A day that ends in tragedy, started with love.

Last week our wedding anniversary came around for the second time for me as a widow.

It is still crazy to say that my marriage is over. Done.

I was married for 15 years. Now I’m not.

My husband died out of nowhere last year and now I have to check the 'single' box on forms or the 'widowed' box, if they have one.

It's still hard to believe.

I’m grateful for a beautiful memory of my husband the morning of his last day on earth. While I can’t recall every word said, I know the way he made me feel that day and it was loved.

Absolutely loved.

It was supposed to be my first ladies’ night of golf for the season. I learned to play golf because of Adam. He endured a lot of terrible golf because of me.

On his last day, Adam was genuinely excited for me. He loved his weekly golf night with friends and wanted me to enjoy the same.

• He loaded my clubs into his car, insisting I take it to have more room.
• He put both of our pushcarts in so I could share one with a friend.
• He added a big new box of pink golf balls to kick off my season of losing pink golf balls.
• He reminded me that he was happy to take care of dinner and the kids that night and sent me off to work ready for a great round of golf with friends after.

Of course, I never got to play.

But my memory of that day, as horrible as it is, starts with Adam taking care of me, making sure I had everything I needed, and showing me how much he loved me.

That I will always remember no matter the nightmare the rest of the day had in store.