December 31st, the last kiss I got from him before he died in my arms. Never could anyone predict losing the love of your life due to a gunshot wound in the back. They came in. I was washing dishes, he was in his studio in the basement. The last words he said to me were call 911. He had a $3000 camera I thought someone had stolen it when I heard them run out of the door. I tried to give him CPR. I never learned it the right way. I tried my best. I did what I seen on t.v. I ripped his shirt off, the gunshot did not come out of the front. In fact I didn't even know he was shot until 6 months later when the police finally revealed to me what really happened. There was blood everywhere. All over my face from trying to give him cpr despite the fact that blood was coming out of his mouth. I saved those clothes. His DNA, his blood, all I have left of him. His family cremated him. They didn't give me or my daughter ashes. But we are equal because all they have are his ashes and I have everything all of his belongings, everything that made him who he was, not his shell of a body. I have been good at blocking these thoughts out for the past four months since I have gotten married and am trying my best to move forward with my life. But of course I found a picture and a million thoughts and feelings came rushing back in like a huge wave crashing over the shores of a beach, taking away some of the sand with as it washes away. I love my husband with all my heart and yet still I love Brian too. It's a very confusing thought to want someone who you can longer have and yet also still want the man who is by your side. I don't think people often get the chance to fall in love, true love, twice. Saying I'm lucky is and oxymoron because I lost my first true love. He didn't leave me, no he died.