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It's been two years since I lost the love of my life, Eric. He and I had been together since we were in high-school. It started with that puppy love stage we all know.
Our friends and parents didn't take us seriously when we told them we were going to get married once we finished high-school.
We did.
The summer after our twelfth year, a few months after our high-school graduation, we set the date and were married that December.
Eric knew how much I enjoyed Christmas, not for the gifts, but for the decorations.
I would decorate my parents' house the day after Halloween. My grandmother said I was loopy. We still had to celebrate Thanksgiving, but I didn't care.
On November first, my Christmas tree was up.
So we planned our Christmas marriage, it was the wedding of my dreams. I had a gorgeous gown, puffy and long, with shiny lace flowing down my sides.
Eric even surprised me with a snow machine. We live in the south, and it never snowed, and he knew how much I wanted to see snow for Christmas. He made it happen.
Another reason I loved that man. He did the littlest things to make me happy, to have me smile.
That's right, I had fake snow covering the green grass at my wedding and I didn't care.
We were happy and in love.
That happiness ended four years later.
Once we got married, we both went off to college. We tried our hardest, but we ended up not getting into the same school as one another.
He got a football scholarship, which he needed to be able to afford college. He wanted to turn that down, turn down the scholarship that he earned for me.
He didn't like the idea of us going to separate colleges after we got married, but I talked him into going anyway.
It was a struggle at first, only seeing each other on holiday vacations and in the summer, but we made it work. Our love was strong, and, of course, our class load kept us busy.
He was going to school to become a doctor in sports medicine, and it has always been my dream to become a therapist.
We were once again so happy to be done with our schooling. As soon as we both graduated from college three years after getting married, we moved back home.
We both wanted to live close to our families and the friends that stayed behind. For a whole year, our lives were perfect. We found this adorable two-story house, white fencing, and the neighborhood was friendly.
Our families would come over for Sunday suppers. We would both go out and spend time with our friends, but we're always happy to come home to one another.
We had happiness, genuine happiness for only one year before the accident, the accident that caused me the love of my life's life. He was on his way with to meet with the local college for a job offer as their sport's doctor.
It was a stormy day and I begged him to wait, wait until the storm passed, but he would rather not make a bad first impression.
He told me he would be fine, and that I worried far too much. He kissed me goodbye and told me he loved me.
Those were the last words he ever said to me.
It broke me, losing him, utterly destroyed me. When I got that phone call from the local hospital just thirty minutes after he left, I was numb, but hopefully that he was still alive.
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