I stood there waiting by the door. I would start to pace back and forth for a while.
I kept thinking “Why hasn’t anyone called? Where are they?”
You see, just moments before, I was on my way home from picking up my daughter from school. We saw some police lights about a mile down from our community entrance. The minute I saw them I felt sick.
I rushed to the house, opened the garage door, and pulled in. I jumped out of the car and ran into the house calling his name.
My 7-year old walks in behind me and says “I wonder where Daddy went. I hope he’s okay.”
I ran back to the garage and noticed his motorcycle was gone. I felt even more sick. I left her with her older sister and told her I had to check on something real quick.
I got back in my car and drove as close as I could get to the police lights. My heart started beating so fast I thought it would explode. I saw an officer directing traffic and I pleaded with him “Can you tell me if that is a motorcycle accident?”
He looked at me with hesitation and we both knew why I was there.
I sat in my car waiting for them to tell what color the bike was. If the rider was OK. If they could identify the rider. If they could give me any information. Everything was moving so slow. Time seemed to stop. I called my Dad because I knew I shouldn’t be alone and someone needed to be with the kids.
Dad was there before I knew it and we waited. After what seemed like forever (only 30 minutes in real time) the officer told him to take me home.
That is where I am at right now. Waiting to hear about my husband. Dad drove back to see if they would tell him anything. I’m just waiting.
Next thing I know, Mom and Dad, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend, and my best friend are all pulling up to my house. I take one look at my mom’s face and fell to the ground.
At that very moment my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces and I am screaming at the top of lungs, without regard to the many sleeping neighbors. My oldest watching from her bedroom upstairs.
I can’t breathe. My head is pounding. A million thoughts run through my mind.
We had had an argument just moments before I went to get the little one. He was mad at me and I was mad at him. I should’ve just shrugged it off. I should’ve told him to come with me. I should’ve given him a hug. I should’ve said “I love you.” I should’ve told him how much I loved him even though we had that stupid little argument.
I should’ve. I could’ve. My fault. Why did I have to be so stubborn? Why can’t I let things go? Why? Why him? What did I do so wrong? What about the kids? How am I going to do this by myself?
As I write this, it’s only been a few months since he has passed away.
I’m not by myself. I have two beautiful girls who depend on me everyday. We give each other strength. I am totally amazed at how strong they have been throughout everything. They get that from their Daddy.
Sure we have all had our meltdowns. Me more than them, but I think because they know I am still here for them.
Everyday has been struggle. I think “Oh, he would’ve loved that” or “That’s something he would say” or “Where are you when I need you?” after toting kids to softball, t-ball, scouts, school programs, and doctors visits. It’s exhausting being the only parent.
I also have a great support system: my parents, my in-laws, my BFF, my work family.
I don’t know what I would have done without them and I know they will continue to help out whenever needed.
What does it really come down to? Every day I mark on the calendar how many days it’s been since he passed away.
And every day I am one more day stronger. Sure it still hurts. I expect it will for a very long time, but just because it hurts doesn’t mean I’m broken.
A special thanks to Angel Malone for sharing her story with us. If you’re interested in contributing to Hello Grief, please email us at firstname.lastname@example.org