Five years ago, I went through a life-altering tragedy when my husband was murdered in front of me, our 3-day-old son, and three other family members.

For a long time, the trauma left me paralyzed with depression, anxiety, and fear. For an entire year, I could barely function within society and I avoided life as much as possible. After two years, I’d fallen even deeper into a bottomless pit of despair. I battled against my grief, but somehow it still managed to control me. The second my husband died, my life became a collection of instances he was missing. He missed his son’s first steps, first Christmas, and first birthday. He missed his pre-K graduation and his fifth birthday. He will miss every moment of his son’s life. There’s no way to sugar-coat this — it’s tragic and it sucks.