Author: Mikki Eveloff

So I was learning to live alone. Wake up in an empty house. Quiet. Nobody sitting at the bar reading the newspaper. No coffee brewing. No coffee cup waiting for me. I had to do it alone. Mornings were tough. It was one of our “moments.” I’d make his ritual breakfast. OJ with water. Never full strength. Oatmeal. Or Bagel. Half butter. Half peanut butter. He was a ritual guy. If I switched things up, it had to be sneaky. Or slow. And then he’d go back to the same old, same old. I understood. I’m worse. We’d chat. Sometimes he’d rattle off a to-do list. I’d get frustrated. Wait. All of this? Today? He’d say, “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” I’d banter back, “No, it’s fine.” And back and forth we’d go. Why didn’t I just make it easy for him? He had so much on his plate as it was. What was I thinking? Selfish. Ugh. Can’t go back. Wish I could. So those are the things I missed. I thought about them every morning. In the silence. But I was learning. It was a day by day thing.

Family and friends were coming in town. The memorial. It was time. Three nights of visitors. At my home. Coming to see us. Talk. Again. “What happened? Are you okay? How are you doing? You are so strong.” I understood. People didn’t know what to say. So that’s what they said. I will know better. When the time comes. For someone. “How are doing?” I wanted to scream, “How do you think I’m doing? I suck! I just lost my best friend. My soul mate. The love of my life. Honestly, I have never been worse.” But, I didn’t. Instead, I remotely responded. “I’m fine. Okay. Some days better than others. Holding up.” I smiled. Kept talking. Told the story. Talked about Gregger. Even tried to laugh a little. No tears. Held them back. Best I could. When everyone left, I cried.

Strength test number “who knows at this point?” The memorial. Writing my speech. Preparing for hundreds of people to arrive. Standing in front of thousands to present the biggest speech of my life. The one that mattered most. People asked,”How could you?” I did not have a choice. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t. I had to honor Gregger. I had to be strong enough. Put EVERYTHING aside for him. I wanted to share with family, friends and colleagues the BEST of what Gregger left to this world. I could not let him down. I could not let myself down. One final moment to glorify his being. To make sense of his time on earth. And his being taken away. There was no choice. I knew it was in my heart. My soul. My spirit. I could do this. So I did.

I remember standing at the podium. My voice shaking. My hands shaking. My heart pounding. But my feet were planted solidly on the ground. This was it. I looked into the immense crowd at US Airways Arena. I saw no one. I saw everyone. And then I spoke. I wanted to speak forever. I did not want the moment to end. Because this would be final. This would close the chapter. And I did not want it to be over. I wanted Gregger to stay with us. If we kept talking, showing videos, reminiscing, he would still be here. But we had to stop. I saw his picture beaming from the monitor high above the crowd. Eyes twinkling. Smile sparkling. Well, that smile. There will never be another. And I knew right then that he was looking down on us. I knew we would all be okay.

I ride the waves. They come. They go. I’m up. I’m down. But I’m moving. Strength. Courage. Positivity. My guiding lights to a new life.

To be continued…