Writing on the Wall

Good grief, what a summer

Column by Mary Malloy

Posted

I haven’t written a column in a while, and most of you probably know why. My husband, Mike Malloy, died on June 5 at the age of 59.

If you read my columns regularly, you’ll know that I’m not about to tell you how to deal with cancer, or how to grieve, or how to be brave, or how to deal with someone who refuses to go to a doctor even though they are evidently not well. I’m going to tell you how it is for me. And maybe you’ll nod, or cry, or laugh — but if it makes you feel something, then I’ve done my job.

Mike and I had known each other since 4th grade — close to 50 years. We lost touch for a quarter of a century, reconnected through classmates.com, fell in love and married 11 years ago. Stuff that fairy tales are made of, right?

It was, in many ways, a fairy tale. He was a gentleman, opening car doors, sharing the cooking, the laundry, the workload, and he was so useful in reaching the top shelf for anyone in the supermarket who would request his services (he was 6’ 3” tall). We had fun, however our tight finances would allow. We visited Ireland, we walked local nature trails (OK, he bribed me with the reward of a frozen yogurt). We tried new restaurants. He loved animals, I think more than he liked most people. He was shy and mostly introverted, my counterpart in the personality department. We complemented one another.

But life got in the way of that fairy tale. We argued about our not-so-blended family, over money, over when, where and if we were going to retire. And what couple doesn’t? But of course that creates guilt and a lot of “what ifs?” and a lot of unanswered questions and wild emotions.

As unique as our lives are, that’s how individual our grieving processes are. I can laugh by day and yet sleep is very hard to come by. But I do know this: A support system is crucial. I had my four grown children who rallied around me during the 10 days Mike was in the hospital — and who still continue to be mindful of my ups and downs. Yes, every day is another roller coaster ride. Thank you to my friend, Linda, who functioned as my brain and who let me cry and laugh and rage and curse and vent. Therapy is helping, too, so thank you, Susan.

I had acquaintances, childhood friends, co-workers, readers and even strangers ask if they could help. I bought thank you cards but I didn’t know what to write in them — ironic for a journalist, right?

So I’d like to take this opportunity to thank each of you who sent a card, left me a note, hugged me in the hallway, waved to me in Pathmark, or who called, texted, or left me a message on Facebook. All of those things, believe it or not, are what gets me through.

My fairy tale’s “happily ever after” will come true eventually — just not the way I’d planned it.

Comments about this column? Email me at mmalloy@liherald.com