One Year Later… Carrying Love Forward

Posted August 31Aug 31

August 31st is quickly approaching… It is a day that we will remember forever… It marks one year since Catherine Estelle Dublin took her final breath, and tonight, as I sit here in a different home than the one we shared together, I’m struck by how much has changed while so much of what she gave our family remains constant.

A year ago on that day at 4:02 pm, I thought I knew what loss looked like sitting in that hospice room as the funeral home came to take her away… I’d spent two years watching cancer slowly take pieces of the woman I loved, preparing myself for the inevitable. But nothing could really prepare you for everything that followed — the daily barrage of Facebook Memories showing highlights of your life before (and during) cancer, the absence of Taylor Swift music blaring or her laugh echoing through the house, the empty spot on her side of the bed, the realization that all those little daily interactions you kinda took for granted are suddenly just memories.

Yet as this year has unfolded, I’ve come to understand something that is impossible to know until you’ve lived through it: love doesn’t end when someone dies. It transforms. It grows. It finds new ways to show up in your life.

My relationship with Cat taught me how to love. It showed me what it meant to unconditionally choose someone every day, not just when things were easy but especially when they weren’t. During her illness, when the woman I married slowly disappeared and was replaced by someone fighting for survival, I learned that real love isn’t about clinging to the version of the person you fell for… It’s about the choice you make to keep showing up for your person, no matter what changes. That’s what real commitment is.

She didn’t live to see me become the man I am today, but she definitely helped create him. Every difficult conversation I’ve navigated this year, every moment I’ve had to be vulnerable with our children, every time I’ve chosen to remain open instead of closing myself off — those responses were shaped by her. She taught me that strength isn’t about being unbreakable; it’s about breaking and still choosing to show up and to love without limits.

The boys carry her forward in ways that continue to make me smile every day. Chris has her thoughtfulness and her way of considering everyone’s feelings at all times. DeAngelo inherited her emotional side and protective instincts. Ollie has her infectious laugh and her ability to find joy and laughter in the smallest things. Watching them navigate this year without her has shown me what strength really looks like. Although our family dynamics have changed dramatically, our bond remains strong.

This year has brought changes I never expected. We left the house where Cat and I had started to build our new life together in North Carolina and created a new home in Uptown Charlotte. I’ve fallen in love again with someone whose beautiful soul has given her the capacity to love me while understanding that loving me means making room for Cat’s memory in our house. I’ve traveled to new places, made new friends, and built new traditions and routines with the boys. With each of these changes, I’ve learned that moving forward isn’t about leaving her behind; it’s about taking everything I’ve learned about myself through loving her into whatever comes next.

She never got to experience who I’ve become in the aftermath of losing her, but I know she would recognize him. I believe she’d be proud of him. She would see the father who talks to his children about grief and joy with equal honesty. She would see a man who relentlessly shows up for and invests in his children. She would see the partner who knows how to love deeply because she helped teach him how. She would see someone who refuses to let tragedy and sadness have the final word in his story because she never let it have the final word in hers.

People sometimes ask me how I’m able to find happiness again so “soon” after such a profound loss. The answer is simple: Her cancer journey and loss taught me that life is meant to be lived fully, that love is meant to be shared freely, and that joy is not something you earn through suffering; it’s something you choose despite it. Honoring her memory doesn’t mean staying frozen in sadness and in grief; it means living the lessons she helped teach me about what it means to be fully alive.

Catherine is deeply missed by everyone whose life she touched. The boys miss their mother’s voice, her laugh, and the way she could solve any problem just by listening to them, hugging them, and telling them everything would be okay. Friends and family miss her warmth and the light she brought to every interaction. Her absence is felt in countless ways, large and small, by all of us who were fortunate enough to have the opportunity to love her in close proximity.

But none of us is defined by what we’ve lost. We’re defined by what she left with us… The capacity to love without reservation, the strength to be vulnerable, the wisdom to know that the most profound love sometimes means letting go, and the understanding that happiness and grief can coexist in the same heart at the same time.

A year later, Cat is still here. She’s present in the way I parent our children, in the lessons I’ve carried into my new relationship, in the courage I find to embrace unexpected changes, and in the deep well of love that her life created in mine. She’s in every choice I make to stay open instead of shutting down, to love instead of closing myself off to it, to live instead of just surviving.

This weekend, I’m traveling to Columbus, OH, to watch the Buckeyes play their home opener against Texas; stacking new memories and experiences has helped keep things moving in a positive direction for me. It is a game and a trip that I’ve very much looked forward to.

Before I go, though, I’ll give the boys gifts to commemorate the great memories we shared with her. I’ll honor her quietly and remember the woman who changed everything about how I understand love, loss, and what it means to be a man and a father.

We also plan on celebrating her memory on September 13th at the Headed For Hope 5K (to donate or join our team — https://runsignup.com/teamcatherine), an event that she was extremely passionate about and participated in. Several friends and members of her family are coming up to Charlotte to participate with us in her honor.

But this week, while the memory of August 31st has led to many tears and several sleepless nights, I remain grateful. Grateful for the time we had, grateful for the man she helped me become, and grateful that love doesn’t end — it just finds new ways to grow.

Rest in peace, Cat. You are loved. You are missed. Thank you for everything.

Walt