February 20, 2019: Mary Murphy
All of us have said painful goodbyes to the dearest of loved ones. Sometimes, the poignant farewell is at the cemetery, following a sudden death that had no forewarning. Sometimes, taking leave is slow and incremental, say during a protracted illness and steady decline that eases its way toward final breaths. For survivors, saying goodbye and letting go – whatever its path – is never easy. Yet, all of us know that it’s bound to happen during the course of our lives. And maybe, just maybe, when the inevitable happens, we’re surrounded by the people who matter most to us, people who offer us the precious gift of true friendship and succor. And that’s what we hear from Mary Murphy.
Mary Murphy is a freelance photographer and former Providence Journal photographer.
When The Red Sox won the World Series in October, 2018, the joy I felt was mixed with sadness, joy because of what my husband, Bill Malinowski, a longtime reporter for the Providence Journal, had taught me about the Red Sox, and sadness because he wasn’t here to share the victory. ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease, took his life in August 2016, 16 months after his diagnosis. That victory reminded me of my belief in the power of baseball and friendship. I was grateful for everything baseball brought him the last year of his life and for the friends who helped him through baseball.
For some, what matters about sports is limited to what happens on the playing field or court. For others, like Bill, sports brings people together in meaningful and surprising ways.
The Red Sox were his passion defining many of his friendships. As a life-long fan growing up in Connecticut where his brother Paul rooted for the Yankees, Bill was the most optimistic of fans. Every season promised to be the year the Red Sox would win. When the season ended and they moved out of contention, Bill supported whatever team opposed the Yankees.
Marrying Bill brought me into this world. The night I went into labor in 1993, giving birth to our daughter, Molly, Bill bonded with the doctor, also a fan, as we watched the Sox play the Indians in the delivery room.
After Bill’s diagnosis in 2015, his friends rallied around him. They planned baseball trips as he confronted the incurable, helping me as I felt inadequate to face the disease. Even if he couldn’t talk about his illness, he could bond through baseball. Bill with friend and colleague Mike flew to Washington to see the Nationals, and college friends Barry and Chris took him to Fenway. Near the end of that season, friend Dan took Bill to a meaningless game against Tampa Bay. Dan later wrote a poignant column about Bill’s grim acceptance of ALS and the toll it was taking on him.
As the 2016 season began, we flew to Florida for spring training with help from friends Brian on the West Coast and Herb and Barb on the East Coast. At JetBlue Park we saw old friends, but left the game early because Bill had difficulty swallowing a hot dog.
That summer, Bill’s life was watching and texting about baseball with friends like Ged and Ed, and Don, his oldest friend, whose son Dominic is a major league pitcher. Chris, the Yankee fan, flew to Providence one day to watch a Yankee day game on TV. Bill’s last game at Fenway was Father’s Day with our daughter Molly and friends Ted and Karin.
The night that he fell asleep in August, never to wake up again, he was watching the Red Sox. He passed away a few days later.
At Bill’s funeral, Chris, the Yankee fan, brought Red Sox caps for himself and other pallbearers. There was Dan, the Mets fan. Brother Paul, Chris and Herb, Yankee fans. Barry, an Indians fan, and Mike, the only Red Sox fan. At the cemetery they donned the caps and in a final gesture, threw them on the casket, honoring their friend and his passion.
Later this month, the Red Sox will report for spring training. Bill would already be making predictions for the season ahead.
