The Show Up Guy

A Year without my husband

Today closes my first full year without Jeremy physically here on earth.

And because words fail me, I’ll borrow some from the past. From this time last year, when I stood at his celebration of life and read a eulogy I wrote. Maybe it will give you a glimpse into the mountain of a man he was to me, and to so many others.

If you knew Jeremy, I’d love for you to leave a memory in the comments. If you’ve lost someone of your own, share their name, a little story, a flash of who they were. Today’s Substack is for that. For keeping memories alive. Because if we tell stories about them, they’re still here.

The thing about my husband is, he was the most beautiful contradiction of things.

It took him forever to make decisions about the most mundane stuff. He’d have twenty-seven browser tabs open, researching air purifiers like the fate of the planet depended on it. But when it came to the big decisions? He always just knew.

Should we bring this foster baby home?“Yes.”

Are you sure we should go on this vacation we can’t afford?“Yes. What if we never get the chance again?”And thank God he said yes, because we never got the chance again.

He asked questions about everyone else’s life, but rarely spoke about himself. He had deep faith in the way the universe works, but subscribed to no religion. He had the best sense of humor, but was also the most serious man I knew. He was steady, trustworthy, reliable and also chronically late. (Like, if timeliness had been a requirement for marriage, we would’ve had to call the whole thing off.)

He was humble, kind, funny, so intelligent, and an entrepreneur to the core. Always building something new, right up to the very end. In those last few months, I’d go out for an evening walk and come home to find him trying to start a new online business, not for himself, but to make sure I’d be okay.

He was pure. What you saw was what you got. And yet, a mystery. We’d be out to dinner, and I’d catch him making little faces of concern or surprise. “Wanna include me in that conversation?” I’d ask. He’d laugh, because he hadn’t even realized he wasn’t talking out loud.

We had many beautiful years together. Then I blinked, and he was gone. The comfort I take is knowing I will blink again, and see him.

When Jeremy was sick, I lived in anticipatory grief. I dreaded how I’d survive without him. I pictured myself in pieces, furious, devastated. But when the moment came, the very moment I feared most, what I actually felt was gratitude. Gratitude for him. Gratitude for our love.

Of course I feel lost. Of course I feel anger and sorrow. I will keep feeling those things. But I know with certainty that he is still here with us.

Because here’s the lesson: the way you show up matters. The way you love people and make them feel never goes away.

Our friend Briohny said it beautifully: Jeremy was the “show up guy.” He got on planes for weddings, funerals, birthdays. Years could pass, but he was always there for the big stuff. And if there wasn’t an ocean between you, he was there for the small stuff too.

He never wanted to miss a moment. Not the party. Not the trip. Not the last bite of dessert. Not the idea, the adventure, the catch-up, the one last drink. If he was going to live, he was going to live without hesitation.

His relationship with his mother was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed. The respect, the care, the way he spoke with her for hours on FaceTime. Watching that told me everything I needed to know about how he would treat anyone he loved.

Jeremy may have left me with a broken heart, but he also left me with an ocean of love, the most incredible support system, friends, and family.

So please, have a drink for him. Order the dessert. Take the trip. Move to Paris. Build the business. Say the quiet parts out loud.

Time is not always on our side. But what you do with it is up to you.

And in his own words:“Don’t put anything on hold. For me, live it. Just live it.”