It’s been right at three months since Timothy Sean Mallory was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was my lover, best friend, father of my children, partner in crime, and so much more. There have been moments when it felt like the whole world was crumbling around me. I really would have never imagined how awful it is to lose someone that you love so much and also share every facet of your life with. I have lost loved ones in the past, the most painful prior to this being my dad. Losing my beautiful lover is a whole new, awful experience, though.
The first month or two after the accident were heartbreaking, busy, and surreal. Most of my days were spent taking care of “things”, ranging from all the craziness and painfulness of planning and having the memorial (I still have a hard time calling it a funeral) to taking care of our financial and legal affairs. I suddenly found myself having to re-arrange mine and my children’s lives and routines into this “new normal” that we now had to live without their Daddy. Most nights in the beginning, I found it hard to function/cope without a bottle of wine or a Xanax or something to help me sleep. During this time, I’ve had so many people say to me “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” My response is always the same: “I don’t want you to.” I would never want anyone to have to go through this. Of all these hardest first moments, having to tell my children that their beautiful father died was the most heartbreaking.
I try to remember the things I truly believe. Timothy is still here with us in some shape or form. All matter that is created can never be destroyed. His essence and spirit can never be destroyed. I feel his presence with me so much. The imprint he made on the world can never be un-done. I’m coming to the strange realization that it’s the permanence of our current life that is the true illusion. Change is the only real constant. Just because his physical self changed, does not make him any less a part of this universe: in heaven, as an angel, a continued energy force… whatever you choose to believe.
Everything is a first for us now, though. The first time I took our two youngest children (7 year old boy and 3 year old girl) to the movies by myself and without their daddy. The first time I ate at our favorite sushi restaurant. The first family get-together (on Mother’s Day) without him. The first time I made homemade potato soup without him. The first time I went to work and had to hold it together. Every day there is still some first without him. We didn’t do EVERYTHING together, but he was still a part of everything I did.
I was able to take almost two months off work, which I am very grateful for. I don’t know how I would have been able to make it those first two months if I had to function everyday like everything was normal. There were many days during that time when I may just break down crying at any given moment. The tears and pain may last for a few moments, or stay with me all day. I looked to the internet one night when I was in the throes of one of those heartbreaking moments to try to find advice and/or solace. I typed in “my husband died” and found story after story of women of all ages going through the same thing I and my family are. In ways, it was helpful. The women who spoke of losing their husband recently, as I had, shared similar feelings and issues as what I have dealt with. The women who were farther along in their journey, who had lost their husband years before, still spoke of pain, but they also spoke of hope. They talked about the pain still being there, but they eventually started to have more good days than bad. And may have even eventually found peace and happiness.
This is what I hope for. I know I will always love him. I will always miss him and wish he could have stayed in this life with us for longer. But I hope that eventually I (we all) will slowly grow from all this. That we’ll be able to remember him and think of him with love and happiness and less pain and longing. There have seemed to be more good days recently, but I know it’s still going to hurt like crazy for a long time. I love him too much and miss him too much for the healing process to happen any other way. But I do have good days. We have lots of people who have loved us and supported us through this, which means so much. I do still feel his love. I do feel hope and peace at times. And right now, I’m just grateful for that.