He’s one of the funniest people in the world. Patton Oswalt is an accomplished comedian, writer and actor. In 2007, he was the voice of Remy in Pixar’s Ratatouille.
But for the last year, Oswalt has not spent time being funny, or writing scripts. No, his time has been spent picking up the pieces, and navigating a life without his late wife and partner in crime, Michelle McNamara.
McNamara passed away suddenly in her sleep on April 21, 2016. The 46-year-old crime-writing author had been married to Oswalt for 11 years, and the couple has an eight-year-old daughter, Alice.
Though Oswalt has been almost completely silent this past year, there is one thing he has openly written about—his struggle with grief, and adjusting to life as a single parent.
Oswalt has penned a handful of painfully honest letters on his Facebook page, sharing his experience for the sake of overcoming some of his own feelings, but also relating to those who are familiar with the dark world of grief.
Now, on the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death, Oswalt took to Facebook once again to update fans on his journey—the things he’s gone through, and where he finds himself today writing, “It’s awful, but it’s not fatal.”
“That’s the dispatch I’m sending back from exactly one year into this shadow-slog. A year ago today — an hour from now, I’m just realizing — I came back from dropping Alice off at school. I’d let Michelle sleep in. Got our daughter dressed and ready for school — lunch packed, class folder in her backpack. I stopped on the way home to buy Michelle an Americano and left it on her bedside table around 9:30 am. Went up to my office, did some writing, answered some e-mails, Tweeted some thoughts on Prince dying. There was an art show at Alice’s school in the afternoon and my wife and I were going to go, get dragged around the room by Alice as she chattered about her artwork and the work of her classmates. Except instead I came back down into the house and the life i knew was gone.”
Oswalt elaborates on his “one year” into that new life, saying he could have never imagined it would have happened to him.
“Last night I took off my wedding ring. I couldn’t bear removing it since April 21st, 2016. But now it felt obscene. That anonymous poem about the man mourning his dead lover for a year and a day, for craving a kiss from her “clay cold lips.” I was inviting more darkness. Removing the ring was removing the last symbol of denial of who I was now, and what my life is, and what my responsibilities are.
But it’s not fatal.”
He put the ring into a little box he’d made years ago before he and Michelle were married. When he first constructed it, Oswalt filled the box with “random trinkets” and reminders of the life they shared leading up to marriage.
Patton Oswalt
“Michelle brought me nothing but happiness. You see it in our faces, that picture between the two pics of the box. That was taken literally a month after we started going out. Look at us. We knew this was it.
So the ring goes with the happy stuff.”
Patton Oswalt
Oswalt says that his plans for the day weren’t the usual “graveside visit,” as those happen when he or Alice have something exciting to share with Michelle.
“No candle lighting or balloon launching. We think of her every day — she’s still so tied into our worlds, in a way that’s encouraging, and energizing. So why light a flame that will die, or release a balloon that will disappear? Michelle’s gone but she wasn’t the kind of soul that disappears or dies out.
I’m gonna pick Alice up at school later. She wants to go to a pet store and buy “worms that will grow into beetles.” She’s becoming a cool bug girl and Michelle would have thought that was hilarious (Michelle HATED insects). Then we’ll go get ice cream. Or go home and play a game. I’m her dad. I want to make her days fun.”
As for pressing on, Oswalt knows he’s not alone. His plan is to continue living a good life, in honor of the woman who made his life better.
Patton Oswalt
“I’ve become friends with a lot of other people who share my tragedy. We’re an informal, subtle little club. No rankings or initiation ceremonies or secret handshakes. And no, we don’t “see it each other’s eyes” or “sense it without saying it.” We went through something that transformed us but, for the most part, we keep it together. We lost someone who made us live better in the world. It would be an insult to them not suddenly live badly in this world.
I plan things better. I’m more patient. I still sleep badly, and my weight and health need some work, but that’s combat damage. There’s got to be a way to fix those without being [crappy] to friends and strangers who are struggling with chaos. I’ll try.
One year in. Another year starting. It’s awful, but it’s not fatal. Message received? Over and out.”
His humor is still as present as ever, but Oswalt is acknowledgedly a changed man. His honesty and “hold nothing back” approach has helped him develop in this new life he lives, while also bringing comfort to those experiencing similar tragedy.
Cheers to the next year Patton Oswalt. Your willingness to share your heart is inspiring.
