The Folded Flag on a Sugar Packet: Remembering Robert

I was sitting at a Mexican restaurant with my mom, enjoying our meal and sharing a glass of tea, when my eyes caught the small sugar packet on the table. Printed on the paper was the Folds of Honor folded flag. In an instant, my heart sank. I quietly told my mom, “I need a moment of silence.” Many of you know that my late boyfriend, Robert Strohmeier, passed away last October 29th. It ushered in the hardest, most heartbreaking season of my life. Robert served in the Marine Corps from 2006 to 2010, deploying for two tours in Iraq and completing 63 combat infantry missions, including in Ramadi. He served our country with fierce dedication and honor. We first connected online just before Thanksgiving in 2024. Knowing he was a Marine veteran immediately stood out to me, but it was his infectious laughter and deep, thoughtful conversation that truly drew me in. After spending hours talking on the phone, we met in person a week later in early December. When I first visited his apartment, I met his two service dogs a Doberman and a Boxer mix. Despite having over a thousand friends on social media, Robert was deeply isolated, living without close family or friends nearby in the DFW area. On our first date, he walked me out to my car, opened my door, and asked when he would see me again. From that night on, we saw each other every single day, eventually moving in together in the months that followed. At the time, I was navigating my own painful separation after my ex-husband walked away from our marriage. In each other, Robert and I found purpose and companionship. We weren't alone anymore. I truly loved Robert, and I felt deep in my heart that it was my calling to serve and care for him because he had given so much serving our country. During that first year together, his veteran benefits had been stopped, and he was fighting through the exhausting process of trying to appeal them. With money so tight, I stepped in to buy our groceries, stock our essentials, feed the dogs, and take care of the apartment. Together with our fur babies, we became a real family. During the day, Robert worked nearby at a men’s clothing store doing what he genuinely loved, styling and dressing men for their most important life events. Yet beneath his warm exterior, Robert fought invisible wars. Robert was not a fan of large crowds, and on high-anxiety days, even stepping outside the front door felt impossible. Something as ordinary as a stray Target bag blowing across the middle of the road could instantly trigger combat trauma. There were good days in the daytime, but there were also very bad days. Nighttime, however, was where the deepest battle began. Sleeping beside him, I witnessed the weight of what he carried. He fought unseen enemies in his sleep, tossing and turning through devastating nightmares he could never bring himself to speak aloud. He would wake suddenly at 2:00, 4:00, or 6:00 in the morning, exhausted from the struggle. Grief has a way of finding you in the quietest, most unexpected moment even on a simple sugar packet across a lunch table. But even in the midst of remembering his pain and mourning his loss, I hold on to the love we shared and the promise of Isaiah 41:10: “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”