A blog about my late husband, George Maddox, who died after being injured in a plane crash. About grief, marriage, love and unexpected loss.

I woke up today feeling uneasy and stressed out with the feeling that something was wrong. Its a feeling I’ve become familiar with over these last two years. That moment just after waking when you remember what is wrong.

Two years have passed since George died. Lots of people ask how my grief is progressing. “Does it get easier?” they want to know.

The answer is simply, no.

The last few weeks before George’s accident, we had reached a new plateau of understanding and affection for each other. Three weeks before the accident we visited Atlanta for the 20 year anniversary of my documentary, “Riding With The King,” which follows a fan to Memphis for the death week observance of Elvis’s death. Somehow, George had never seen the film. He saw it for the first time with an appreciative audience, and surrounded by people we have known for years. Friends showed up who knew each of us, but had never known us as a married couple. Lily was there. It was a strangely joyous and affecting experience and George loved the film and the entire vacation. We drove past old haunts, visited friends, and generally had a ball. Some of George’s old friends got together and had a brunch for him, and he was truly overwhelmed that so many people showed up. When we left Atlanta he told me how proud he was of me and Lily and how much he missed being part of a community of friends.

The glow of the trip hadn’t quite worn off three weeks later when George had his accident. Those three weeks were special. I remember telling him how much I loved him frequently, and he did the same. He talked about how he enjoyed showing Lily off. It was a high point in our marriage and I felt that we were really settling in for the long haul as life partners. We were talking about moving to Asheville when Lily started high school and just generally looking hopefully forward.

Somehow, all this made the accident and George’s eventual passing even more upsetting. I have to say, looking back, that I was in complete shock for the first year. I said and did some strange things, especially in the first few weeks after his death. Everything felt very unreal. I kept expecting George to show up at any moment. The second year, reality started to sink in and while I was a good deal less shocky, I was still extremely distracted and easily upset. I kept running certain events over and over in my head.

I was, and am, extremely sad.

Now we are at the third Halloween since George left us. It was his favorite holiday, and its impossible to get ready to go out with Lily and not think about him constantly. Simply put, I miss him terribly and I feel cheated. I notice that when I get upset about something I have extreme trouble getting back to normal and I wonder if maybe I have a form of post traumatic stress disorder. Its daunting and I don’t see these things ending any time soon.

Lily is strong, and she tries really hard to keep from drifting into sadness. She was a ghost for a halloween party the other night and I made her makeup look melancholy. “I look so sad, Mom!” she complained. “I try not to look that way!”

I know what she means. I try not to look that way too.

But its there.

Happy Halloween, George. We miss you.

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September 4, 2009, George died.

Today, two years later, I’m still waiting to hear what the NTSB considers the cause of the accident. It is shocking beyond belief that an accident can occur and there is never a court hearing, no charges filed, no deadline as to when a decision about the cause must be rendered. This is specific to aviation. Because of the way the NTSB (National Transportation and Safety Board) works, years can go by without a decision being made. If George had been killed in a barroom, by a drunk driver, in any sort of car accident for that matter, or if he had slipped on ice, there would have been some legal outcome. When a plane accident occurs, unless mechanical failure is obvious or the person flying the plane is intoxicated it is possible for the case to drag on endlessly with no held accountable.

Its exhausting and depressing.

Lily has taken to saying, “Why did it happen to us?” All I can tell her is I don’t know. She’s been sad and crying a lot the past couple of weeks, and so have I. We’re still trying to grasp our new reality. Lily’s been talking about how George will never see our new house or meet our new pets. She’s crushed about this. Then she says, “We wouldn’t live here if Daddy hadn’t died.”

So hard for a nine year old to understand the way life works. So hard for her mom, too.

We’re still here, remembering George.

We hope you remember him too.

Especially today.

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Two years ago tonight, I was sleeping in my bed when I got a phone call telling me George had been involved in a plane accident. Lily and I rushed to the hospital in New Jersey and began a two week vigil that ended in the worst possible way. On September 4th, 2009, we came home without him. Its been a long journey from there to here, painful and lonely.

Its not the being alone that bothers me, its being without him.

Its been a while since I’ve written here. I sometimes feel I’ve said all I have to say about what happened to our family. I’ve known a lot of people who have lost someone important to them. Recently, a couple of friends have passed away at far too young an age.

I know we are not alone in our grief. But on bad days it can feel like we are.

I try to talk to Lily freely about her dad. I want her to know how he thought and why he was special. Its my job to help her remember, and it can be scary. What if I forget to tell her something important?

One night we were looking for something to watch on TV and I clicked past “Liar, Liar,” with Jim Carrey. He was chasing his son, and the little boy was whooping with excitement. “I used to have a funny daddy,” Lily said. “He was funny, and he would chase me.” It breaks my heart that her memories of him are mostly childish ones. She never got to have the important conversations with him, so she looks for other people to talk to about God, and life, and how the world works.

“I feel like I talk too much sometimes,” she told me once. I told her, “Just be yourself,” and I hope she will take my advice.

George was, more than anything, himself.

I never met anyone who I enjoyed being with as much as him. He was self deprecating, funny, curious and open. His memories were his friends. Anyone who knew him for any period of time liked him. He had sparkly eyes, a deep voice, and an acid tongue. He took life as it came. His biggest ambition was to be a good dad. He was a loyal friend and a loving husband.

Every day I knew him he made me laugh, sometimes even when I was mad at him. He played the guitar, watched old TV shows, and preferring being at home to anything else.

I miss him every day.

Especially today.

To all the people who have helped and supported us this past two years, thank you.

I hope you’ll keep George in your hearts, and think of him often.

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It has been a year and a half since George’s passing. When you’re a widow, you have a lot of conversations about your dead husband. I accept that. People want to know what I think about what happened to me. Everyone’s fascinated, because everyone’s afraid it will happen to them. I’ve had lots of heartrending conversations with people about life and death. Many people want to know what I believe about the hereafter. My thoughts have run the gamut from the “flipped off switch” to the idea of eternal life.

Such a seductive idea, eternal life.

“He’s looking down on you.”

“He’s your guardian angel.”

To be honest, my beliefs are more secular. But I do know one thing. When George was alive he was my guardian angel, and I miss that more than I can say. Let me explain.

When my first marriage broke up, I was distraught. The future was a black hole. I felt used up, exhausted, and jaded.

I felt so damn unloved.

Then, about five months after my separation, George called. If you knew my husband, then you know the jolt of energy that accompanied his presence. His bright, sparkly eyes. His deep laugh. His sly wit. When I heard his southern drawl on the phone I was filled with a powerful sense of peace and hope. I knew things were going to be all right.

And they were.

I remember, during the time when we first reconnected, my mom saying over and over, “Thank goodness for George.” She was so glad that I had him in my life. So glad he found me again.

He wasted no time, putting a lot of effort into making me feel better. He reminded me who I was and what I was made of. As time passed, he never failed to let me know that he loved and valued me. He sang my praises and he sought to turn my faults into strengths. He accepted me for who I was. “You know why we’re a good couple?” he asked. “Because you just like me and I like you, no matter what.” Its true, we did. I’m not saying we didn’t fight. He had some really annoying traits. But I couldn’t stay mad at him very long. I didn’t want to stay mad.

Now, after all that has happened, I remember George’s beautiful spirit. He warmed my life. He made me laugh. The world shined when he walked in. I absolutely do feel his love is all around me. I feel solitary, but not alone. Memories of him can make me happy, sad, and everything in between. I didn’t get enough of him, but I’m pretty sure no amount of time would ever have been enough.

We had what we had. Its over. My life goes on, but without my guardian angel.

And when I think of him, and I always do, I think, Thank goodness for George.

Thank goodness for George.

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