Every morning, you would wake up and say, “Hey, little love, are you going to be a love bug today or a stink pot?” And I would almost always say a stink pot. Somehow you saw the good in me. I came to you camouflaged as a woman, but there was a broken little girl inside. You saw the person you wanted to be with for your entire life, the future mother of your children. You knew that I was more than things that had happened to me. I didn’t see any of that in myself. So you made me go to therapy for all my childhood traumas. You drove me to my appointments, waited in the parking lot, and when those sessions ended, you would hold me like a baby when I cried in your arms. You told me that I was not the circumstances I endured but I could make my future better…with you.

I tried to sabotage our relationship. I shared my doubts with you. At times, I really struggled. But you never wavered in your love for me, in the strength of our union, and the future we planned. I would fly off the handle, make stupid statements, and push you to the edge. But you would laugh me off, tell me to go sit down, and then the line I’ve heard a million times, “Nadia, we’re on the same team.”

You believed in me like no one else. When I told you I wanted to be a CNN national correspondent, you said, “Great…how?” When everyone else told me it was a pipe dream, and I would never make it, you told me to stop worrying about what other people thought. That you knew I could do it. You swallowed your pride, you changed jobs, you moved around the country, away from your loved ones, to follow my dreams. You watched my live shots and called me right after. You gave me pointers and told me that I was killing it. You were my biggest fan. You willed me to success and bragged about me. You shared in those moments as if they were your own. Because they were. We did everything together.

When it was time, we decided to become parents. But of course, that was no easy road.

We endured four rounds of IVF; you gave me my shots day and night. Came to my appointments. Cried when the embryos implanted, and I became pregnant. You gleefully looked upon the ultrasounds, eagerly awaiting the arrival of our children. I believe you were put on this earth to be a father.

Lorenzo loves his daddy. He looks just like you. Built just like you. “My little tanky,” you would call him. “Mijo,” you would call for him. “Mijito. Vente, Lorenzo. Vente!” You would call for him as he dragged his feet. He loved to snuggle daddy. He trusted you and followed you everywhere. And when he was upset or had a bad dream, he would call for you. And you would pick up our boy in your arms and cradle him and tell him not to be afraid. Lorenzo knew you were gone before I told him. He cried and told me he was sad. He aches for you. You are his hero.

Edilea misses you. She doesn’t have the words, but she is anxious and uncertain. Named after your grandmother, the two of you had a special bond. She loved sitting on your shoulders, and she thought you were sooo funny. You were her protector. You called her Sweet Pea and Dolly Doll, a nickname Lorenzo has picked up. She would stand at the top of the stairs outside your office and call for you. “Da-da. Da-da.” Relentlessly until you came out. She looks for you on your side of the bed, in your closet, in your office. She longs for you.

I will tell them you are their guardian angel. Always watching and loving them. I will play recordings of you singing to them. Real songs and the ones you made up just for them. I will tell them you will come back to visit us as a hummingbird.

I only ask of you for guidance. Show me the way to be a good mother to our children. Steer me on the right path to raise them in your honor. To create little readers, who wear Air Jordans, who collect things and treat people better than they deserve.

Nothing enraged me more than when I thought someone was being mean to you. Taking advantage of you and your willingness to always step up. Taking your kindness for weakness. You were the epitome of strength. You didn’t need to tell people how great you were, you showed them.

You were a good man. You were a kind man. You were funny with the corniest dad jokes. You were loving and passionate. You were mine. You were my one true love. You belong to me. But I had to share you with the world. Because you had a special bond with everyone you met.

You made me think I was in charge, but you were head of household. In the last 12 years, I didn’t pump my own gas, take out a single piece of trash, carry anything heavy, touch anything that was dirty, do any yard work or anything else I didn’t want to do. You would say, “It’s ok, little love. I’ll get it.” I’m realizing now all the things you did for me and our children that I either took for granted or didn’t know you were doing. All the little things to make my day easier and the children’s lives better. All the sacrifices for us.

I thought we had more time. I should’ve been more understanding, less demanding, more affectionate. I should’ve listened to you. Slowed down and appreciated the beauty of the life we built together.

Now, I will live with eternal regret. I was not there in the end when you needed me. You were alone and in pain. I should’ve been there. I should’ve checked on you sooner. And I am so sorry.

My Vincent, the salt of the earth. My most generous and compassionate man. You gave of yourself more than anyone gave back in return. You loved so many people, and please know that you are loved. Every day you were the best husband, father, brother, son, tío, cousin, and friend.

My love for you transcends time, age, and race—it is all encompassing. With every piece of me. As our wedding song says, “All of me…loves all of you.”

I can’t wait for the day I die. Just to see you again. To hold you again.

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