There she sat. So young. So beautiful and innocent. Too young and innocent. Too young to be sitting there. Yet, there she was, in a fancy white wedding dress, crouched in the grass, next to that new granite tombstone.

She had met Rob in college. They had both been in Journalism classes together. She still remembered the first time she had walked in and Rob had smiled at her. When he smiled, the dimples on his face made you laugh. His freckles shimmered like little specks on a ladybug, and his long, curly, red hair shone in small splotches of sunlight. Rob was genuine, honest, modest; something no other men in her life had ever been. He was the one rainbow colored fish in the entire ocean. Being with Rob was the one thing in her life that gave her the solace and bliss that she so longingly yearned for.

Some days, they would take long walks in Central Park. Winter coats, hats, and scarves always came along, but she would often conveniently forget her gloves; Rob would have to hold her hand. (Keep her from getting frostbite she always argued.) What she never knew was that Rob secretly wished she would always forget her gloves. Other days, they would sit in small book stores, sipping cups of coffee while discussing a little bit of everything. Politics, movies, authors, philosophical questions. Who was the better poet, Robert Frost or Anne Bradstreet? Was William Shakespeare ever really a real life human being? Who was the better director, Sophia Coppola or Tim Burton? Who wrote the best horror novels, Edgar Allen Poe, or Stephen King? Was Emily Dickinson really clinically depressed? On campus, they could often be seen walking to classes together. Rob, in his simple jeans and a t-shirt. Her, often wearing long skirts, scarves, hats, sweaters, converse, anything unusual she could find. Other than her outfits, she was rather plain; didn’t stand out in a crowd. Her long, wavy, jet black hair was often simply pulled back in a barrette; whispy strands falling astray and outlining her soft face. Anyone who saw them stared, in utmost jealousy. As far as the eye could see, they had the perfect relationship; nothing would ever change that. Little did anyone know, their days together were numbered.

Autumn of their senior year, was when Rob proposed. She had immediately accepted, and they were to be married the following spring. For the next few months, they were in heaven. They spent hours together planning the wedding: who was to be invited, who would be the best man and the maid of honor, where the reception would be held, what type of cake to buy, everything down to the very last detail.

It was on a chilly November day that their lives changed forever. Rob was diagnosed with cancer. She wasn’t sure what she had done wrong. What had she done to deserve this? Seeing Rob go through chemotherapy the next few months was torture to her. Slowly, he lost his long red hair. His eyes lost their usual sparkle. He was quickly becoming nothing more than a shadow. Rob, however, never lost his spirit, his humor, his love for life, or his love for her. He told her they could get married with him in the hospital; that everything would be alright in the end.

He died a week before they were to be married. She was by his side, up until the very end, and heard his very last words. “I love you so much. Don’t ever change. Ever.” Then, his eyes became glassy, and his chest stopped moving up and down. She laid her head down on his shoulder, one last time, and sobbed. She watched as her tears slowly fell from her face onto Rob’s cold cheek. She watched as they slid down his face onto the bleached white hospital bed. She ran over to the dresser and took out one of his t-shirts. She wanted to be able to smell him one last time. She found a notebook of his from class. She wanted to remember his handwriting. The rest of the night was a blur; sobbing, then silence. Sobbing, then silence.

So there she sat. So young and innocent. Too young and innocent. But there she was, in her wedding dress, by a grave, on her wedding day. Rob’s tombstone was simple granite, with a simple inscription. “Robert Terrin. 1985-2006 Loving son and fiancé. Will be missed by family and friends.” He had only been 21 years old. Sometimes, life was so cruel. As she sat there, a burst of lightning lit up the dark sky. Gray clouds rolled in over the hill. Almost as if the heavens were weeping with her, it started to rain. And there she sat, in the pouring rain, until the lace of her dress was completely ruined, every last curl on her head was gone, and her whole body was entirely numb. Salty tears mixed with cold drops of rain and fell into her open mouth. Carefully, she reached into the sleeve of her dress and pulled out a pair of blue gloves tied with a white ribbon. As she painstakingly stood up, she placed the gloves next to the grave, turned, and silently walked away.