In Arizona, they were waiting desperately to meet with doctors from T-Gen; they still had hope, but he started to feel the beginning of his pain, the unbearable kind. Later, she would think maybe it was best if they hadn’t gone. She questioned everything. But he had wanted an opinion from those doctors. The pain, though it was awful. Off and on, stabbing him relentlessly. What they didn’t know then was that it was caused by a tumor in his intestines, which was causing a blockage. The pain he was experiencing was equivalent to child labor.
They had rented a convertible. One evening, when it got dark, she drove to grab something to eat. She remembered the desert air’s warmth, the night’s smell, the exact order she placed, and even the silly struggle of figuring out where the seat coolers were. She remembered everything about the hotel: that he wasn’t hungry, he was getting up, their walk outside, the conversation with a man from the Midwest whom he made laugh, and how he grabbed an apple before heading back to the room.
Those memories were imprinted in her mind like subconscious snapshots formed in crisis. That night marked the beginning of three months of horror. Before that, his cancer battle had gone well, but it was the first time things had gone downhill, and this was something they didn’t plan on. They were scared, alone, and clueless. All they knew was that they had to keep fighting, and this was their only option.
When the memory popped up on Facebook a year later, it almost led her to deactivate her account. She knew the flood of reminders of pain, fear, and loss was coming, and she feared it the most because she wasn’t ready to relive those memories. As much as they had tried to be normal back then, she remembered that from this point forward, every memory was tied to the nightmare of him slowly going away, declining. She considered turning off the notifications, but something stopped her. It was like her telling herself to heal and accept what had happened. Before he passed, he had also told her that she could use his story to help others, and that was what she intended to do.
Her relationship with Facebook Memories was complicated. Some days, they were sweet memories, like reminders of birthdays, anniversaries, family moments, and laughter, while other days, they cut her deeply, stabbing her heart. But even then, she was grateful because they reminded her not just of the joy but also the pain. When a similar post about the seat cooler in the rental car popped up recently, she vividly remembered the warmth of the air, the question she had asked, and the exact place she sat. At that time, she had no idea that her husband would be gone 26 days later, but it left her the person she is today.
That time taught her lessons, and she moved on. She no longer cared about the opinions or judgments of others. She became close with a few, trusted them only, and her circle became small. She learned to pick her battles. Being present in the smallest moments and never wasting time on those who weren’t genuine. She knew the importance of saying“I love you” at the right time and fiercely protecting those who mattered—even breathing when it felt impossible. She started to find the good in everything, even amid suffering, prepared herself for the reality she could not escape, and grieved gracefully.
She discovered that real friends are the ones who show up in her time of need, emotionally being there, whether it is through bringing food, sitting silently, or holding space for her pain. She found freedom in shedding what didn’t matter and discovered survival. At first, second by second, forcing herself to breathe, eat, and live again, she did it. And she emerged stronger. With time, life grew “normal” again. Friends returned to their routines, and so did she. Toxic people crept back, stress returned, judgments reappeared. People told her she was grieving wrong. The rules pressed in against too much or too little, dating too soon or waiting too long.
And then, on a random Tuesday, a Facebook memory about a rental car seat cooler would appear out of the blue, stopping her. It reminded her of who she was, what mattered, and how much she had endured. It pulls her back to the clarity she once held, to the promise she made never to let her soul settle again. For that, she was grateful. For that, she thanked Facebook Memories. Even through the pain she endured, she thanked them.
