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

I’ve been hesitant to write, mostly out of anger, maybe some regret and even out of the overwhelming sadness that comes with every thought. Not writing sometimes because I just feel like I’m telling the same things over and over. I miss you so much that my body is physically aching, my eyes sting and my head hurts from the constant wandering thoughts that plague me.

I’m angry at myself mostly, I regret every goodbye kiss I took for granted and not fully listening to every thought about work, football or baseball. I’m angry that I accidentally deleted a whole folder of photos from my phone just a couple of weeks before the wreck. I’m angry that when talking to Amaya I still say “we’ll talk about it”, which used to mean you and I would let her know an answer later, now it just means I’m talking to myself. I’m overwhelmed with sadness because I can never see you again, never hear your laugh or touch you. I’m scared that memories of you may fade one day, that details will slip my mind. I’m scared to live a life without you. I know people say you are here with me but it is not the same. It never will be and that is the scariest part of waking up every day.

I’m angry with God, I may have said that before but I’ll say it again.   I know that you shouldn’t question God, I should have faith that I can make it through and that He will be there guiding me along the way. I’m not proud that I question Him about this whole situation, but I do. I remember us having this same conversation about your mom over and over, you truly believed that with the amount of people praying for her healing she would receive a miracle and that would be a testament to how great of a God we serve. It was still somewhat unbelievable, twenty years later, that she didn’t and you lost her. I guess I never fully grasped the emotions you had from that time until now. Well I had the same faith through your hospital stay, I truly believed that you would be healed no matter how long the road, that this testimony would bring people closer to Him and you would get a chance to have your miracle. My heart breaks for you. My heart breaks for our family. It is shattered.

Last night I walked with Amaya along the Christmas parade route so she could be normal again, with her friends, hopefully without her mom being a basket case of tears.  At the very last minute I bought light up necklaces, candy and bags.  I took deep breaths and made little eye contact with onlookers. As we lined up all I could think was last year we were here together, proud cheer parents, smiles, with coffee from Fidalgo Bay but also a plan to get away quickly to watch The Ohio State play.  Knowing I will never have that again, well it sucks quite frankly. We finished the parade, I dropped Amaya off to be with her dad and I went home and watched the Buckeyes go on to win the Big 10 Championship again, but I would give anything to have my biggest Buckeye fan here with me. I miss you.

This morning I woke up and went to church, Mom came too. Kory delivered the sermon today, I stared at the screens mostly not singing for fear the tears in my eyes would start falling. Although the Christmas series started today, he touched on God being the cornerstone of our lives and then said something to the affect of if your family is your cornerstone, instead of God and someone passes you are left devastated. I absolutely believe that  you were a piece of  the cornerstone of our family. I also believe that at the core of who you truly were God was your cornerstone, so naturally we relied on you and followed your lead. Were you perfect? No. Am I? Most definitely not. I’m not sure, no matter how someone prioritizes their faith, that they could say they weren’t devastated if standing in my shoes.  I am devastated, and my faith although shaken, isn’t gone, it is just on a journey of unexplainable query and grief.