“I’m standing here thinking of Blake when I should remember her,” I express shamefully as I stand by my grandmother’s graveside.

“Adriana, it’s natural to think about all your losses when you’re hurting. Elizabeth knew how much you loved Blake. Let your heart take your mind where it has to go. Don’t fight what you’re feeling. Don’t deny the sensitivity of your heart.” God, if I weren’t in a state of denial, I would ask Heidi how she all of a sudden became so smart.

She’s right, though. Blake and I had a wonderful kind of love. The kind of love I will hold close to my broken heart for the rest of my life.

I miss the feel of his muscular arms that I dream are wrapped around me as much as I miss the smell of him. I miss his smile, his face, and the dirty things that used to come out of his mouth. I miss everything about him.

When the ache in my chest overpowers me with a cursed vengeance, it stays for a long time. When it goes, it’s never gone for long. Always teasing, taunting, and waiting to strike me down. The silence that rings in my ears is constantly loud, reminding me of what I lost; it never leaves. It’s always there to remind me of the guilt I’ll possess, of the blame I’ve casted upon myself for the rest of my days. I should have tried harder to stop him from leaving that day.

They say God doesn’t give a person more than they can handle. I don’t believe that at all anymore. I’m losing it. I can’t handle any more from anyone. I’m not one to pity myself, but I’d like to know the reason why I’m dangling over the edge with my grip loosening with each passing day.

“I wish I could give up,” I whisper, low enough for only myself to hear.

Part of my future had already been taken away from me with my parents’ death when I first met Blake Jensen, my husband. I sat on the lawn under a large willow tree on the campus of the University of Michigan, admiring the new lens my grandmother had bought me for my camera, when he tripped over me, the lens fell out of my hand and broke when his large body crashed down on it as he stumbled forward trying not to fall on me.

I had been crying for months over the loss of my parents and the weird way my sister had been acting, so instead of bawling like most people do, I was pissed that some overly large, tattooed muscle meathead hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going. My redheaded temper came out, and I fired my flaming mouth in his direction as I tried to shove him away from me, but he wouldn’t budge. He took the beating I gave him with a devilish smirk on his face until I stood there with my wild hair a mess, shoulders shaking, and then he picked me up off the ground by my skinny little elbows, hoisted me up to within an inch of his face, and kissed me. I was too shocked to kiss him back. Became dazed and outraged when he shoved all the broken camera pieces inside his backpack, apologized, and walked away.

I cried for two days straight. Stayed in my dorm room until a loud, heavy knock on my door turned into a persistent pounding. I swung the door open to see a brand-new lens sticking out of a bag that also held the most beautiful flower I had ever seen. A purple tulip. Behind the bag stood Blake Jensen. He stole my heart that day. He also kept his promise of giving me a life full of passion. Until he took the passion with him the day he died.

We were married four years later. He died a few days after our two-year anniversary. I haven’t been the same woman since.

I don’t even remember his funeral. All I know is, I was there in my sister’s arms, while Heidi hovered over us. Crying and gripping hold of my stomach with one hand while trying to contain my broken heart to keep beating with the other. My heart may still be beating. However, the pain is still in my chest, and the guilt still sits in the pit of my stomach. Neither one of them will go away.

I’m lost. Utterly broken.

“There’s a big block of ice sitting on my chest, Heidi. It’s the middle of the summer, and it’s still there. Heavier than it was before. It weighs me down. It won’t melt; it won’t move. This hurts so much.”

“Shh. I’ve got you. Let it out.” No, she may think she has me, but she doesn’t. The heavy block has me sinking to the bottom of a dark, gloomy, pointed pit of destruction.

Every day, I tell myself that it’s time to move on. I’ve gone over and over the day Blake died in my head so many times. Convincing myself that he loved his job more than me, that he shouldn’t have agreed to meet a client in upstate New York that morning when the roads were covered in ice and snow. His excuse he used for going into work was lame and unlike him. He claimed it was hard for him seeing me wilt away with everything happening in our home with Alexis. I know he hated what Alexis was doing to herself, to me. Hell, I knew he hated her. Only once did we argue briefly over it. He would hold me when I needed it. Screw me senseless when I didn’t. I thought we would grow old together, and I assumed the love we had was so strong that we would be together forever.

“I never told you this before. When I first met Blake, I didn’t need him to make me whole again. I only needed him. I was determined to find a way to move forward on my own with the weight of losing my parents, with Alexis falling down a hole, but my heart has never healed over losing him. It keeps finding new ways to crack. I’ve become a woman who has no idea what she’s doing anymore. Who she is or the path I’m supposed to walk on. And every day, I ask myself why I can’t let him go. He took so much of me with him when he left, and I need all of me back.” I expect Heidi to say something. She doesn’t. Maybe she wonders if I’m talking to her, myself, or no one in particular. I don’t know. I’m thankful for her silence as much as I’m thankful she’s standing here with me long after all the people have come and gone.

Life isn’t done throwing sharp objects my way either. Nope, it wants to stab me repeatedly up and down my spine. I have to make it through this meeting with Blake’s godfather when life will have me stirring up memories I don’t want to think about once again.

I knew my grandmother was leaving half of everything to me. The other half of her fortune was going to all her favorite charities. What I didn’t expect was what happened five days ago when I went to her house expecting to see her sitting at her kitchen table, looking at the photos I had dropped off earlier. Only she wasn’t. She was slumped down in her chair, barely breathing from a heart attack. My grandmother died before the ambulance arrived. Her kind heart gave out on her while I stroked her hair. She took the last bit of my heart with her. Along with her reason why I had to see her lawyer when she told me where all her paperwork was if, or when, anything were to happen to her.

I’ll never know why she kept who her lawyer was from me. It makes me so angry because I will always wonder why.

I can only hope that when I meet with Hunter, I’m strong enough not to fall apart. I deserted him shortly after Blake’s funeral. Every time I stepped into his home, it was a reminder of Blake. I couldn’t continue to live if I didn’t try to forget him. Regardless of how much I loved my husband, I think Hunter knew I had to try and move on, or I was going to end up in a box beside Blake. A box I haven’t visited since before my sister died.

I’ve never moved on. I’m not sure if I ever will.

“I can’t believe all of you are gone. This will be my first holiday season without any of you. I don't know how I’m going to celebrate when I feel there’s nothing to celebrate. How do I get through this, Grandma? I’m hurting. I miss you all so much. I’m trying to remember the things we did together, the way all of us laughed, and the stories you would tell to keep my parents alive in my heart. You believed in me when I felt I couldn’t go on. I wish I could see you again.” I exhale, hang my head, and let the tears flow. Thankful that Heidi is letting me do this on my own.

My grandmother had started Monroe Boudoir forty years ago in downtown Manhattan. She turned it into one of the top three photography studios this side of the state. Not only did we greet our guests with coffee, water, or mimosas, we consulted, helped them pick out what they would like to wear—if they didn’t bring their own, which most of them never did. We offered hair and makeup services, which I learned to master on my own once Alexis became unreliable. We made them feel as comfortable as we could. We understood that most of our clients were nervous, whether it was their first time modeling in front of a camera or not. Most shoots were done for a boyfriend, husband, or the women who just wanted to feel good about themselves. Those were my favorites. The ones who have no self-confidence. That’s where I’d come in. One of my specialties per se. To get the woman to bring out her inner beauty through the eyes of my lens. Every woman should feel nothing less than the goddess she is. No matter her height, shape, or size. It’s a pity I don’t practice what I preach.

My other specialty was dressing them in the colors that suit their skin tone, the color of their hair, and the meaning behind the shoot in the first place.

Several months ago, she told me she was ready to retire. Asked me if I wanted her to sign over ownership to me. Even though I loved what I did, I wanted more out of my business degree, more out of the passion I had for photography. I told her to sell it. Teased her that if anything were to happen to her, I was moving somewhere peaceful where I could open my own studio. Preferably on a lake. My grandmother’s business sold in less than a day.

I started my own photography business after the Boudoir sold. It was my grandma who convinced me I had the talent to capture a precious moment someone could hold on to forever. I still dabble a little in dressing up window displays. And now, as I drop a rose on my grandma’s casket, inhale deeply with the stinging tears behind my eyes, force my feet to shuffle left to stand in the middle of my parents’ and sister’s graves, I crumble. Not knowing what in the hell I’m going to do with my broken life. My body drains, my legs give out, and I fall to the ground clutching the roses to my aching chest.

“I told Grandma I would always try and smile. How am I supposed to do that when I’m all alone now? What did I ever do to life for it to be such a cruel punishment?” I cry.

“Hey, my friend. You’re not alone.” Heidi kneels beside me, pulling me into her side.

“I know. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m sorry.” I lay the roses in front of the graves, my head spinning, my heart full of grief.

“It’s just…They should be here. My father should be running the business with my mom by his side. My grandma should be sitting at home watching The Price Is Right. Alexis should be here with her bright blue eyes, her smile, her torn heart, and her brilliant mind, and my husband’s arms should be holding me. My heart is missing vital pieces, Heidi, and I don’t think I will ever get them back.”

It took me two months after finding Alexis dead in my house to walk back through the door. Heidi had to pick me up off Alexis’s bedroom floor, where I lay in a pile of her clothes clinging on to her favorite silk clutch. The one I had bought her because the different shades of blue reminded me of her eyes. I carry it with me everywhere now. It’s my lifeline to her. A memento of the young woman she was before she became lost.

I study her tombstone through blurred eyes.

“I bled for you. Every part of me did. I tried with all I had to help you. I tried to understand how you could turn on me. How the drugs sunk their hooks in you and wouldn’t let go. I was finally breathing again. Happy for you. For me to finally be on my way to having my sister home. The sister who used to braid my hair. The girl who would tell me how pretty I was when I would come home from school after the kids would call me names and laugh at me over my bright red hair. How could you of all people do this to me, Alexis? How? I miss you so much there are days I don’t know how I’m still breathing. You left me to pick up the pieces by myself. How am I supposed to do that when all the pieces are covered in guilt? How?” I sob. I hate feeling sorry for myself. I hate it.

I packed her stuff up and moved in with Heidi and her husband, Daniel. Dug my heels into working. I haven’t dated in God knows how long. I go home, curl up on the couch, and cry. I’m tired of crying. Tired of not living, and I’m grieving so bad it hurts. The pain in my chest is unmoving.

Grief is an awful emotion. I’ve lived this monster called pain for far too long, and I know I need to start living. I simply don’t know how.