Part 1: The Day My World Changed Forever
I married my best friend.
Not just my husband.
My soulmate.
On January 8, 2026, I promised my life to the person who made me feel loved, safe, and understood. I thought we had finally reached the beginning of the life we had dreamed about.
I never imagined that just a few months later, I would be facing a reality I wasn’t prepared for.
On April 6, 2026, my world stopped.
My husband, Hicequon Arnold Sr., passed away unexpectedly.
He was only 44 years old.
And I was the one who found him.
That moment changed me forever.
There are some things the mind struggles to accept.
One moment, you are living your normal life.
The next, everything you knew has disappeared.
The plans you made.
The future you imagined.
The simple everyday moments you assumed you would have forever.
All of it changes in an instant.
My husband wasn’t just someone I married.
He was my best friend.
The person I wanted to tell everything to.
The person I looked forward to seeing at the end of every day.
He was a good man.
A kind man.
Someone whose presence made life feel lighter.
I still find myself thinking:
“This can’t be real.”
“He should still be here.”
“We should still be building our life together.”
But the silence that followed his passing was something I had never known before.
It has only been two months since I lost him.
Two months since I had to say goodbye to the person I thought I would grow old with.
People say time helps heal wounds.
I hope they’re right.
Right now, the pain still feels overwhelming.
I am only 41 years old.
I never imagined having to learn how to live without my husband so soon.
I never imagined walking through the home we shared and feeling his absence in every corner.
For the past month, I have stayed out of state with family.
Being surrounded by loved ones helped me get through those first unbearable weeks.
But now I am preparing to return home.
Our home.
The place where we laughed.
The place where we made memories.
The place where I expected our story to continue.
And I know it will be hard.
I know there will be lonely moments.
Moments when I instinctively want to call him.
Moments when I expect to hear his voice.
Moments when I have to remind myself that life has changed.
But deep in my heart, I believe something.
I believe my husband would want me to keep going.
He would want me to find joy again.
He would want me to live fully, even though a part of my heart is broken.
Because that is the kind of person he was.
Someone who loved deeply.
Someone who wanted the people around him to be happy.
I don’t know what this next chapter will look like.
I don’t know how long this grief will last.
But I know the love we shared was real.
And no one can take that away from me.
My husband may no longer be beside me physically…
But the love, memories, and moments we created will always be part of me.
Rest peacefully, my dear husband, Hicequon Arnold Sr.
September 15, 1981 – April 6, 2026.
You were loved.
You are missed.
And you will never be forgotten.
Part 2: Walking Back Into Our Home Without Him
The hardest part about grief is that the world keeps moving.
People go to work.
Cars drive by.
The sun rises every morning.
But for me, everything changed on April 6, 2026.
My heart is still trying to understand what happened.
I still wake up sometimes expecting this to be a nightmare.
Then reality comes rushing back.
He’s gone.
My husband is gone.
The person I thought I would share decades with is no longer here beside me.
After his passing, I left our home.
I needed to be somewhere surrounded by family.
I needed people around me because being alone felt impossible.
For a month, I stayed out of state, trying to survive each day.
My family held me up when I felt like I couldn’t stand.
They listened when I needed to talk.
They sat with me when I didn’t have words.
They reminded me to eat, rest, and take care of myself.
But eventually, I knew I had to return.
I had to walk back into the home we built together.
And honestly…
I was afraid.
Not because of the house itself.
Because of the memories.
I know the moment I open that door, I will see reminders of him everywhere.
The places where we sat together.
The things he touched.
The routines we shared.
The little details that once felt ordinary but now feel precious.
A home that was once filled with love may suddenly feel too quiet.
I know there will be moments when I reach for my phone to tell him something.
A funny thought.
A small event from my day.
A random thing only he would understand.
And then I will remember.
There will be no reply.
No familiar voice.
No “I’m home.”
That is the kind of pain people don’t always understand.
It isn’t only losing someone.
It is losing thousands of small moments you thought you would have forever.
But I also know something important.
That home is not only a place where I lost him.
It is also the place where I loved him.
Where we laughed.
Where we dreamed.
Where we began our journey as husband and wife.
I don’t want grief to erase those beautiful memories.
I want to honor them.
I want to remember that I was lucky enough to experience a love that many people spend their whole lives searching for.
Even though our time together was far shorter than we deserved, it was meaningful.
It was real.
Some people say, “Be strong.”
But I am learning that strength doesn’t mean pretending you aren’t hurting.
Strength can mean getting out of bed when your heart feels heavy.
Strength can mean walking into an empty house and taking one more step.
Strength can mean admitting:
“I miss him.”
“I love him.”
“I’m hurting.”
And still choosing to continue.
I know my husband would not want me to stop living.
He would want me to laugh again.
He would want me to make memories.
He would want me to find happiness, even if it takes time.
So when I return home, I will not only walk into a place filled with reminders of what I lost.
I will walk into a place filled with proof that I was loved.
And little by little…
One day at a time…
I will learn how to carry that love forward.
Part 3: Learning to Live With the Empty Space
The first night back home was harder than I expected.
I knew it would be difficult.
I tried to prepare myself.
I told myself:
“Take it one moment at a time.”
“Be gentle with yourself.”
“You don’t have to be okay yet.”
But nothing could truly prepare me for walking through the front door and realizing that the person I loved most would not be walking in behind me.
The house looked the same.
The furniture was still where we left it.
The memories were still on the walls.
But something was missing.
Him.
There are so many moments during the day when my heart forgets.
For a brief second, I think:
“I need to tell Hicequon about this.”
“I wonder what he would say.”
“He’ll be home soon.”
Then reality returns.
And that second of forgetting becomes another moment of heartbreak.
I never understood before how grief could feel like losing someone over and over again.
It happens in small moments.
A song.
A familiar place.
A memory.
A quiet evening.
Something that reminds me that my life is not the same anymore.
I found myself looking through our photos.
There were so many smiles.
So many moments I didn’t realize I would one day treasure this much.
Pictures from ordinary days.
The kind of days we never thought would become precious memories.
At the time, we were just living.
We didn’t know we were creating the moments I would later hold onto so tightly.
That is one thing loss teaches you.
The ordinary moments are often the most valuable ones.
A conversation.
A laugh.
A simple hug.
A quiet morning together.
Those are the things we think we have unlimited time for.
Until suddenly, we don’t.
I still struggle with the question:
“Why him?”
Why did someone so good have to leave so soon?
Why did we get such a short time as husband and wife?
I don’t think there is an answer that will ever completely satisfy my heart.
Some questions are just too painful.
But I remind myself of something:
The length of a love story does not determine its value.
Some people spend decades together and never experience the connection we had.
I was blessed to know a man who was my best friend.
A man who loved me.
A man I was proud to call my husband.
Grief has changed me.
I am not the same person I was before April 6.
But I am learning that changing doesn’t mean losing myself.
It means carrying a love that is now part of who I am.
I can miss him and still smile.
I can cry and still have hope.
I can feel broken and still continue.
Both things can exist at the same time.
Some days are harder than others.
Some days I feel like I am making progress.
Other days, the sadness feels just as fresh as the day I lost him.
And that is okay.
Healing is not forgetting.
Healing is learning how to live while still loving someone who is no longer physically here.
I know there will be many difficult days ahead.
But I also know something else.
Hicequon would want me to keep going.
He would want me to find happiness again.
He would want me to live the life we dreamed about.
So I will try.
Not because I am ready.
Not because the pain is gone.
But because the love we shared deserves a future.
And because my story did not end the day his did.
Part 4: Carrying His Love Into My New Life
There are moments when I still cannot believe this is my reality.
I was supposed to be planning our future.
I was supposed to be celebrating our first year of marriage.
I was supposed to be making new memories with my husband.
Instead, I am learning how to live with memories.
That is a sentence I never thought I would have to say.
Before losing Hicequon, I thought grief was only about sadness.
I didn’t understand how much it changes everything.
It changes the way you see time.
It changes what you consider important.
It changes the way you look at ordinary moments.
Now, I notice the little things.
A beautiful sunset.
A kind word from a stranger.
A quiet morning with a cup of coffee.
Things I may have rushed past before now feel meaningful.
Because I know how quickly life can change.
People sometimes tell me:
“He’s in a better place.”
“I know he would want you to be happy.”
“I know time will heal.”
I appreciate every person who tries to comfort me.
But grief doesn’t disappear because someone says the right words.
It becomes something you learn to carry.
Some days, it feels lighter.
Some days, it feels heavier.
But I am learning to make room for both the pain and the love.
One of the hardest things is realizing that the future I imagined with him will never happen.
There will be moments I wish he could see.
Places I wish we could visit.
Things I wish I could tell him.
Milestones that I thought we would celebrate together.
That is a special kind of heartbreak.
Not only missing the person you lost…
But missing the future you were supposed to have.
But I also remind myself of what I did have.
I had a love that was real.
I had a husband who made me feel special.
I had someone who became my best friend.
Many people spend their entire lives searching for that kind of connection.
I was fortunate enough to experience it.
Even though our time together was shorter than anyone expected.
I have started asking myself a different question.
Instead of:
“Why did this happen?”
I ask:
“How can I honor the love we shared?”
The answer is not to stop living.
The answer is not to stay trapped in the day I lost him.
The answer is to carry him with me.
To be kind.
To appreciate life.
To love deeply.
To become the person he always believed I could be.
I know there will be days when I miss him so much it feels impossible.
Days when I wish I could hear his voice one more time.
Days when I would give anything for one more ordinary conversation.
But I also know this:
The love between us did not disappear when he passed away.
Love doesn’t work that way.
The person may be gone, but the impact they leave behind remains.
So I will keep moving forward.
Slowly.
Patiently.
One day at a time.
Not because I have forgotten him.
But because I will never forget him.
Hicequon will always be part of my story.
He was my husband.
My best friend.
My soulmate.
And the love we shared will always be one of the greatest gifts of my life.
Part 5: The Promise I Made to Him
Before Hicequon left this world, I never imagined I would have to learn how to live without him.
When we said our vows on January 8, 2026, I believed we were beginning a long journey together.
I imagined years of memories.
More laughter.
More adventures.
More ordinary days that would become special because we shared them.
I never imagined that only a few months later, I would be standing alone, trying to understand a life without my husband.
There are still moments when I talk to him.
Not because I don’t understand what happened.
But because love doesn’t simply disappear.
Sometimes I tell him about my day.
Sometimes I share a memory.
Sometimes I just sit quietly and think about the life we had.
Those moments remind me that our connection was real.
It mattered.
It still matters.
I often think about the kind of person Hicequon was.
He was caring.
He was loving.
He was someone who brought comfort and happiness into my life.
He wasn’t just my husband.
He was my safe place.
My person.
The one I wanted beside me through everything.
Losing him has left an emptiness that words cannot fully describe.
But the love he gave me also left something behind.
Strength.
Kindness.
Memories.
A reminder of what it feels like to truly love and be loved.
Returning to life without him has been one of the hardest things I have ever faced.
Some days, even simple tasks feel difficult.
Some days, I feel strong.
Other days, I feel like I am starting over.
But I am learning that grief is not a straight path.
There is no schedule.
No perfect way to heal.
I don’t have to rush through it.
I don’t have to pretend I am okay when I am not.
I am allowed to miss him.
I am allowed to cry.
I am allowed to take my time.
But I also made a promise.
A promise to myself.
And a promise to him.
I will keep living.
I will find moments of happiness again.
I will smile again.
I will make new memories.
Not because I am leaving him behind.
But because I know he would want that for me.
The love we shared was never meant to end with pain.
It was meant to continue through the way I live my life.
One day, I hope I can look back and see not only the moment I lost him…
But also all the moments that came after.
The moments when I found strength.
The moments when I helped others.
The moments when I chose hope even when it was difficult.
Hicequon, if somehow you could hear me, I hope you know this:
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for giving me memories I will carry forever.
I wish we had more time.
I wish we had more years.
But I will forever be grateful for the time we did have.
You were my husband.
You were my best friend.
You were one of the greatest blessings of my life.
And I will carry your love with me for the rest of mine.
Rest peacefully, my love.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Part 6: Finding a Way Forward
There is something people don’t always tell you about grief.
The hardest part is not only losing the person.
It is learning how to live in a world where that person is no longer physically here.
Before Hicequon’s passing, I had a future I could picture.
I knew who I would wake up beside.
I knew who I would share my little victories with.
I knew who I would call when something happened during my day.
Now, I am learning how to create a new routine in a life I never asked for.
Some mornings are harder than others.
I wake up and for a brief moment, everything feels normal.
Then I remember.
And that moment of realization is painful all over again.
But I am slowly learning that a difficult morning does not mean I am going backward.
It means I loved someone deeply.
It means he mattered.
It means our time together was meaningful.
I have also learned to accept help.
At first, I wanted to be alone.
I thought I had to be strong.
I thought I had to show everyone that I was handling everything.
But grief is heavy.
And carrying it alone makes it even heavier.
My family and friends have reminded me that I don’t have to walk this road by myself.
A simple phone call.
A shared memory.
A person sitting quietly beside me.
Those things mean more than people realize.
I still have moments where I wonder what life would look like if he were still here.
I think about the plans we had.
The places we wanted to go.
The experiences we wanted to share.
Those thoughts hurt.
But I am learning not to push them away.
Those dreams came from love.
They are proof that we had something beautiful.
I used to think moving forward meant leaving him behind.
Now I understand that isn’t true.
Moving forward means taking him with me.
His kindness.
His love.
The lessons he taught me.
The memories we created.
They are all part of who I am now.
I don’t know exactly what the future will look like.
I don’t know when the pain will feel lighter.
I don’t know when I will be able to think of him without tears.
But I do know this:
I survived the hardest days.
The days when I didn’t know how I would get through the next hour.
The days when the reality felt impossible.
And I am still here.
I believe Hicequon would want me to live.
Not just exist.
Not just survive.
But truly live.
To laugh again.
To experience joy again.
To love the people around me.
To continue becoming the person he saw when he looked at me.
That is how I will honor him.
My story with Hicequon did not end on April 6, 2026.
That was only the day our lives changed.
The love we shared continues in every memory.
Every lesson.
Every moment I choose to keep going.
I will always miss him.
I will always wish we had more time.
But I will also always be grateful.
Because for a beautiful moment in my life…
I had my best friend.
I had my soulmate.
I had my husband.
And that love will stay with me forever.
Part 7: The Love That Remains
There are days when I still reach for my phone to call him.
Days when I want to tell him something funny that happened.
Days when I want to ask his opinion.
Days when I simply want to hear his voice.
And then I remember.
He is not just away.
He is gone.
That realization is one of the hardest parts of grief.
But as time passes, I am learning something important.
Love does not disappear when someone dies.
The relationship changes.
The way I experience that love changes.
But the love itself remains.
It lives in the memories.
It lives in the lessons.
It lives in the person I became because I knew him.
I think about the small things now.
The things I never realized would become treasures.
The conversations we had.
The jokes only we understood.
The way he made ordinary days feel special.
The comfort of knowing someone was always there.
Those moments were gifts.
And even though I would give anything to have more of them, I am grateful I had them at all.
People often ask how I am doing.
Sometimes I don’t know how to answer.
Because grief is complicated.
I can have a good day and still miss him terribly.
I can laugh and still feel sadness.
I can be grateful for my life and still wish he was here.
Both things can be true.
Healing does not mean forgetting.
It does not mean loving him less.
It means learning how to carry love and loss at the same time.
I also think about the future differently now.
Before, I was always planning ahead.
Thinking about what was next.
Waiting for the next milestone.
Now, I understand the importance of today.
The people we love.
The moments we share.
The words we say.
Life is more fragile than we realize.
If there is something you want to say to someone, say it.
If there is someone you love, show them.
Tomorrow is never guaranteed.
Hicequon taught me what it feels like to be loved deeply.
He reminded me that kindness matters.
That friendship is the foundation of a strong relationship.
That a good person can leave a lasting impact in a short amount of time.
Although I wish our story had more chapters, I would never trade the chapters we had.
I still have hard days.
I still cry.
I still miss him more than words can explain.
But I also have hope.
Hope that one day I will wake up and the memories will bring more smiles than tears.
Hope that I will laugh freely again.
Hope that I will continue living the life he wanted for me.
So today, I make a promise.
I will not let the worst day of my life be the only thing I remember.
I will remember our wedding day.
I will remember our happiness.
I will remember the love.
I will remember the man who made my life better simply by being in it.
Hicequon, you were my husband.
My best friend.
My greatest blessing.
Thank you for the love you gave me.
Thank you for the memories.
Thank you for choosing me.
I will carry your love with me every day until we meet again.
Forever loved. Forever missed.
Part 8: A New Chapter, With His Love Beside Me
I used to think moving forward meant leaving the past behind.
I thought healing meant one day waking up and no longer missing him.
But I have learned that isn’t what healing is.
Healing is learning how to carry someone you love in a different way.
It is learning how to live with the memories instead of being trapped by the pain.
There are still moments that surprise me.
A song comes on the radio.
I see something that reminds me of him.
I walk into a room and remember a conversation we had.
For a moment, my heart feels that familiar ache.
But now, along with the sadness, there is also gratitude.
Gratitude that I had someone so special to miss.
Gratitude that I experienced a love so meaningful.
Hicequon gave me something that can never be taken away.
He gave me memories.
He gave me moments that will always belong to us.
No amount of time can erase the laughter we shared.
No one can take away the kindness he showed me.
No one can change the fact that, for a time, I was loved by an amazing man.
I have started to understand that my life is not divided into “before him” and “after him.”
He is still part of my story.
The years, months, and moments we shared shaped who I am.
The love we had changed me.
And I want that change to be something beautiful.
I want to be more compassionate.
More present.
More grateful.
More willing to tell the people I love how much they mean to me.
Returning to our home was one of the hardest things I have ever done.
But slowly, it became something else.
It became a place where I remember love.
Not only loss.
A place where we laughed.
A place where we dreamed.
A place where two people created a life together.
That matters.
I know there will still be difficult days.
Grief doesn’t disappear just because time passes.
Some dates will always be hard.
Some memories will always bring tears.
But I also know there will be good days.
Days when I smile because I remember him.
Days when I tell a story about him and laugh.
Days when I feel the love instead of only the pain.
If I could tell anyone going through loss one thing, it would be this:
Don’t rush your grief.
Don’t compare your healing to anyone else’s.
There is no correct timeline for missing someone.
Love deeply, and you will grieve deeply.
That pain is not a weakness.
It is evidence that someone mattered.
My life with Hicequon was shorter than I ever imagined.
But it was filled with something many people spend their entire lives searching for.
A true connection.
A friendship.
A love that felt like home.
And I will always be thankful for that.
Hicequon, I hope you know this:
I am trying.
I am learning.
I am taking one day at a time.
I will continue to live, not because I have forgotten you…
But because I love you.
Your love gave me strength.
Your memory gives me courage.
And your place in my heart will always remain.
Until we meet again, my love.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Part 9: The Life I Will Continue to Live
There was a time when I couldn’t imagine making it through a single day without Hicequon.
The thought of a future without him felt impossible.
How do you continue when the person you planned your life around is suddenly gone?
How do you wake up and accept that the dreams you had together will not happen the way you imagined?
I still don’t have all the answers.
But I have learned something important.
The human heart can carry both love and pain at the same time.
I will always miss him.
That will never change.
There will always be a part of me that wishes I could have just one more conversation with him.
One more hug.
One more ordinary day together.
But I also know that Hicequon would not want my life to end with his passing.
He would want me to find happiness again.
He would want me to laugh.
He would want me to experience the beauty that still exists in this world.
So I am making a promise.
I will live.
Not a life where I forget him.
A life where I honor him.
I will carry his love into everything I do.
I will be kinder because I knew him.
I will appreciate people more because I know how precious time is.
I will stop taking ordinary moments for granted.
There are still moments when grief takes my breath away.
A special date.
A familiar place.
A memory that appears unexpectedly.
But I am learning not to fear those moments.
They are reminders.
They remind me that I was lucky enough to love someone deeply.
They remind me that our time together mattered.
I have realized something about love.
The goal was never to have a life without loss.
The goal is to have a life filled with enough love that the memories remain worth the pain.
And I had that.
I had a husband who was my best friend.
I had someone who made me feel seen.
I had someone who brought happiness into my life.
That is something I will always treasure.
As I move forward, I know there will be new chapters.
New experiences.
New challenges.
New moments I wish I could share with him.
But I will take him with me.
Not in a way that prevents me from living.
In a way that inspires me to live fully.
Because the greatest way I can honor the love we shared is to continue becoming the person he loved.
Hicequon, thank you for the time we had.
Thank you for every smile.
Thank you for every memory.
Thank you for being my husband, my friend, and my soulmate.
I wish our story had more years.
I wish we had more time.
But I will forever be grateful that our paths crossed.
You will always be a part of me.
And I will carry your love for the rest of my life.
Rest peacefully, my love.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Your love remains. Your memory lives on.
Part 10: Forever My Husband, Forever in My Heart
Time continues to move forward, even when part of my heart feels frozen in the moment I lost him.
Some days, I still find it hard to believe that I am living this life.
A life I never chose.
A life where I have to say “my late husband” instead of simply saying “my husband.”
Those words still feel strange.
They still hurt.
Because in my heart, he will always be my husband.
I often think about our wedding day.
January 8, 2026.
The day we promised each other forever.
I remember the happiness.
The excitement.
The feeling that we were finally beginning the chapter we had waited for.
I wish I could go back and tell myself:
“Hold onto every second.”
“Take more pictures.”
“Say ‘I love you’ one more time.”
“Never assume you have unlimited time.”
Because now I understand something I never wanted to learn:
Tomorrow is never promised.
The hardest part about losing Hicequon is knowing how much life he still had left to live.
He had dreams.
Plans.
Love to give.
There were still so many moments we were supposed to share.
But even though his life ended sooner than anyone expected, the love he gave was complete.
He made an impact.
He mattered.
He changed my life.
I have learned that grief is not something you simply “get over.”
You don’t stop loving someone because they are gone.
You don’t erase years of memories.
You don’t forget the person who changed your world.
Instead, you learn to carry the love differently.
At first, the memories felt painful because they reminded me of what I lost.
Now, I am slowly learning to let those same memories remind me of what I was blessed to have.
I still have moments where I cry.
I still have moments where I feel lonely.
I still have moments where I wish life had taken a different path.
But I also have moments of peace.
Moments where I smile thinking about him.
Moments where I feel grateful.
Moments where I realize that love like ours is rare.
I want people to know something about Hicequon.
He was not just a name or a date.
He was a person who was loved.
He was a husband.
A friend.
A family member.
Someone who made the world better for the people who knew him.
His life mattered.
His love mattered.
As I continue this journey, I will keep choosing life.
I will keep finding reasons to smile.
I will keep creating memories.
I will keep loving the people around me.
Not because I have forgotten him.
Because I know he would want me to.
My dear Hicequon,
I hope you know how much you were loved.
I hope you know how much you are missed.
I hope you know that every beautiful thing you brought into my life still remains.
You gave me a love story I will always cherish.
Even though our time was far too short…
It was real.
It was meaningful.
It was ours.
Forever my husband.
Forever my best friend.
Forever in my heart.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Until we meet again, my love.
Part 11: The Strength I Never Knew I Had
Before I lost Hicequon, I never thought I would be strong enough to face a pain like this.
I used to think strength meant having everything under control.
Having answers.
Knowing what comes next.
But grief has taught me a different kind of strength.
Sometimes strength is simply getting out of bed.
Sometimes strength is taking a shower when you don’t feel like moving.
Sometimes strength is walking through a quiet house and reminding yourself:
“I am still here.”
There are moments when I miss the life we were supposed to have.
I think about all the things we planned.
The places we wanted to see.
The memories we wanted to create.
The years we thought were waiting for us.
Those thoughts are painful.
But I am learning not to only focus on what was taken away.
I also focus on what was given.
I was given a love that was genuine.
I was given a husband who became my best friend.
I was given memories that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
People sometimes tell me:
“You are so strong.”
But they don’t always see the moments when I break down.
They don’t see the quiet tears.
They don’t see the moments when I miss him so much that words cannot explain it.
And that’s okay.
Being strong does not mean I never hurt.
It means I continue even while I hurt.
I have started noticing signs of healing.
Not because I miss him less.
I will never miss him less.
But because I am learning how to carry the love without being completely consumed by the pain.
I can look at a picture of him and smile.
I can tell a story about him and laugh.
I can remember our love and feel gratitude instead of only sadness.
I know Hicequon would want me to keep living.
I know he would want me to experience happiness again.
He would not want me to spend the rest of my life only remembering the day I lost him.
He would want me to remember the days before that.
The laughter.
The love.
The moments that made our relationship special.
So I am choosing to honor him by living.
I will take care of myself.
I will continue growing.
I will be open to joy when it finds me.
I will appreciate every person who walks beside me.
Because Hicequon taught me something important:
Life is precious.
Love is precious.
And every moment we are given is a gift.
I still wish we had more time.
I still wish I could hear his voice.
I still wish I could tell him one more time how much I love him.
But I also know this:
The love we shared was not erased by his passing.
It became part of me.
And as long as I carry that love, a part of him will always be with me.
My journey is not about forgetting Hicequon.
It is about learning how to live while loving him forever.
One day at a time.
One memory at a time.
One breath at a time.
Forever my husband.
Forever my best friend.
Forever loved.
Part 12: The Memories That Keep Me Going
There are days when the pain of losing Hicequon feels overwhelming.
Days when I wish I could go back to the moment before everything changed.
Just one ordinary day.
One more conversation.
One more chance to tell him how much he meant to me.
But I know I cannot go backward.
So instead, I hold onto what we had.
I have started realizing that memories are a gift.
At first, every memory felt painful.
A photo.
A message.
A place we visited.
A song we loved.
Everything reminded me that he was gone.
But slowly, something began to change.
Those same memories started reminding me that he was here.
That he loved me.
That we laughed together.
That we created something beautiful, even if our time was shorter than we ever imagined.
I think about the little things the most.
Not just the big moments.
The everyday moments.
The conversations that seemed ordinary at the time.
The jokes only we understood.
The way we spent time together without needing anything special to happen.
Those simple moments are now some of my most treasured memories.
Because love is often found in the ordinary.
Sometimes I wonder if I told him enough.
Did he know how much I loved him?
Did he know how grateful I was to have him?
Did he know how much happiness he brought into my life?
I hope he did.
But I also remind myself that love is not only spoken.
It is shown.
It was shown in the way we cared for each other.
The way we chose each other.
The way we built our life together.
Grief has changed the way I look at time.
Before, I thought there would always be another day.
Another chance.
Another conversation.
Now, I understand how precious every moment is.
I try not to rush through life anymore.
I try to notice the small things.
A beautiful morning.
A kind person.
A meaningful conversation.
Because those are the moments that become memories.
There are still hard days ahead.
I know that.
There will be anniversaries.
Birthdays.
Special dates.
Moments when I wish he was standing beside me.
But I am learning that missing him and moving forward can exist together.
I can love him forever and still continue living.
I can carry sadness and still find moments of happiness.
Hicequon gave me a love that changed my life.
Even though our time together was far too short, it was filled with meaning.
Some people measure love by years.
I measure it by the depth of the connection.
The kindness.
The friendship.
The memories.
So when I feel lonely, I remind myself:
I was lucky enough to know him.
Lucky enough to love him.
Lucky enough to be loved by him.
That is something no loss can take away.
My heart will always have a place for Hicequon.
Not a place filled only with sadness.
A place filled with gratitude.
Because he was not only the person I lost.
He was the beautiful part of my life I was blessed to have.
Forever remembered.
Forever loved.
Forever my husband.
Part 13: The Days I Never Thought I Would Face
There are moments when I still catch myself thinking about the future we were supposed to have.
I imagine Hicequon beside me.
I imagine telling him about my day.
I imagine the conversations we would have had.
The memories we would have created.
The ordinary moments that I once believed were guaranteed.
And then I remember…
Life changed in a way I never expected.
No one prepares you for the silence after losing someone you love.
The world can feel strangely normal.
People continue with their routines.
The seasons change.
Days pass.
But inside, your heart is trying to understand something that feels impossible.
How can everything keep moving when the person who meant so much is no longer here?
I have learned that grief has its own rhythm.
Some days, I feel like I am taking steps forward.
I can smile.
I can talk about him.
I can remember happy moments.
Then another day comes, and the sadness feels heavy again.
At first, I thought that meant I was going backward.
Now I understand.
It simply means I loved him deeply.
I also realize that I don’t want to forget the pain completely.
That may sound strange.
But the pain exists because the love existed.
The emptiness I feel is the space left behind by someone who brought so much meaning into my life.
I don’t want to erase that.
I want to honor it.
I have started asking myself:
“What would Hicequon want for me now?”
I know the answer.
He would want me to take care of myself.
He would want me to find moments of joy.
He would want me to laugh without feeling guilty.
He would want me to live.
Not because I am moving on from him…
But because I am carrying his love with me.
Some people worry that happiness after loss means forgetting the person who died.
But I am learning that happiness is not betrayal.
Smiling does not mean I miss him less.
Enjoying a moment does not mean I love him less.
Living does not mean I am leaving him behind.
The love we shared changed me.
It taught me to appreciate the present.
It taught me that people are more important than possessions.
It taught me that the simple moments are often the greatest gifts.
I still have difficult days.
I still miss him.
I still wish I could hear his voice.
I still wish we had more time.
But I also have hope.
Hope that my heart can heal while still holding his memory.
Hope that I can build a meaningful life while keeping our love alive.
Hicequon,
I hope you know that you are still part of my everyday life.
In the way I think.
In the way I love.
In the way I appreciate the world around me.
Your time here was too short.
But your impact will last forever.
I will continue walking forward, carrying the love we shared.
Not forgetting you.
Not replacing you.
Simply honoring you.
Forever my husband.
Forever my best friend.
Forever in my heart.
Part 14: The Love That Time Cannot Take Away
I used to believe that losing someone meant losing everything connected to them.
The laughter.
The memories.
The future you imagined.
The feeling of being loved.
But I am slowly learning that loss does not erase love.
It changes the way we carry it.
There are moments when I walk through our home and remember the life we shared.
The little routines.
The conversations.
The quiet moments that only mattered because we were together.
Those memories are everywhere.
At first, they felt like reminders of what I lost.
Now, I am learning to see them as reminders of what I was blessed to have.
Hicequon was not only my husband.
He was my friend.
The person I trusted.
The person I could be completely myself with.
The person who made ordinary days feel special.
That kind of connection is something I will always be grateful for.
I sometimes wonder if people understand how much a sudden loss changes a person.
There is no time to prepare.
No chance to slowly adjust.
One day you are planning a future.
The next day you are learning how to live in a world that looks completely different.
It takes time for the heart and mind to catch up.
But through all of this, I have discovered a strength I never knew I had.
Not the kind of strength where I never cry.
Not the kind where I pretend everything is okay.
The real kind.
The kind that says:
“I am hurting, but I am still here.”
“I miss him, but I will keep going.”
“My heart is broken, but it is still capable of love.”
I know Hicequon would want me to experience life again.
He would want me to see beautiful places.
To laugh with friends.
To enjoy the little moments.
To make new memories.
Not because our memories no longer matter.
But because they matter so much.
Sometimes I feel guilty when I have a good day.
When I laugh.
When I enjoy something.
When I feel a moment of peace.
But I am learning that happiness is not a sign that I have forgotten him.
It is a sign that his love gave me something valuable.
A reminder that life is still worth living.
The future is different now.
It is not the future I planned.
It is not the future I wanted.
But it is still a life worth living.
And I believe I can honor Hicequon by making the most of it.
My love for him did not end on April 6, 2026.
That was only the day our lives changed.
The love continues.
In my memories.
In my heart.
In the person I become from knowing him.
Hicequon,
Thank you for the time we shared.
Thank you for the love you gave me.
Thank you for making me feel special.
I wish we had more years.
I wish we had more moments.
But I will always be grateful for the ones we had.
You will always be my husband.
You will always be my best friend.
And you will always have a place in my heart.
Forever loved. Forever remembered.
Part 15: The Promise to Keep Living
When I first lost Hicequon, I couldn’t imagine a future without him.
The thought of moving forward felt impossible.
How could I continue living when the person I wanted beside me was no longer here?
How could I make new plans when the plans we made together were suddenly gone?
For a while, I didn’t have answers.
I only had grief.
But slowly, day by day, something began to change.
I started to understand that continuing to live does not mean leaving him behind.
It means honoring the love we shared.
It means taking the beautiful parts of him with me.
His kindness.
His patience.
His love.
His ability to make people feel cared for.
I think about what Hicequon would say if he could see me now.
I believe he would tell me not to give up on life.
He would tell me to smile again.
He would tell me to spend time with the people who love me.
He would tell me that my happiness mattered.
Because that is the kind of man he was.
He wanted the people he loved to be okay.
I know I will always have moments of sadness.
There will always be days when I miss him more than others.
Days when I wish I could hear his voice.
Days when I wish I could share something with him.
But I am learning that grief and love can exist together.
I can miss him and still find joy.
I can cry and still be grateful.
I can remember the pain of losing him while celebrating the blessing of having him.
Our marriage may have been shorter than we ever imagined.
But it was not measured only by time.
It was measured by connection.
By trust.
By friendship.
By the love we gave each other.
A lifetime of love can sometimes happen in moments.
And I know I was fortunate to experience something so special.
I have started looking ahead again.
Not because I have forgotten the past.
But because I know my life still has meaning.
There are still people who need my love.
There are still places I want to see.
There are still memories waiting to be made.
And I believe Hicequon would be proud of me for choosing to live.
If I could tell him one last thing, it would be this:
“Thank you.”
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for giving me a love story I will carry forever.
Thank you for showing me what it feels like to truly be someone’s person.
I will miss you for the rest of my life.
But I will also love you for the rest of my life.
And every step I take forward will carry a piece of the love we shared.
You were not just a chapter in my story.
You were one of the most beautiful parts of it.
Rest peacefully, my dear husband.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Your life was a gift.
Your love was a blessing.
Your memory will always be a part of me.
Forever my husband. Forever my best friend.
Part 16: Until We Meet Again
There are still moments when I wake up and wish this was all a bad dream.
Moments when I forget for just a second that my life has changed forever.
I still want to turn to Hicequon and tell him something.
I still want to hear his thoughts.
I still want to share the little things that happen throughout my day.
Then I remember…
And my heart feels that familiar ache.
But alongside the sadness, there is something else now.
Gratitude.
I am grateful that I knew a love like this.
I am grateful that I was blessed to call him my husband.
I am grateful that, even for a short time, I experienced a connection that many people spend a lifetime searching for.
Not everyone gets to find their best friend in the person they marry.
I did.
And I will always treasure that.
People often say that someone is gone when they pass away.
But I don’t believe love works that way.
Hicequon is still present in the ways he changed me.
He is in the memories I carry.
He is in the lessons I learned.
He is in the love I continue to give.
The person we love leaves a mark on our heart that time cannot erase.
I know my journey forward will not always be easy.
There will be anniversaries that hurt.
There will be special moments when I wish he was standing beside me.
There will be days when I miss him with an intensity that surprises me.
But there will also be beautiful moments.
Moments where I laugh.
Moments where I feel peace.
Moments where I remember him and smile.
I no longer want to think only about the day I lost him.
I want to remember the days I had him.
The happiness.
The love.
The friendship.
The promises.
The dreams.
The moments that made our story ours.
Because Hicequon’s life was not defined by how it ended.
It was defined by how he lived and how deeply he was loved.
I carry a promise with me now.
A promise to keep going.
A promise to take care of myself.
A promise to appreciate every day I am given.
A promise to live fully, just as I know he would want me to.
Hicequon,
I wish you could see me now.
I wish you could see how hard I am trying.
I wish you could know that your love continues to guide me.
Thank you for every moment.
Thank you for every laugh.
Thank you for every memory.
Thank you for being my husband and my best friend.
Our time together was far too short.
But the love we shared was real.
And real love does not disappear.
It stays.
It becomes part of who we are.
It continues through every memory and every moment we carry forward.
Until we meet again, my love…
Rest peacefully.
You will always have a place in my heart.
You will always be remembered.
You will always be loved.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Forever my husband. Forever my soulmate. Forever loved.
Part 17: The Heart Learns to Breathe Again
I used to wonder if there would ever come a day when I could breathe normally again.
Not because I would stop missing Hicequon.
Not because the love would become smaller.
But because the pain of losing him felt so overwhelming that I couldn’t imagine carrying it forever.
In the beginning, every moment felt connected to the loss.
Every morning reminded me.
Every evening reminded me.
Every quiet moment reminded me.
It felt like my entire world had changed, while everyone else continued living as if nothing happened.
But slowly, I began to notice something.
My heart was learning.
It was learning that remembering him did not always have to bring only pain.
A memory could bring a smile.
A story could bring laughter.
A photograph could remind me not only of the day I lost him, but of all the beautiful days I had with him.
The love was always bigger than the loss.
I just needed time to see that.
I have realized that grief is not about closing a door.
It is about learning how to walk through a new one.
Hicequon will always be part of my life story.
That chapter will never be erased.
But I am allowed to keep writing.
I am allowed to have new experiences.
I am allowed to find happiness again.
Sometimes I still feel guilty when I imagine a happy future.
A part of me wonders:
“How can I be happy when he is not here?”
But then I remember the person he was.
He would not want my life to be filled only with sadness.
He would want me to smile.
He would want me to laugh.
He would want me to live with the same love and kindness that he showed me.
I now understand that honoring someone does not mean staying frozen in the moment you lost them.
Honoring someone means carrying the best parts of them forward.
It means allowing their love to continue through you.
Hicequon taught me that love is not measured only by time.
Our marriage was short.
But the love was deep.
The connection was real.
The memories are priceless.
And no amount of time can take that away.
There are still moments when I miss him so much that words fail me.
I still wish I could have one more conversation.
One more laugh.
One more ordinary day.
But instead of only asking why I lost him, I am learning to ask:
“How lucky was I to have him?”
And the answer is:
Very lucky.
I had a husband who was my best friend.
I had someone who made me feel loved.
I had someone whose presence changed my life.
That is something I will always carry.
So I will keep going.
Slowly.
Patiently.
With love.
With memories.
With hope.
My heart may have a scar now.
But it is still a heart capable of loving.
And that is because of Hicequon.
My dear husband,
Thank you for being my greatest blessing.
Thank you for the love we shared.
Thank you for the memories I will carry forever.
I will continue living.
I will continue loving.
I will continue remembering you.
Until we meet again.
Forever my husband.
Forever my best friend.
Forever in my heart.
Part 18: The Love Story That Will Always Be Mine
There are moments when I look back and still cannot believe how quickly life changed.
One day, I was a wife making plans for the future.
The next, I was learning how to live with a goodbye I was never prepared to say.
But even though our story changed, I will never say that our story ended.
Because love does not end when someone leaves this world.
Hicequon, our time together was not as long as we deserved.
We should have had more birthdays.
More holidays.
More mornings waking up beside each other.
More simple conversations.
More ordinary days that would have become precious memories.
I will always wish we had more.
But I will never let the sadness of what we lost erase the beauty of what we had.
I think about the way we found each other.
The friendship.
The trust.
The feeling of knowing I had found someone who truly understood me.
You were not just my husband.
You were my safe place.
My person.
The one I chose.
The one who chose me.
People sometimes think a short marriage means a short love story.
But they are wrong.
A love story is not measured only by years.
It is measured by the moments that change your heart.
It is measured by the kindness you shared.
The laughter you created.
The comfort you gave each other.
The memories that remain long after the moment has passed.
I have learned that grief comes in waves.
Some days are calm.
Some days are overwhelming.
But every wave carries the same message:
I loved someone deeply.
And I was loved deeply in return.
That is not something to regret.
That is something to cherish.
I am beginning to rebuild my life.
Not the life I planned.
A different one.
A life where I carry your memory with me.
A life where I continue to grow.
A life where I allow myself to experience happiness again.
Because I know you would want that.
I want to live in a way that would make you proud.
I want to be kind.
I want to appreciate the people around me.
I want to notice the beauty in small moments.
I want to make the most of every day I am given.
Because you taught me how precious life is.
Hicequon,
Your story did not end the day you passed away.
It continues through everyone who loves you.
It continues through the memories you created.
It continues through the impact you made.
And it continues through me.
I will always carry you in my heart.
Not as only the person I lost…
But as the person who gave me one of the greatest gifts of my life:
A love I will never forget.
Thank you for being my husband.
Thank you for being my best friend.
Thank you for being my soulmate.
Until we meet again…
Forever yours.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
A beautiful love. A lasting memory. A forever bond.
Part 19: The Days Ahead, With Love Beside Me
I never imagined that my life would look like this.
At 41 years old, I thought I was beginning the next beautiful chapter of my life with my husband.
I thought we had so much time.
I thought we would grow older together.
I thought our home would continue to be filled with laughter, conversations, and memories.
I never imagined that I would have to learn how to live without him.
But life has taught me something I never wanted to learn:
We cannot control how much time we are given.
We can only choose how we use the time we have.
And I am choosing to be grateful.
Grateful for every moment I had with Hicequon.
Grateful for every smile.
Every conversation.
Every memory.
Every day I was able to call him my husband.
There are still moments when I feel the weight of his absence.
A quiet room.
An empty space beside me.
A moment when I want to share something with him.
Those moments remind me how much he meant to me.
But they also remind me how lucky I was to have someone worth missing this much.
I am slowly learning how to create a life that honors both my love for him and my own future.
I can hold onto him while still moving forward.
I can miss him while still finding joy.
I can remember the past while still creating new moments.
These things do not cancel each other out.
I know some people may not understand grief unless they have experienced it themselves.
They may wonder why certain days are harder.
Why certain memories bring tears.
Why someone can seem okay one moment and overwhelmed the next.
But grief is love with nowhere to go.
It is the heart trying to adjust to a reality it never wanted.
I am learning to be patient with myself.
I don’t have to have everything figured out.
I don’t have to rush healing.
I don’t have to pretend the loss doesn’t hurt.
I only have to keep taking one step at a time.
When I think about Hicequon, I don’t want my first thought to always be the day I lost him.
I want to remember the man I loved.
The man who made me laugh.
The man who stood beside me.
The man who became my husband and my best friend.
His life was so much more than the moment he left.
So I will continue.
I will wake up.
I will breathe.
I will make plans.
I will find moments of happiness.
I will keep loving.
And I will carry him with me every step of the way.
Hicequon,
If you could see me now, I hope you would know that I am trying.
I am learning.
I am healing.
I am keeping the love we shared alive.
Thank you for the time we had.
Thank you for the love you gave.
Thank you for being the person who made my heart feel at home.
Our story was not as long as we wanted.
But it was real.
It was beautiful.
And it will always be mine.
Forever my husband.
Forever my best friend.
Forever loved.
Part 20: A Love That Lives On Forever
I used to think the greatest tragedy was losing someone I loved.
Now I understand something deeper.
The greatest gift was that I had someone worth loving so deeply.
Hicequon was not just a part of my life.
He was a part of my heart.
And even though I cannot see him, hear him, or hold his hand anymore, the love we shared is still with me.
There are so many things I wish I could tell him.
I wish I could tell him how much I miss him.
I wish I could tell him how many times I think about him.
I wish I could tell him that the little moments we shared mean more to me now than ever before.
But if I could tell him only one thing, it would be:
“Thank you.”
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for making me feel like I was home.
Our time together was short compared to what we hoped for.
But love is not measured only by the number of years.
Some people spend a lifetime together and never experience the connection we found.
I will always be grateful that I got to know what true companionship felt like.
I have learned that healing does not mean I stop missing him.
It means I learn how to live while carrying his memory.
It means I can look back at our photos and feel both sadness and happiness.
It means I can talk about him and celebrate the person he was.
It means I can continue my life without ever forgetting the love that brought me here.
There will always be a part of me that wishes for more time.
More conversations.
More adventures.
More mornings together.
More ordinary days.
But I refuse to let only the ending define our story.
Our story was not just about losing him.
Our story was about finding each other.
About loving each other.
About creating something beautiful.
I believe Hicequon would want me to live fully.
Not because I am moving on from him.
But because I am moving forward with him in my heart.
I will laugh again.
I will make memories again.
I will find happiness again.
And every beautiful moment I experience will be a reminder of the love that shaped me.
To anyone who has lost someone they love:
Be patient with yourself.
Grief has no timetable.
Some days will be harder than others.
But every day you keep going is a victory.
Every moment you choose hope is an act of courage.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
You were my husband.
You were my best friend.
You were my soulmate.
Your time on this earth was precious.
Your love was a blessing.
Your memory is a treasure I will carry forever.
I will continue living.
I will continue loving.
I will continue remembering.
Because the greatest way I can honor you is to make the most of the life I still have.
Until we meet again, my love…
Thank you for being my forever.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Forever loved. Forever missed. Forever in my heart.
The Ending: Forever Carrying His Love
Months have passed since the day my world changed forever.
There are still moments when I wake up and wish I could go back to the life we were supposed to have.
The life where Hicequon was beside me.
The life where we were growing older together.
The life where our home was filled with his voice, his laughter, and his presence.
But I have learned that love does not disappear just because someone is no longer physically here.
I used to wonder if I would ever feel whole again.
I wondered if the pain would always feel this heavy.
I wondered how I could continue without the person who was my best friend and my soulmate.
Now I understand something important:
I will never be the same person I was before losing him.
And that is okay.
Because loving Hicequon changed me.
Knowing him changed me.
The memories we created changed me.
I no longer measure my life only by what I lost.
I also measure it by what I was blessed to have.
I had a husband who loved me.
I had a friend who stood beside me.
I had someone who made my life brighter simply by being in it.
That is a gift I will always treasure.
There will always be days when I miss him.
There will always be moments when I wish I could call him.
There will always be a place in my heart that belongs only to him.
But I am learning that carrying his memory does not mean I cannot move forward.
It means I take the love we shared with me.
I will continue living the life he would want for me.
I will find moments of happiness.
I will laugh again.
I will make new memories.
I will appreciate the people around me.
Not because I have forgotten Hicequon…
But because I know he would want me to be happy.
My husband’s life was far too short.
But the love he gave was powerful.
The impact he made was real.
And the memories we created will stay with me forever.
A person may leave this world, but the love they leave behind continues.
Hicequon,
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for giving me a beautiful chapter of my life that I will carry forever.
I wish we had more time.
I wish we had more years.
But I will always be grateful for the time we did have.
You were my husband.
You were my best friend.
You were my soulmate.
This is not goodbye forever.
This is simply goodbye for now.
Until the day we meet again, I will keep your love in my heart and continue living the life we dreamed of.
Rest peacefully, my dear husband.
Hicequon Arnold Sr.
9/15/1981 – 4/6/2026
Forever loved. Forever remembered. Forever my husband.
