Tara K Wells
i am so sorry to everyone who deserves a private message.
i don’t have it in me right now. but i thought you should know…
Pierre Malloy, our collective rock, died peacefully of his own accord, today, January 28th, 2022 at or about 1:30 am.
HE WILL BE MISSED DEARLY.
aside from my own broken heart, he leaves behind those of both his dear parents, Wayne and Julia, his beloved sister Lynne (James) and his darling niece Holly. And my entire family, who were also quite fond of the fellow… as i’m sure you were too, if you had the good fortune to have known him.
“what would Pierre do” is a constant in my head. he has never steered me wrong, even when merely evoked! yup, he was that awesome! he ticked all the boxes: kind, bright, generous, funny, curious. a stand-up guy if ever there was, despite being bestowed with a myriad of trials.
okay guess the obituariesque waxing dictates i tell you a little bit about him. he was born in 1965 (just before Canada’s universal healthcare system had begun), and given not one, not two, but THREE names (two of which you’ll never know!) and, of course, he was born with multiple life-threatening congenital defects, which, even after several costly infantile corrective surgeries would impact so much of his adult life.
but he was a trooper, given a life expectancy far shorter than what he, in fact, achieved - and i had the privilege of spending a whopping 33 and a 1/3 of those precious years, in his life, 26 and a half of them as his wife.
he was an award-winning journalist (at one point, he could lay claim to the title of youngest newspaper editor in New Brunswick); he fulfilled his dream (ever the mediaphile) of opening and running a video store at the dusk of the format; he worked as a newsprint production designer, and when the newspaper he was working for sold out to a heartless corporation; he manoeuvred his career into college radio station management, with an emphasis on shaping young minds into critical thinkers (chma 106.9, yo!!!). he was also the best artistic collaborator, and could be relied upon to help me realize some of my best work.
in late 2019, after a meaty pancreatic cancer diagnosis and a whopper of a whipple procedure, and with no hope for further remedial treatment (save for the off-label, untested THC oils i forced him to take while he unwound his radio career - at least in a jovial fashion!), he retired to our home just in time for covid lockdowns! a hermit at heart - and despite his constant discomfort (which mostly he hid quite masterfully) - he was the best bubble boy a girl could ask for!
what to do next. the business of death, i guess…
and on that note, a week before he died, Pierre asked me to have “this read”. he heard it recited on a british show called Winter Walks. i have transcribed the words, but i’m at a loss for the punctuation, etc… but you’ll get the gist. it’s in Luck is in the Hook, by Imtiaz Dharker
Arc
As if I fell,
everything fell out of my mind,
the spark left my eyes,
light drained away,
and I became a shell,
beautiful, like something that could be filled with tall tales, new stories
anything worth imagining,
words are the pearl,
die for them and we become real,
do you hear my muster down the line?
even with all it’s colours washed away,
wet cloth slapped on stone,
thread beaten too thin,
my voice is still there,
an arc of drops hung in the air,
sparkling.
____
catch you on the flippity flop. i’m gonna need a minute.
i don’t have it in me right now. but i thought you should know…
Pierre Malloy, our collective rock, died peacefully of his own accord, today, January 28th, 2022 at or about 1:30 am.
HE WILL BE MISSED DEARLY.
aside from my own broken heart, he leaves behind those of both his dear parents, Wayne and Julia, his beloved sister Lynne (James) and his darling niece Holly. And my entire family, who were also quite fond of the fellow… as i’m sure you were too, if you had the good fortune to have known him.
“what would Pierre do” is a constant in my head. he has never steered me wrong, even when merely evoked! yup, he was that awesome! he ticked all the boxes: kind, bright, generous, funny, curious. a stand-up guy if ever there was, despite being bestowed with a myriad of trials.
okay guess the obituariesque waxing dictates i tell you a little bit about him. he was born in 1965 (just before Canada’s universal healthcare system had begun), and given not one, not two, but THREE names (two of which you’ll never know!) and, of course, he was born with multiple life-threatening congenital defects, which, even after several costly infantile corrective surgeries would impact so much of his adult life.
but he was a trooper, given a life expectancy far shorter than what he, in fact, achieved - and i had the privilege of spending a whopping 33 and a 1/3 of those precious years, in his life, 26 and a half of them as his wife.
he was an award-winning journalist (at one point, he could lay claim to the title of youngest newspaper editor in New Brunswick); he fulfilled his dream (ever the mediaphile) of opening and running a video store at the dusk of the format; he worked as a newsprint production designer, and when the newspaper he was working for sold out to a heartless corporation; he manoeuvred his career into college radio station management, with an emphasis on shaping young minds into critical thinkers (chma 106.9, yo!!!). he was also the best artistic collaborator, and could be relied upon to help me realize some of my best work.
in late 2019, after a meaty pancreatic cancer diagnosis and a whopper of a whipple procedure, and with no hope for further remedial treatment (save for the off-label, untested THC oils i forced him to take while he unwound his radio career - at least in a jovial fashion!), he retired to our home just in time for covid lockdowns! a hermit at heart - and despite his constant discomfort (which mostly he hid quite masterfully) - he was the best bubble boy a girl could ask for!
what to do next. the business of death, i guess…
and on that note, a week before he died, Pierre asked me to have “this read”. he heard it recited on a british show called Winter Walks. i have transcribed the words, but i’m at a loss for the punctuation, etc… but you’ll get the gist. it’s in Luck is in the Hook, by Imtiaz Dharker
Arc
As if I fell,
everything fell out of my mind,
the spark left my eyes,
light drained away,
and I became a shell,
beautiful, like something that could be filled with tall tales, new stories
anything worth imagining,
words are the pearl,
die for them and we become real,
do you hear my muster down the line?
even with all it’s colours washed away,
wet cloth slapped on stone,
thread beaten too thin,
my voice is still there,
an arc of drops hung in the air,
sparkling.
____
catch you on the flippity flop. i’m gonna need a minute.
Will add to these if I discover them on Twitter.
Pierre was 'good people' in my book.
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