In love, engaged and bereaved by 22

It is half past eleven on a balmy April morning in Ohio, and I am drinking coffee with a young man called Cody Scott Robbins. Third year pre-med student at the University of Toledo. Former hockey player. Brother. Son. Friend. Classmate. And widower.

On March 25th, 2016, Cody’s fiancée, Elliot Struble was killed in a collision with a semi-truck. She celebrated her 20th birthday just one day earlier.

In the two hours that we spent together, Cody takes me through their entire relationship. How they met. The first time they exchanged, ‘I love you.’ The spring break spent in Florida just weeks prior to the accident. The promise of a future together in Toledo. The moment she was removed from life support.

He is stoic, yet not entirely unemotional. His voice wavers from time to time. He often refers to his fiancé in present tense and later corrects himself. His hands tremble right up until we hug one another goodbye. The chinks in Cody’s armor are barely perceptible. But they are there.

We begin with a few of the simpler questions as practice for the more painful ones. Cody and Ellie knew of one another throughout high school but did not formally meet until after graduation. He attended the all-boys Catholic school, St. Francis De Salles, while she was a student of the all-girls preparatory school, St. Ursula Academy. Their one and a half year relationship began as many millennials now do: Tinder.

I involuntarily raise an eyebrow, to which he dismisses with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Hey, I can’t complain about the results,” he tells me. I cannot argue.

I ask what made him swipe right, to which he replies, “I remembered seeing her before and we had mutual friends so I thought, why not? I never thought she would match with me.”

But when they did a short time later, their connection was immediate. Intrinsic even.

He tells me that he was impressed by the way in which she carried herself as young as they were, and when they became further involved with one another’s friends and family, her devotion to her young brother and sisters was just one of the many reasons Cody fell hard and fast.

“She was always in communication with her family. She would literally Facetime her siblings even when we were hanging out just to say goodnight.”

Attending her sibling’s soccer games and school-related functions became a routine aspect of their relationship, and Cody remains steadfast in upholding a regular role in the lives of her family, even now.

“I actually just had breakfast with them a few mornings ago,” he tells me. I ask what that was like, to which he replies, “I see so much of her in them.”

He breaks eye contact. I decide to move on and ask him more about Ellie.

She was a second-year nursing student, and considering the adjectives Cody most often uses to describe her are, “nurturing,’ and ‘caring,’ I make the assumption that she was in the right profession.

“Without a doubt,” he agrees.

He continues to speak about her dedication to her studies and her flagrant disinterest in the customary college parties and events with an unmistakable smile playing at the corners of his mouth, clearly remembering some not-so-distant memory.

“She held herself to such a high standard. She would always say things like, ‘I’m not that good of a person.’ I think she always felt she could do better. But of course I’d tell her she was crazy and to just keep at it. Ya know, let’s do it. Grab your lunch, and let’s go to work.”

I cannot help but grin at Cody’s analogy, and wonder aloud if he believes that his coaching was enough to pacify those detracting thoughts.

“I don’t know. But I think we brought out the best in one another,” he says with a definite nod of his head. “My parents often said she was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.”

In the time that they were not attending classes, they spent every moment together. Cody recalls the slight grievances of their respective groups of friends, annoyed of the couples’ sudden lack of concern about joining them for a ‘boys’ or ‘girls,’ night out.

I ask Cody to describe the moment that he began to envision a life with Ellie, and his returning sigh is so all-consuming that it almost appears as though his chest might actually collapse in on itself.

He paints quite the pretty picture. They had recently reached the three-month mark of their relationship. Perched on a dock watching the sun set on yet another mid-summer day at the lake. Ellie was the first to interrupt their shared daydream.

“I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” she told him.

“I was a little taken aback to be honest, but I turned and looked at her and said, ‘I’m going to marry you. You’re it,’ and of course, every day after that she’d ask, ‘Okay, so how soon?’ We both laugh at his reminiscence, but the unmistakable sadness never quite leaves his eyes.

This heart-to-heart very much mirrors one they shared while on spring break together this year, where Cody says they became, ‘informally engaged,’ mere weeks before her death.

“We were just sitting on the beach. Nothing major to discuss. No big conversation. We were just content. So content with where things were going in our lives.”

Cody recalls mapping out their impending summer together, and their mutual excitement at the thought of concerts and various social gatherings planned.

We have now reached the point in our conversation that I am forced to transition from a past pregnant with hope, to a future without the reason for which we are both seated here at this moment.

We both know that we can no longer prolong this portion of questioning.

“Can you walk me through Friday, March 25th?”

According to Cody, the day began much as though it were any other. After having celebrated her birthday the night before, they awoke to a day of responsibilities. Before they both left for work, they made plans to meet for dinner later that evening.

He remembers the text messages exchanged throughout the day, and when she abruptly stopped responding that afternoon, Cody began to worry.

“It was unlike her to just not respond. Especially when I knew she was on her break.”

Shortly after his three messages went unanswered, he received a frantic phone call from her sister, informing him that Ellie had been in an accident and he needed to go straight to the hospital.

“She didn’t even say where they had taken her.”

Fortunately, Ellie’s mother called moments later with more information.

Upon first entering the ER, he saw a Chaplain pacing the hall outside of what he presumed was Ellie’s room. “That’s when I knew it was bad.”

Being that both of Cody’s parents are medical professionals, he is all too familiarized with procedure. After speaking briefly on the phone with his parents, who were on vacation, he approached the nearest doctor and began asking careful questions regarding her condition.

“When they didn’t allow me to go and see her immediately, I had a feeling she was in bad shape. Typically, they’ll let loved ones into the room.”

As more members of Ellie’s family, including her mother, sister and grandparents arrived at the hospital, the doctor that had been overseeing Ellie’s case entered the waiting room and shattered any illusions of hope any of them may have had.

“After I heard more about her current state, I had second thoughts about whether or not I actually wanted to go and see her. I didn’t want that to be the last image of her that I had.”

Clinically, Ellie was killed on impact but was placed on life support. Cody says that his understanding of the medical field provided him with the knowledge that considering her head trauma and the host of other injuries sustained, a remaining existence spent on life support was not one worth leading.

Despite his hesitancy, Cody entered Ellie’s room alongside her family and held her hand as an abundance of family and close friends continued to arrive at the hospital.

“It was all becoming too much. In a way, I felt that personal space was invaded. But I stayed until they eventually decided it was time to take her off life support.”

He pauses in contemplation throughout this part of the retelling, and I am poised to take hold of the tissues in my messenger bag in case he begins to cry. He never does.

“Right before, they asked if I wanted to be the one to take off her engagement ring. But I just couldn’t.”

Ellie was removed from life support at 9:15 pm. It was then that he stepped out into the hallway, rested his weight against a wall and wept.

“I had my entire life planned with someone and all at once it was gone. I am still trying to cope with that,” he admits, his gaze suddenly downturned.

At Ellie’s funeral days later, he read a poem and released a single dove at her burial site, and served as one of the pallbearers.

“Ya know, so I could let her down one last time,” he quips, his eyes devoid of any humor.

When I ask what life looks like now, he is quick to tell me about the overwhelming support he has received from family, friends, former classmates, faculty, and complete strangers.

“The amount of people that have come forward is just a testament to the impact she made on the people around her. I don’t want people to ever be afraid of approaching me and talking about her. It helps.”

In regards to his grief, he explains that it comes in waves but his anger for a future that never came to fruition is unyielding.

“She was a planner,” he says with a solemn smile. “We were going to have the white picket fence, American dream. She wanted a house on the river, and she would regularly text me ideas for names for our children. I would just say, ‘Sure, honey.’ As long as she was happy, I would be too.”

I am curious as to when Cody allows himself to lose control, as he did in the ER directly after her death. “At night, and in front of the right people,” he replies, twisting the silver band that has remained on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Recently, he joined another couple that he and Ellie were friends with for an evening out in an effort to distract himself from the all-encompassing heartache.

“Seeing them together and as happy as they are killed me. I just put my head down on the table and cried.”

I begin to wonder if this is simply an isolated incident, or if it might become a trend.

“I kind of hate a lot of happy couples right now,” he says with a wistful laugh. I have my answer.

“You have every right to,” I tell him, not that he needs assurance. “What’s my excuse, then?”

Coping for Cody is maintaining regular contact with Ellie’s mother, and speaking to people that knew and loved her as he did. He also remains dedicated to his course work and an acceptance to medical school following graduation.

“On days when all I want to do is stay in bed, I still feel like she’s pushing me to be a better man.”

What do you think she’d think of you speaking with me?

“I think she would be very proud. If it had been me that died, I would definitely want her to brag about me and about the impact we had on one another’s lives,” he says.

Looking retrospectively at your relationship, do you have any regrets? Perhaps a certain instance that you may have handled poorly? An argument?

“Never. We had the rule, ‘Never go to bed angry,’ which is a cliché, but I think we always upheld that,” he explains. “My only regret about this entire thing is that she didn’t get to see the person she was supposed to become.”

Cody and I have covered nearly everything, the past, all the way to the present. Yet I still feel that there is more to know about Cody’s future.

Have you considered moving away and continuing your education elsewhere? Do you think that putting distance between yourself and the place that you and Ellie fell in love could be a way to heal?

“I’m not running. Sure, I could move. But I would never cherish it as much as I cherish being here,” he states with an unmissable measure of defiance.

“So, Toledo is not the problem. But the backdrop for this really amazing love story, right?”

“Exactly.”

As we gather our things, he tells me that on his way to meet me he heard one of her favorite songs on the radio and I ask whether or not he changes the dial when instances like that occur.

“Sometimes I do, but most times, no. I find her in the little things like that.”

“What do you want people to understand about loss at such a premature age?”

“Young people need to realize that the people that love them are gifts. Whether it’s parents, grandparents, siblings, whatever. Cherish them. Spend time with them. Will it always be as fun as ripping tequila shots? Maybe not. But it’s worth more in the end.”

I end the recording and do my best to extend my deepest gratitude to Cody despite a lump the size of a golf ball lodged in my throat. I feel as though we both have more to say. After a considerable lull, he manages to find his voice again.

“There is no way to rationalize what happened. But my mom said something the other day that I thought made a lot of sense. She said, ‘what happened to Ellie, does not define you. Who you were to her when she was alive, does.’”

All at once, the lump is a baseball. “I think that makes sense too,” I tell him.

We rise from the tiny high-top table to hug one another. I stand atop my tippy toes and pray that my embrace is enough to silently convey the catalog of emotions threatening to make themselves known.

After everything that has been spilled on that table today, I decide there is only one thing left to say:

“Well, let’s go to work.”

“Yeah, let’s go to work,” he concedes with a sigh of resignation.

And so we do.