It was a beautiful December night in Miami. We had just gone swimming and were looking at the stars when he first said those words: “I love you.” I remember how my heart pounded as I said them back. The moment was quickly interrupted by a frantic phone call from his parents. They had tracked his phone because he had snuck out to see me after being grounded for getting caught with a fake ID. This is how all of my memories with Dylan were—full of passion, never dull.

There is a lot that can be said about your first love, and fortunately for me, I think I have some of the greatest stories. He caught my attention after he started throwing pencils at me in the middle of an AP Psych exam sophomore year. We were sixteen years old and full of life. The two years that we dated were some of the happiest and undoubtedly most fun I’ve had. I would wake up on the weekends to find him waiting outside my house to take me to the beach or go jet skiing. Every anniversary, birthday or other special day always came with some kind of outrageous surprise—like hundreds of sticky notes on my car so I couldn’t drive to school on time. He was even my own personal trainer—before going out to parties, he would have me do ten pull–ups. We were known as the ‘party couple,’ but I give him all the credit for that; he was loved by pretty much everyone at my high school. They called him ‘Sunshine’.

I learned so much from Dylan in those few years. He taught me about the importance of perseverance. He showed me how to be open and friendly. He taught me not to stress about the little things. He showed me how to love and care deeply for another person. Most importantly, he taught me how to embrace life and all of its opportunities. So, when college rolled around, we decided it was best to go our separate ways—him to Florida State, me to Penn. So we said our goodbyes and that was it. We stayed in touch and caught up every few months, but we were no longer together.

On February 12, 2015, during my junior year of college, I received the worst news. Dylan had committed suicide. I will never forget that phone call. That pain. It was the most excruciating I have ever experienced. How could this happen to someone so full of life? It just didn’t make sense to me.

For months, I would cry myself to sleep and wake up crying. I wanted everything to stop. I didn’t understand why things were still happening in the world without him. I couldn’t process the loss. It was unbearable.

Every day I would read things he had written to me—Facebook posts, text messages, and even the contract we signed to stop fighting—trying to climb out of the hole I was in. I felt a huge burden to preserve the memories and the relationship that only he and I could understand, even though it had ended a long time ago. I would flip through the bajillion pictures we took together, and read—over and over again—a note he wrote in my yearbook about how we were going to meet up to get a drink when we turned 40 and talk about our kids and families. I knew then that it was time to move forward and live the life he intended for me to live—with a smile and enjoying every second of it. Everything got a lot easier when I adopted this mentality. I ran a half marathon in his honor and raised $3,000 for his charity, The Dylan Schopp Sunshine Foundation. I got out of bed and did well in my internship. I started being able to go full weeks without breaking down. I finally started to feel genuinely happy again.

As a year without him approaches, I’ve learned to fill the hole in my heart with memories and with the new experiences he’d be happy to know I’ve had. I know he is watching over me right now and I can only hope that, in this past year, I’ve made him proud. You really never forget your first love, and I am so honored that Dylan was mine.