At twenty-eight years old, I had it all. I was the wife of a wonderful man, a new mom to the most beautiful baby girl ever born onto this earth, and I had a good career in the medical field. I was living the life that I had always dreamed. On March 7, 2015, my dream turned quickly from fairy tale to nightmare.

It was a Saturday afternoon, unseasonably warm and absolutely beautiful. My husband, Brent, and I had left our four month old daughter, Harper, in the care of her paternal grandmother while we spent the afternoon on a date. We had lunch, walked around the mall, and eventually ended up at Buy Buy Baby -- the ultimate date spot for new parents. Soon after we left, we decided to go pick up Harper and head home for the night. Once there, we put the baby to bed, started a movie and proceeded to laugh and joke about our day.

We made plans for the next day, Sunday, to get up early and go to the flea market. Brent got up to use the restroom, told me he loved me, and walked out of the bedroom. Ten minutes later, I heard a loud bang from the bathroom. I didn't think much of it, as we had two large dogs who loved to wrestle. Suddenly, the dogs began howling and scratching at the bathroom door. I got up, pushed through the dogs and knocked on the door. I received no reply. I then opened the door, and what I saw will haunt me for the rest of my life. Brent was on the floor, eyes fixed, face blue, and he wasn't breathing. I immediately screamed, grabbed my phone, dialed 911 and began CPR. It only took four minutes for the first responders to get there, but somehow, this seemed like an eternity.

I was ushered out of the house, sat down on the front porch swing, and asked a million questions by the police officers. What happened? Was he sick? Does he take any medications? How old is he? The list was relentless. All the while, our daughter slept peacefully in her crib, completely unaware of what was happening. The EMT's brought my husband out on a stretcher, pumping air into his lungs. It was then that I felt a small glimmer of hope. They had revived him! I remember breathing a sigh of relief, all medical knowledge I had going completely to the wayside. By this time, my mother and father had arrived. I jumped in their car, my daughter left with my neighbor and friend and we sped off to the hospital. Upon arriving to the ER, we were instantly ushered to the "family room." I knew then that it was bad news. The doctor walked in right behind me, and stated, "I'm sorry, but Brent died." I don't remember much after that statement. I remember finally being able to see him, his beautiful face peaceful. He looked as though he were sleeping. The final diagnosis -- a massive heart attack with cardiac arrest. He had no signs or symptoms. There were absolutely no warning signs. I was suddenly left all alone to grieve my best friend, my husband and my soulmate, all while raising out miracle baby alone. It was never supposed to be this way.

It has now been almost seventeen months, and the shock is wearing off. The pain is still very real. Our daughter, who will turn two in October, is the light of my life. She reminds me so very much of her daddy. People try really hard to understand, but they just can't. I've heard everything -- from "Well, you're young, you'll be OK" to "At least you weren't married for 20/30/40 years. That should make it easier." No, it doesn't. Being a widow, regardless of the age, is difficult. Being a young widow, especially with a newborn, is exceptionally difficult. We are constantly met with judgment from people. ("Oh look -- another single mom who probably doesn't know who the dad even is!") We watch helplessly as our peers get engaged, get married, start families and post hundreds of family pictures on social media.

Each time we see these little milestones, we can't help but be jealous -- jealous of the fact that our family pictures are frozen in time. What we have is all there will ever be. I am forever reminded that I am growing older and changing, as is Harper, but Brent never will. He is frozen in time, never to age past thirty-five. On top of all that, we are constantly criticized for every move we make. We don's smile enough, laugh enough, socialize enough or talk as much. What people don't realize is that we have now shouldered the weight of the world. We have become the sole provider for our children. We have to work twice as hard to be both mommy and daddy. We are constantly reminded by people that "life is too short."

I can guarantee you, nobody knows that as well as we do. I never take anything for granted. I have lived the phrase "in the blink of an eye, everything can change." However, I will not stop living. I will not stop doing everything in my power to make sure my daughter knows how much she is loved. I will never stop fighting. Life has a funny way of going on. The world keeps spinning, moving us all in different directions. I'll live this life with hope, love, and joy, even though there are moments of pain. Through the ashes, a beautiful phoenix will rise, a beacon of hope in the dark. That will be my legacy.