Month Of Memories #11

This is probably the last one of these, although I'll probably post them randomly whenever I'm feeling down.
Sure, there was only 11 when there should have been nearer 30, and some may consider that a failure. I, however, consider it a success in the respect that I've managed to speak about some of these things, this next post in particular:

This is by far the most painful memory of mine, for obvious reasons, so if it's a little patchy then that's either because I've tried to drive it out or I've tried to delve into it further and I've just ended up crying.
One year ago almost to the minute, I said some of the last things I ever said to Nate, which were regarding our future. I told him about how much I wanted to have kids, and we talked so much about our future (most of which is depicted in my story 'Love You So/Too'). It was like a real glimmer of hope in our incredibly dark lives, and I like to think that it lit his way up to heaven. He began his ascension at 4.42am New York time (9.42 GMT), which was roughly predicted by the nurses on his ward (one of whom was called Sandy), and I spoke my last words to him at 4.41. I don't know if he heard me or if he understood any of what I told him, but I promised him I'd stay true to him and his memory, and that one day I'd have his child and we'd get married properly.
It was naive and stupid of me to say this, as we both knew at that moment in time that we wouldn't have the future we'd discuss together, and I shouldn't have promised him.
At 4.43, I was in tears crouched in the corner, on the floor, looking across at his body. I suppose that explains why I have a thing about sitting in the corners of rooms for comfort, but that moment on the floor was one of the saddest, most glum moments of my entire life.
As I looked at the lifeless body of my one true love and my soul mate, I couldn't see past the huge barrier that was holding me back from him, and it's still there today. It spanned a matter of metres in those last moments, but now it's a million miles, keeping me away from him for eternity.
When he died, not only did I begin to feel a certain presence beside me at all times, but I felt like part of my heart had caved in and collapsed, leaving me with that totally empty feeling, like nothing could ever satisfy me again. I still have it today and I don't see it growing back any time soon.
I stayed sat down for about half an hour, before the constant stream of 'well wishers' came in to take me away from his body, but his spirit still followed me out into the corridor that I was so well acquainted with, to sit on a chair that I was so well acquainted with, to talk about the grief and the loss that I'm now so well acquainted with.
I lost my fiancé that day. I lost my brother, my father, my best friend, my one true love, and I lost a part of me. I left that part of me behind with his body, and it's buried in a cemetery in New York.
I wish I'd had the courage to do things while I had the chance; like marry him, like have a child, like tell him I loved him so he could really hear me. No matter how well or ill your partner may be, remember that when you next see them. Do all the things you want to do while you have the chance. You might think you have eternity together, but Nate's cancer caught us out when he was given just 4 months. It might seem like a long time in the course of a year, but when you're seeing him die a little bit more every day, that's when you really begin to realise how fast but precious time really is.

I love you Nate, sleep well.