In 2013, my Navy-wife friend Theresa became a widow. Her husband Landon’s helicopter crashed in the Red Sea just a few months after their youngest son had been born and a few weeks before Landon was supposed to come home from deployment. Instead of planning a homecoming, Theresa planned a funeral. Landon never met his son, Hunter, or saw again the couple’s 6-year-old son, Anthony.

Remarkably, just a few days after Landon’s death, Theresa guest-wrote my column, and shared her raw, still unprocessed thoughts, with the world. Many of you still ask about Theresa and how she is doing.

I caught up with Theresa over Memorial Day weekend. Here are her thoughts on life nearly three years after Landon’s death.

SS: What do your children remember about their dad today?

TJ: My youngest was just 2-and-a-half months old when my husband was killed. Although he knows the face in the picture is called “Dada,” I’m not sure he understands the concept behind the word.

My oldest was 6, so he remembers many things. He just absorbs any story he hears about his dad now. But what he misses the most is his dad’s presence here on Earth, to claim someone as his own dad. Not anyone else’s, just his own.

My oldest knows what happened to (Landon), but he was not a witness to the screaming and crying and despair that occurred with the notification, and I am grateful for that. He was at a friend’s house, and he spent the night there. He didn’t know his dad died until I picked him up from school early the following day, after I had gotten the final notification.

To this day, if I pick him up from school early he gets nervous that something bad has happened, no matter how much I prep him ahead of time. If I send a friend to pick him up, he gets even more nervous because he thinks something happened to me.

SS: You’ve been involved in a lot of widow support groups and organizations. What do they mean to you?

TJ: Locally, I am involved with the Travis Manion Foundation. I love their mission and the services they provide to veterans and survivors.

Another organization that I have come to love is Snowball Express. Every year, around Christmas, they invite kids of fallen military members to four days of an all-expenses paid vacation in Texas.

One of the hardest things for Anthony is feeling like he is the only one who has lost a parent. I know that if I experience some relief being surrounded by fellow survivors at events like Snowball Express, he must feel the same, too.

This past year, Anthony and I were walking in the hotel past a group of young teens from Snowball Express. One had an acoustic guitar and was singing “Stitches” by Shawn Mendes, and the others were singing backup for him. I looked at this young man with so much talent, singing with his friends, while other kids from Snowball played in the hotel courtyard outside. I was getting choked up, and then, I looked to my left and saw my son running around and doing the same thing. I was so proud of his resiliency, and I felt incredibly lucky to have this little person that my husband and I created by my side.

SS: I know you found out about Landon’s death on Facebook. Did that experience change your relationship with social media?

TJ: Social media can be great for military life, but in the case of reporting on fatalities before notification gets to the family, it’s very complicated.

Social media is not slowing down, so the military needs to alter the way they do notifications. It will be impossible to find a one-size fits-all resolution to this, and I don’t think there will ever be a great way to deliver such awful news.

After I read about the crash on Facebook, when I still didn’t know who was involved, it took four hours for my CACO (Casualty Assistance Call Officer) to get to my house. Those were four mentally grueling hours where I just sent email after email to my husband asking if he was OK and telling him how much I loved him. I begged him to respond.

Would I have preferred the shock of my CACO coming to my door in the wee hours of the morning, or am I grateful for those few hours of what seemed like preparation for the worst? I don’t really have an answer for that.

The hardest part was that after the initial notification, when my husband was still in a “missing” status, the CACO team told me that I would hear from them first if anything changed, if my husband was found alive or declared dead.

The following day, as I drank my coffee and read through Facebook, a friend posted that the military had called off the search. I looked up from my iPad and said to a friend standing next to me, “He’s dead.”

Then I walked upstairs to my guest room and told my in-laws.

The CACO team showed up 45 minutes later.

SS: What have these past three years taught you about life, love and military sacrifice?

TJ: Whether we like it or not, death is a part of life, and sometimes being strong isn’t something that just happens. You have to make a conscious effort.

I have seen the best in people, and I have seen the worst in people. I have been a witness to such a true and pure love from those who have supported me in these past few years, many times at a sacrifice to themselves and their families.

I have felt more loved by so many than I ever have in my entire life. My boys have never had to want for anything — other than their father.

Because of the generosity of so many, it is my mission to put that back out into this world in whatever way I can.

SS: What has been the most surprising part about being a young widow?

TJ: The toll it has taken on me mentally and emotionally. My outlook on many things has changed.

In the first year, I was still in shock and could not process what being a widow really meant. The second year was much harder as I came to the realization that this is my life now. This third year has been a bit better.

The feelings of sadness are still very much there, but I am getting to a place where I can handle them better. I’m hopeful that time will continue to help with that.

SS: What do you miss most about (married) military life?

TJ: I don’t miss the hardship or pain of being a military wife, given all the sacrifices involved with military service, but I do miss the connection to other spouses in similar circumstances.

I miss being able to commiserate with a fellow military spouse about their latest PCS hiccup. I feel sad when I now have nothing to contribute to discussions about someone’s next set of orders. But mostly, I miss no longer standing next to my fellow military spouses on a flight line and feeling the joy of homecoming.

It’s tough. As much as my husband’s last command still includes me, it’s different now, and I feel like I am everyone’s worst nightmare embodied.

SS: You have been in a battle with the U.S. Navy over the possible promotion of the person who ultimately was responsible for the mishap. Have there been any advances there? Updates?

TJ: When I received word of the promotion of the CDR responsible for my husband’s death, I was in shock. In reading all the reports, I could not fathom why they would reward her for the poor decisions she made that day.

The commander of the Pacific Fleet, in his final endorsement of the investigation, said: “The WPL Commanding Officer’s actions contributed to loss of life, loss of an aircraft, and damage to the ship. She unnecessarily assumed increased risk during the helicopter evolution, which was unwarranted given the operational circumstance. In this instance, the Commanding Officer did not exercise the highest degree of judgment, seamanship, or prudence.”

None of this made it to her permanent record, and I couldn’t believe that her superiors were trying to promote her to Major Command.

I, as well as many others, wrote letters to as many of the higher-ups as possible. I reached out to people on both the House and Senate Armed Services committees to make them aware of the situation before confirming her promotion to Captain.

Ultimately, the Secretary of the Navy pulled her promotion for further review.

About nine months after the accident, I had begun having some pretty awful nightmares about my husband’s death. I felt like I needed to see (the person deemed responsible) in person so I could put another piece of the puzzle in place. I had only seen her photos but needed more. I ended up sitting and writing a very honest letter about what life had been like for me and my boys after the mishap.

I ended up finding out where she attended church, which was not too far from my home. The boys and I went to Mass, and I noticed her right away. When Mass was over, I went up to her and pulled her aside. I introduced myself and the boys to her, and I handed her the letter.

She didn’t say anything to me really, as I am sure she was in shock. I told her she could contact me if she wanted, then we walked back to the car and left.

When we got in the car, my oldest said, “She seems like a nice lady.”

I agreed.

Then I asked my son, “Do you forgive her?” and he said, “Yes.”

I do, too.

While my forgiveness doesn’t mean that I am OK with her being promoted, and that is something I will fight forever, I am happy to have at least resolved some of the bitterness in my heart.

SS:. What do you miss most about your husband?

TJ: I miss watching Landon be a dad. I loved watching him interact with Anthony, and I had so many hopes for what he’d be like with Hunter, too. I miss the relationship he and Anthony had, and I often wonder about what kind of relationship he and Hunter would have had.

Landon always wanted two boys, and it took us a long time to finally have our second. I wish he could have met him. I wish I could show him how awesome they are, and I hope that he is proud of me for how I’ve tried to sustain this family after he died.

Landon was a planner, a thinker, and very pragmatic in his daily life. I didn’t always appreciate that, but now I am incredibly grateful for the ways it had rubbed off on me.

SS: What do hope Landon’s legacy will be?

TJ: Landon was a great pilot and I still hear stories from his student pilots and from others who flew with him. It makes me proud that they thought so much of him. I really want our boys to live their lives in a way that exemplifies that persistence and dedication.

SS: How have your Memorial Days changed since Landon’s death?

TJ: The first Memorial Day after Landon was killed, I went to the grocery store and saw that it was decorated with red, white and blue balloons. There was a sign that read, “Happy Memorial Day!”

I was instantly nauseous.

To think that most people time the opening of their pools with a day that is supposed to honor the deaths of so many people like Landon … it’s just unthinkable.

There’s no “9/11 sale” or “Pearl Harbor Day markdowns,” so how has Memorial Day morphed into a celebration?

It’s so bizarre.

But can I fault those who are celebrating a three-day weekend? Absolutely not.

Memorial Day is a tough time for my family, but I have young children, and life goes on. We will participate in a ceremony here where Landon will be honored among other locals who died in service, and then we will do something to enjoy the day.

Landon would want that.