.”

Something in his grandfather’s tone told him the old guy really did understand. Of course, he’d walked a mile in these shoes. It might have been nearly fifty years ago, but it didn’t appear time had weakened that memory.

“How did you do it, Pop Pop? How did you get over her?”

Pop Pop studied his face as if surprised by the question. “You’re asking the wrong thing. You’re never going to get over her. Never. What you have to do is get over this. The death part.”

Padraig didn’t see that happening. He’d had an entire year to prepare himself for this. This morning, he’d woken up, put on his Sunday best and realized he’d been a jackass.

There was no way to prepare for death.

“I can see you think I’m off my rocker,” Pop Pop continued when Padraig didn’t respond. “Focus on the life, son. You and Mia may not have had a long love, but you had a true one.”

He nodded. The greatest love. “It was the best year of my life. And the worst.”

“That’s life, isn’t it? Nothing is ever constant, nothing stays the same. If possible, perhaps you can find comfort in the fact that you’re not alone. Every single person on this planet has experienced the same things as you. Every last one of us will feel love, anger, hate, sorrow, fear, loneliness, friendship…before our time is up. Every one of us gets it all. The whole enchilada.”

Padraig grinned briefly, just a quick upturn of his lips before they fell again. “She told me not to be sad. Said it to me every damn day there at the end. Told me she was dying without a single regret. That her life had been perfect because she’d found me.”

Padraig’s voice broke, but he continued. “She made my life perfect, Pop Pop. And now I’m not sure how to go back to…God, fuck me…nothing. There’s nothing now.” He wiped his eyes, his chest tight with pain.

Pop Pop put his hand on Padraig’s arm again, his grip tight for a man of ninety-three. “You don’t have nothing. Son, you have everything. I know it doesn’t feel like that now, but you have your family, your friends, people who care about you and who are going to help you get through this. More than that, you have Mia.” Pop Pop leaned over and tapped Padraig on the chest. “You will carry that woman inside your heart every day until the second you breathe your last. Not a day has gone by in the last fifty years that I haven’t thought about Sunday. I can hear her voice, see her smile, feel her presence.”

“I just…miss her.”

“Paddy, if I’d known how my life with Sunday would end, if I’d known she would die so young, I still would have married her, still would have had this incredible family with her. Would you change what you did?”

“What?” Padraig asked.

“If it were a year ago, and Mia walked into the pub and told you about her illness, knowing what you know now, would you have followed her?”

“Jesus. Of course I would!”

“Then you have to do this part too. You spent the last year, trying to ensure that beautiful girl died with no regrets. It’s time for you to follow in her footsteps. Do your grieving. Cry, scream, punch, get drunk. Do whatever you have to do…and then move on. Open up the blinds, let the sunshine in, and live. To do otherwise would be disrespectful to Mia’s memory.”

Padraig took another sip of whiskey, certain he’d never succeed at any of that. “Okay.”

Pop Pop narrowed his eyes, studying his face. “Don’t just say okay to shut the old man up. Say okay because you mean it.”

Padraig grinned, and this time it stuck around five whole seconds before vanishing again. “I mean it.”

Pop Pop didn’t let him off quite that easy, looking at him for another full minute before he seemed convinced Padraig wasn’t lying.

“Good. Here. I want to show you something.” Pop Pop stood up and walked over to the wall that held all his beloved family photos. Padraig followed him. Each child and grandchild was represented there, the photos changing whenever Pop Pop found a more recent one that struck his fancy. Each frame was stuffed full, the new pictures going in on top of the old. One time, Padraig had taken his own frame down, opening it to flip through his life as seen through his grandfather’s eyes.

He grew from a chubby baby to a toothless eight-year-old, holding up the first fish he’d ever caught. There was one of him peeking out from under the hood of his first car, grinning from ear to ear as he tried to fix the piece of shit. There was one of him, Colm and Kelli standing on the football field right after graduation, their gowns hanging open and loose, the three of them looking like they owned the world, now that they had those diplomas in their hands.

Pop Pop pointed to the wall, to Padraig’s spot, and he saw that his frame held a new picture—and the sight of it took his breath away.

“Your mom took it last summer,” Pop Pop said. “You were helping your dad plant trees, and Mia went along for the ride.”

In the photo, he was shirtless, and he had just come inside to cool off for a few minutes. Mia had given him a glass of lemonade and he’d kissed the top of her head.

He didn’t realize his mother had taken the picture, didn’t know that she’d caught them in that unguarded moment.

Padraig understood why his grandfather had chosen to hang this picture. It reflected the love and the friendship they’d shared. Looking at it made him smile, because he could almost smell the strawberry scent of her hair from her favorite shampoo, the way he’d remarked on how sweet she was. He remembered the way she’d giggled after that kiss, telling him his beard tickled.

Seamus had been standing between them, though he wasn’t in the picture. They hadn’t had the dog very long at that point, but he’d already become completely devoted to Mia. And jealous whenever Padraig got too close to “his human.”

Padraig hadn’t had the heart to leave the sweet dog home alone today. A quick glance out the window confirmed Finn was entertaining Seamus outside, playing a game of fetch with a tennis ball.

It broke his heart every time Seamus ran to the bedroom in search of Mia. He knew only too well how hard it was to forget for just a second she wasn’t there, to walk in a room to tell her something, only to discover the bed was empty.

“You were lucky to find her, lad.”

Padraig nodded. Lucky was right. “Yeah. I was.”

“Here.” Pop Pop handed him a box. It was wrapped in plain brown paper. “Mia asked me to pass this along to you after… Well, just after.”

Padraig shook his head, unable to lift his hand to claim the present. “I don’t…think…”

“Take it, son. I know what’s in it. Mia showed me. You need to see it too.”

He accepted the package, returning to his previous seat. Pop Pop followed.

Padraig opened the box and pulled apart the tissue paper. On top was an envelope with Mia’s handwriting. It simply said, “Paddy.” Beneath it was a book.

He opened the envelope first, his hand shaking as he pulled out the single sheet of paper.

My dearest Padraig.

My beloved husband.

Don’t forget to dream big.

Always yours,

Mia

He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears as he lifted the book and opened it. It was a scrapbook, and on the first page, Mia had titled it, The Book of Dreams Come True.

He flipped through the pages, smiling, even laughing through his tears as he looked at the photos Mia had selected. Each page contained the name of the dream and then a photograph of them doing it. There was a selfie they’d taken in front of the Hogwarts castle, one of them at Sacré-Coeur, another of their karaoke duet. Page after page was filled with reminders of his most perfect year. It truly had been the year all his dreams had come true.

The last picture was of the two of them on their wedding day, their faces covered with chocolate cake, both of them laughing.

He ran his finger over the photograph, touching her face, wishing for the millionth time that she was still there.

“Turn the page,” Pop Pop said.

Padraig did so, surprised to find more. He thought the wedding picture was the last.

On the pages following, Mia had listed the rest of the dreams, sans photos.

They were his dreams.

There was a page for the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, the World Series, then, because she loved to tease him, she’d added spots for March Madness, the U.S. Open, the Tour de France, and a NASCAR race.

Mia had recalled all his dreams, including the Grand Canyon, the cruise to Mexico, the marathon, fishing and the Appalachian Trail. She’d even added, “Trip to Ireland with Pop Pop.”

The last two pages were reserved for “True Love, part two” and “Paddy’s Little Girl.”

He gripped the edges of the book tightly—and for several minutes, he let himself fall apart.

Pop Pop didn’t say anything. He simply reached over and put his hand on his shoulder, let him know he was there. Pop Pop had always been there.

After a while, he was able to pull himself together. Pop Pop handed him a hanky and Padraig wiped off his face.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, but somehow the book grounded him, given him a purpose.

“There’s my lad,” Pop Pop said with a smile. “Mia’s given you a job to do. Are you going to let her down?”

Padraig shook his head. “No. It’s funny…I know we spent so much of this past year dealing with the fact that she was dying, but when I look back on it, all I can remember is how much Mia taught me about living. I can’t shut down, Pop Pop. Can’t stop moving. I’m never going to stop loving her.”

“I know. But that’s the beauty of being alive. We can love as many people as we want to.”

Padraig glanced down and ran his hand over the cover of the book. For the first time in weeks, he managed a genuine smile. “She made a hell of a list for me.”

Pop Pop chuckled. “Then I guess you’d better get busy.”