Sally Dahlem doesn't have to cry when she talks about her husband anymore.
Whether she's discussing his old hobbies or the last phone conversation they shared, she remains calm. Her eyes gloss, and she looks aEway, thinking - but for her, the time for tears has neared its end.
Today marks the one-year anniversary of the death of her husband, Lt. Corey Dahlem, the Gainesville Police Department officer who was hit and killed by a drunken driver.
Throughout the year, each week has brought a new set of challenges - frustrations over money, changes in tradition, doubts about the future.
And yet, with the year behind her, she can still remember her husband, tearlessly, with a silent strength only she can fully understand.
Their first date was more than 20 years ago. Corey, who at the time was a Florida State University fraternity brother, asked sorority sister Sally out to a midnight party for the university's Greek Week. Of course, Sally laughed, he didn't inform her of the two other girls who would accompany them on their "date."
Rough start aside, the two went on to marry, conceive their first child and set off for Gainesville, the site of Corey's first job as a police officer.
With his position, she said, came the worry. Sally still remembers crying to her husband about his possibly dangerous midnight shift - and later, after Corey began to get carsick out on patrol, worrying that his queasy stomach would lose him the job.
"We would drive through Gainesville," she said with a laugh, "and he would point to spots and say, 'I threw up in that bush.'"
The carsickness soon subsided, and Corey was on his way to a 22-year-long career in law enforcement. Sally soon developed her own knack for health care, a field she still works in today.
Their children, Brandon, now 22, and Katie, now 19, also warmed up to Gainesville as they grew.
For years, the family continued the same routine. Corey worked his way up and became a lieutenant in 2003. Brandon moved south and enrolled at the University of South Florida. Katie enrolled at SFCC and moved into her own apartment, although her dad insisted on regular "quality time" lunches.
Corey's death changed everything.
For Sally, the final days of her husband's life will be eternally etched in her memory: the trip to Stein Mart that Sunday, when he gave her a hard time for shoe shopping; the last phone call they shared on Monday, when he prepared for a rowdy night patrolling University Avenue; the early morning phone call on Tuesday detailing her husband's injuries; seeing Corey alive for the last time on Wednesday before he was taken off life support.
"You wish you would have had a chance to say something," she said. "You think, oh, if you would have only had more time to tell him you appreciated him."
The months after his death brought not only emotional struggles, but financial as well. Though Sally's full-time position supported her family, Corey's pension brought home only a third of his usual earnings. And "line of duty" federal death benefits, which Sally applied for months ago, have yet to surface.
The customs of the family's past have had to change, too. Corey was the bill payer, the dishwasher, the disciplinarian - and in his absence, the family has had to create new traditions.
Yet even as his seat at the dinner table remains empty, his presence lives on in their home's den-turned-memorial, replete with Corey's badge, gun, a Bible and numerous pictures. Elsewhere in the city, Corey's name can be seen on the 34th Street Wall, in a data tracking room at the police station and on the section of Northwest 17th Street that was renamed in his honor. Sally laughed that having his name all across Gainesville would have amused the long-time Seminole fan.
But as the one-year anniversary of his death comes and goes, and as life moves on for the Dahlems, Sally said she'll continue to remember Corey's past and stay strong for the family's future.
"I need to do it for Corey," she said. "He deserved it."
