It was the Summer of 2014, I had just graduated from community college with a two year degree in Fine Art and had an internship at a gallery on a mountain that no one cared to visit. Hunter Mountain, a deserted little town that once thrived and died with the generation of cellphones and plane tickets to anywhere in the world. I inventoried handcrafted jewelry and organized books in a library that had approximately two visitors a month. I was accepted into a four year private college that my grandmother went to, back when it was full of only girls and nuns. I was in my prime, ready to go meet new boys, go on dates, and create art. We had gone on the college tour where a cute communications major that reminded me of my most recent summer ex-boyfriend was leading the families through campus. Pretending to be interested in campus life, my mom and I decided we were hungry and would ditch out mid-tour. A week or two went by and it was time to make my schedule. Emmit was sick that morning, puking with another headache. Selfishly, I was upset that I had to drive alone to the college and meet strangers that would help me pretend I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life at 19 years old.

I continued my internship which was a few days a week until 7 am one morning when I was supposed to be leaving and making the hour long trek up Hunter Mountain. My parents insisted that I still go to work and calm down. I angrily slammed out the front door and sped out of my driveway, tears welling up in my eyes only to spill over for the full hour I drove to work. I finished my day not hearing from my family. I drove home getting lost in Jewett because every road looked the same, no lines, dry gravel kicking up against my car. I finally made it home to find my dad alone in the living room chair waiting for me. I ran to my room and slammed my door, diving into my bed in anger and rage from the dark that I was kept in for hours and hours before we drove to the hospital in silence.

Every day I sat by Emmit's side, my hair greasy and in a bun, reminding him of my love that he would always hold. I remember walking through Boston thinking to myself how amazing of a city it was and that we would have to come back when this was all over and he was well again. The days were long and quick at the same time. I sat in the seat by the window overlooking Boston and creating my bucket list. When no answers were held in that hospital, we drove back to Albany and I remember the drive being short. We were home in familiar territory and there was an abundance of hope that lasted that one night.

I held Lane as he curled into my lap crying, my baby that I had to protect. I rubbed his back and his head and shifted him next to me so I could lay down next to him until we fell asleep together from the exhaustion of devastation. All I heard was Gavin DeGraw's 2003 album 'Chariot' playing as I stared out the window wondering how life could go on, knowing that I would die just like Johnny died after June passed. And I did, we both died.