From The Wife You Made A Widow

Grabbing near the edges of my long, kelly green wool coat, I wrapped myself tighter, and exited Christian County Judicial Center for the last time. The air was colder than I remember from past visits but this time my shoulders were tight from the coolness not the anger, bitterness, and tension that I usually exit with. This chapter has ended. The chapter where the person who was responsible for making this wife a widow finally agreed to pay a $25 violation fine for his negligence. To be clear, I have spent more than that in gas money traveling countless times to court, anticipating a resolution and hoping for a sign of remorse. Yesterday I was given the opportunity to address James O’Neal and the Court, the following letter was my response:

I wish grief came with an owner’s manual on how to live your life after someone is taken from us here on earth. I wish there was a chapter that tells you it is ok when you feel crazy some days, replaying the eleven years spent together, ten years of marriage, replaying the last days in the hospital, replaying the day before the accident. I know I’ll never have an answer as to why Troy isn’t here with me. I know he would be if he could.

As time passes, I want to believe this will get easier, not just for me but Troy’s brothers, his dad, his three girls… for everyone who loved him. Over a year has passed and it hasn’t, still I hold onto hope that it will. I find myself with little sleep and my mind wandering constantly. With every prayer I hope that God lets Troy know we miss him and we love him still. There isn’t an hour that passes he isn’t thought of or there isn’t a piece of hope that God lets him check in on me. I beg at night, when I find myself in the kitchen floor, with tears flowing, that Troy will come to me in my dreams when I fall asleep. Our kitchen holds so many memories; cooking, recapping our days, or dancing to the radio because we rarely turned the television on. The kitchen is now where I find myself crying and hoping its far enough away that my daughter can’t hear me.

I have a million questions for God, a million things I still want to say and I’d give my last breath for just one more kiss. I am lost without Troy, completely lost. When out to lunch with friends, we talked about them not imagining what this phase of life is like for me. Matter-of-factly one said “it is because most people don’t have someone to love them like the two of you loved each other” sitting there, we all fell apart a little, maybe a lot. I hate this life without him here, I needed him and I miss my best friend. I question God often, feeling like I must have failed somewhere. These thoughts may sound crazy, I know, but silence is deafening and grief with loneliness causes your mind to question anything and everything you thought you knew to be true.

Reality has hit me much harder lately as I seem to be walking through a life void of Troy’s presence instead of walking in a fog of disbelief and shock. I don’t know where our family goes from here, it’s just the two of us in our home and I’m trying to be the best I can for Amaya. This, I’m sure is my purpose now. I see pieces of Troy in her, seeds he planted in her heart and I am forever grateful that she was loved so much. As you hear this, know that our worlds have been rocked and I am  being very honest and as raw as this pain remains. This pain is not just emotional and mental but it is physically tolling. Troy’s brother, Todd asked me the once what I thought Troy would want me to do in this time. I know he would want me to miss him, cry for him and love him out loud. For how long? I don’t know. “At least forever” he would probably say with a slight laugh from behind a fist covering his mouth.

No words could describe what an impact Mr. O’Neal’s negligence has had on my life, on our families, or our friend’s lives. Mr. O’Neal you were given several warnings and opportunities to take actions that would have me at home today with my husband and daughter instead of this courtroom… I spent three weeks in a hospital chair, I never left, begging God to save my husband, I spent three months crying every night on my kitchen floor, hoping I was far enough away from my daughter’s room she wouldn’t hear me, in that time I never received an I’m sorry from you, I still haven’t. Instead you chose to play games with insurance companies, law enforcement investigations and the judicial system but above all you chose to play games with my sanity, as I am forced to drive past the exit labeled Highway 117 for every court appearance, the same exit where you get to live with your family, the same exit where my family was taken. You are not sorry and your lack of remorse and responsibility haunts me daily.

When people think of hogs they automatically associate them with being disgusting, filthy and glutenous…. I find it nothing short of ironic Mr. O’Neal that I associate you with the same.

Regretfully,

The wife you made a widow