And they are some our guide for Marmite first timers. First toast your pillowy soft bread.

Push that.

Liberally spread that butter. Stroke that Marmite open.

Dip that knife and spread that. Don't overload.

And taste that. Marmite. Love it.

Hate it. Get it on.

Tomorrow is the day my wife dies.

It won't be an expected death.

Nor is it one that she deserves.

What will happen is a simple random act with no meaning beyond fate's command.

We'll be out walking, holding hands as we're heading home from a long day at work.

Once we get to a crosswalk, her phone will ring.

It's her mother, calling to tell us that her cancer has returned once more.

It doesn't come as a shock.

She'd been in remission for a couple of years, but her body had been ravaged by the previous round of chemo and radiation.

The words wear heavy on my Lucy, and I see the tears well up in her eyes.

She tries to stay strong in front of me, pretending she can handle the moment she's been preparing.

Then she starts to approach the crosswalk.

What she doesn't notice is that during our brief pause, the light is turned red.

As she takes her first step onto the crosswalk, she gets hit by a car and smashes her head on the ground.

She dies on impact, and the paramedics can do nothing to help.

In less than a second, everything she ever was will be taken away from me.

...