Life has a way of presenting the bad and the ugly in the worst possible way. At first, when you think life couldn't get any worse than it already is, you realize you were wrong and that the worst was yet to come. 

I stood with a vacant expression in front of the grave, the horrible scene being replayed repeatedly inside my head. Her cries, the pain in her eyes, the look she gave me, almost as if she knew it was the end for her. The beeping monitor going silent. Her last words were stuck in my head. 

'Theo please let our child have the best possible life and show her so much love and care that I won't be able to and remind her each day that I love her so much.'

The funeral was over an hour ago but here I was staring at her grave wishing that everything that's happened the past week was just a nightmare. Only a few people including Grace were still here. 

After cleaning up, only Grace and I were left. She offered to drive me home and after a while I reluctantly accepted her offer. We arrived at my home and I invited her in. I gave her a glass of water which she thanked me for.

"Are you okay, Theo?" Grace asks with a concerned look washing her face and I give her a light smile saying, "I'm fine really. That's like the millionth time you've asked me and my answer has remained the same."

"Just because you keep responding with the same answer isn't going to make it hurt any less. Theodore you just lost your wife, it's okay to grieve. That's what Nessa would want. She wouldn't want you to hide your feelings, especially in front of your friends. So when I ask if you're okay, I want you to be honest. I want you tell me how you're feeling, cry if you want Theo because I'll be here for you no matter what.", Grace says.

"It was supposed to be me and her raising our daughter together. We were supposed to watch our daughter grow up to become a wonderful woman. We were supposed to have more kids and watch them all grow up. We were supposed to be there for their eighteenth birthdays, their weddings, the birth of their children. We were supposed to grow old together but now it feels like that dream is gradually slipping away.", I pour my heart out and then Grace replies saying, "Then don't let go. Raise her to become an amazing woman, be there for all her milestones. Don't let go of that dream. Do everything you both wanted to do with your daughter because if you're doing it, you'd not only be doing it for yourself or your daughter but you'd be doing it for Nessa too. She'd be so proud of you."

Tears flow down my cheeks and soon I'm full on crying as Grace pulls me into a tight hug rubbing soothing circles on my back as I let it all out.

After about 45 minutes, we pull apart and I speak up, "Thank you so much G for being an amazing friend. I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you for everything." She shrugs with a small smile lingering on her lips before saying, "I'm just doing what I need to do to help my friend out."

"How is baby Nessa doing?", Grace asks. Before Nessa died, we never agreed on a name for our daughter so I decided to give our daughter the name Vanessa to remind her that her mother is always alive in our hearts. "She's great. She doesn't know what's going on now, it's better for her that way. She's at my mother's house. I'll be picking her up later this evening." Grace nods before saying, "She's damn lucky to have an amazing father like you in her life and I'm sure she'll grow up to be just like her father." I smile lightly and nod.

We continue to talk before she sets off. We bid our goodbyes and she leaves my home. 

I take a seat on the couch and I spot of photo of Vanessa and I dressed in matching baby pink outfits with a bright smile planted on our faces. The photo was taken during her maternity shoot and we decided to frame that particular picture. 

Memories of our time spent together when she was alive began to replay in my head and I smiled at the fun times we had. I truly missed her but I had to continue living for her. I owed her that much and I wasn't going to let her down. 

Not now. Not ever.