I am starting to use the hard words. Like “died.” I am trying to get used to saying it – Kirk died. Until recently, I couldn’t say it at all. I would say “the night of the accident” or “since it happened” or “since I lost him” or sometimes even “when he was taken” (that’s how it feels – like he was taken). Once in a while, in my head, I have even found myself saying “since he left me.” I knew that at some point, I needed to start saying the real word – died. I don’t like that word.
So why say it now? I think because I am beginning to accept it a little. Not “accept” as in it’s okay – just “accept” as in starting to believe it’s for real. The absolute inability to understand that this is forever may be starting to fade. I use the word “inability” intentionally. It is not an unwillingness to accept forever – I have actually been mentally and emotionally unable to comprehend the permanence of this.
I thought “acceptance” would somehow be easier than the initial shock and denial. Instead it is just different. It is more subtle, less of a roller coaster. The sadness is different – not as many tears, just quietly depressing. Even yesterday, the day I wrote about the night of the accident, was a relatively quiet day in my head – not as emotional as you might have thought from reading what I wrote.
If this is “acceptance,” it also feels more isolated. Lonelier than before – I think until recently I was so packed with rioting emotion that it took all my energy to get through a day, and the loneliness was there but was not the biggest issue. And because I couldn’t get that he wasn’t coming back, I think subconsciously the loneliness seemed temporary. Now as the extreme emotion becomes less demanding of my attention, I notice the aloneness more. I have known that I would eventually need to start new habits, new patterns, but so far I haven’t done too much about it because the time didn’t seem right yet. I think the time may be coming.
The really strange thing is that at the same time I begin to accept what has happened, I am starting to have episodes where I forget that he is gone. Before now, I didn’t grasp the permanence, yet I never once tried to call him or do anything else that indicated I truly forgot he was gone. I would think “I would have talked to him about that” or “I wish he could be here for this.” But I never actually tried to call him, or forgot he wouldn’t be there when I got home.
Now, I am starting to actually do things as if I thought he was here. Over the weekend, I was feeling so sad about everything, and I thought “I’ll talk to Kirk about it when I get home.” That made me feel better for an instant until I realized I couldn’t. This morning, I reached for the phone to call him. I remembered in time, though.
I don’t understand why when I couldn’t believe he was gone forever, I never forgot for a minute that I had lost him. And now that I am starting to accept that I have lost him, I sometimes forget he is gone. Grieving is the single most confusing thing I have ever done.
Nonetheless, I am doing okay right now. I do laugh, I do smile, I do not cry all the time. I sleep okay, I actually cook sometimes (the most popular question after How Are You Doing is What Are You Eating). Still no joy or deep down real happiness, but I am not a mess anymore. At least not lately.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
"No, Ma'am."
Four months today. It is as good a time as any to write about that night. I have needed to get this out for a while now, but couldn’t quite face it. I think about it all the time, but whenever I thought about writing it, it seemed too overwhelming. But the time has come to spit it out, and hopefully it will be an easier burden to carry going forward.
A word of caution: I re-read this before posting, and you should think carefully before you decide to keep reading – I think it is a very tough entry to take.
It was Friday. I had a phone meeting late in the day. I hung up about 5 p.m. While I finished up some things at work, I debated whether to go to the mall after work or go home. We had a formal charity event to attend the next night, and I didn’t have anything I was willing to wear. I decided to go home. I really didn’t feel like shopping, and I could always go the next morning. I was looking forward to the end of the week and to spending time with him.
I remember thinking as I wrapped up that it was funny he hadn’t called me. He would usually call around the end of the day to see when I was leaving so he knew what time he should plan to have dinner. Before I left my office around 6, I called him at home and on his cell to say I was leaving. No answer. That was even more unusual than him not calling. I decided he must be at home but outside working in the yard or talking to the neighbors, and the cell was in the house.
When I got to the car, I texted that I had left. I did this every night, because even though we normally would have talked from my office, I am notorious for saying I am about to leave and then not actually leaving until much later. The text was always the proof that I had indeed left work and am heading home. He always texted back, “Yea!!!” Earlier in our texting days, we had debated whether the proper spelling was “Yay,” “Yeah,” or “Yea.” He settled on “Yea” followed by many exclamation points. That night, he did not answer. This is when I started getting really concerned. There was no way that it would get to be after 6 and we still had had no contact.
The whole way home I tried to call him, with no luck. I kept telling myself I would find him hanging out in the neighbors’ yard. At 6:30, I pulled in the driveway, and the car wasn’t there. That was the moment that confirmed something was wrong. It was a complete impossibility that he would not be home at that time and also be unreachable unless something had happened.
I went in the house and looked for a note or a message. Nothing. I called Pam and Jim from across the street – the neighbors he talked to the most. They were not home, but I talked to their adult daughter. She hadn’t seen him, but would have Pam call when she got home. She reassured me that he was probably just hung up somewhere.
I was calm. Why? Because he was hurt or sick – I just knew it – but soon someone would call me and tell me where I needed to go. I just had to wait for the call.
I fed the dogs. Normally they are always fed at 7, but since I was sure that I was going to get a call any minute telling me he was in the hospital, I figured I better take care of them now. I noticed that Codie did not have enough medicine to get through the weekend – had he gone to the vet? Too late to call them and check – they were closed.
I wrote out instructions on how to feed the dogs – how much food they each got, what medicine to give Codie. One of the neighbors would need to feed them the next morning while I was at the hospital. Then I went and changed. As I was deciding what to wear, I was careful to pick something that would be comfortable while I was at the hospital – I figured that if I got any sleep it would probably be in a chair. I also chose layers so I could take them on or off depending on the temperature there. I picked a new shirt I had never worn before. I love the shirt, but have not worn it since. It is hanging clean but otherwise untouched in the laundry room – I can’t bring myself to put it on, put it away, or get rid of it.
I came back out into the kitchen and took out the phone book. We live out in the country, so we just get the little skinny phone book that doesn’t list all the regional hospitals. I could look online, but I didn’t even know the names of the local hospitals, and also had no idea where he had been, so I didn’t know what to look for. Besides, I really thought that if he was already at a hospital they would have called me. He carried good ID and we were listed so it wouldn’t have been hard to find me. I was really thinking that he was hurt or sick in his car somewhere and in need of help. I thought it could be a heart attack. I called the one hospital in the phone book – he wasn’t there. I don’t really know why I didn’t keep calling hospitals. I think I was avoiding facing it for real.
I decided that if I hadn’t heard anything by 8, I would call the police. In the meantime, I would keep busy until the hospital called by cleaning the kitchen. He was notorious for picking up the dishes but not wiping down the counters or sweeping the floor, and sure enough, there were crumbs everywhere. I figured I’d clean up so it would be in better shape when the neighbors came to take care of the dogs. Every few minutes I called him – no luck.
8:00 came – still no call. I knew that when I called the police they would just think I was some worrying wife. How could I make them understand how predictable he was, and that it was impossible that he was fine but just delayed? I decided to go next door – the couple that lives next to me, Bobby and Kim, are both police officers, and I thought maybe they could tell me what I needed to say to make someone listen. I took my cell phone in case he called, and went looking for them.
Bobby was at work, but another neighbor told me Kim was a few houses down at another neighbor’s house. As I started walking there, Pam, the neighbor I had left a message for, came home. I told her what was going on and asked if she had seen him. She said no and asked if I had called the hospitals. I explained that I was going to call the police after finding Kim. She and I walked to the house where Kim was.
By the time I found Kim, there were about 5 neighbors giving their input. They were reassuring me. Without meaning to, they were dismissing my concern. He’s out having a beer with friends, he ran out of gas, he’s shopping for that riding lawn mower he decided to buy, his cell phone is dead. I kept quietly saying no – he never lets the tank get below ¼ full, he never loses the charge on his phone, and he would never choose lawn mowers or bars over being there (in the kiss chair) when I got home. I’m sure they thought I was ridiculous – what husband doesn’t do those things sometimes? Inside I knew they were all wrong.
Kim said there was really no way to get the police to sit up and pay attention with such a short time having gone by. She felt calling the hospitals would be the quicker way to narrow down the possibilities, and then if we still hadn’t located him, try the police. They all offered to help, but there were a million little kids around and I didn’t want the chaos. Pam and I went back to start calling from my house. When we got to my driveway, she went across the street to get her phone book because she had the larger city phone book that would have all the hospitals. As I walked, I sent him this text – “I am very worried about you and know that you would call me if you could. I hope you are safe. I love you very much and I will find you.” I went inside and checked for messages. There were none. Even so, I was calm – he is hurt or sick and I just need to find him. I never ever thought he might be dead.
While Pam was at her house, I went online and checked the bank accounts. No charges that day that would give me a hint of where he had been. I checked his email account. He had sent the bjod (for those who do not know what bjod is, it stands for “bad joke of the day”) out early in the afternoon, so I knew he had been home then.
I saw someone at the door - it was Pam. As I opened the door, I saw she had her cell phone in her hand, and I heard her say “Tell Dad to get over here now – NOW – RIGHT NOW.” I couldn’t figure out why she needed her husband so much. Then over her shoulder I saw a white car parked in the road. It had some sort of emblem or seal on the door. I was trying to see what it said – I stepped out onto the porch (my heart is racing as I write this). That’s when I saw a woman get out of the car and start walking around the back of the car. She was wearing khakis and a polo shirt with an emblem on it. And behind her was a man - a police officer. I couldn’t see it because the porch column blocked my view, but there was a police car in front of the white car.
It was just like being a military wife – I knew instantly why they were there. The way they walked, the solemn, even grim look on their faces – I could see it all the way from the road. They were not here to tell me he was hurt. I doubled over, put my hand against the porch wall to hold me up. Don’t come up here I thought - I held my hand out to keep them away, as if that could change the truth. I started saying no oh no oh no oh no. Pam held onto me; Jim came running across the street.
The woman and the man came up the sidewalk and asked if we could talk inside. I was shaking and breathing so hard – not crying yet maybe I am wrong maybe I will not need to cry after all. But inside me I knew better.
I opened the door and they all came in – Pam and Jim, the man and the woman. I did not look at her shirt, did not want to see what that emblem said. I switched into some sort of surreal control thing in my head. I invited them in, asked them to have a seat. The dogs were going crazy about all the people. I called the dogs and told them to go outside, opened the back door to let them out. They did not want to go. They were agitated – I think they could feel in the air that something was wrong, that something other than normal visitors was happening here. I spoke to them quietly and calmly – told them it was all right, and that they should go outside. Like you would to a child. They went.
I wanted to go right out after them and not look back. Very bad things were about to be said to me. I closed the door and walked back into the room where they all were. The woman was sitting in Kirk’s recliner. The man, the police chief, was standing. I sat down in the chair next to the woman. Pam sat on the arm of the chair and put her arm around me, Jim stood behind me. I said to the woman, “You’re not here to tell me he’s in the hospital, are you?’
I will never ever forget her voice and what she said. She said the two words so quietly, so carefully, so caringly. Perfectly, really, given the situation. She said, “No, ma’am.”
As in “No, ma’am, he is not hurt.” “No ma’am, he is not out of gas.” “No ma’am, his cell phone is not dead.” “No, ma’am, he did not buy a lawn mower or stop for a beer.” And as in, “No ma’am, he is never coming home.” And “No ma’am, you will not get to hold him and say goodbye, or touch him while he still smells like him.” That’s what medical examiners say to people. “No, ma’am.”
From that moment on, that night is a blur, yet in some ways so clear in my memory. She explained what had happened, and what would happen next. An autopsy, then the funeral home. I couldn’t see him before the funeral home – the medical examiner didn’t have the facilities for that (in hindsight I think she was trying to spare me something). She asked if he could have been drinking. I said absolutely not. He loved his beer, but not at that time of the day, when he still needed to drive somewhere. Of course, I proved to be right. Before she left, I thanked her, and told her she had done a really good job. I think she was shocked, and probably thought I was crazy. I meant it though – she handled the worst moments of my life in a way that helped just a little bit. Like I try to do when I tell someone their job has been eliminated, only her job is so much harder.
It was just after 8:30 – he had already been gone for four hours and I had just found out. I had been right - something was not okay, and he was definitely hurt. But I had been oh so wrong about how badly.
More neighbors appeared. Everyone helped. Some worked on travel arrangements, others talked to the police and got more details than I could handle then but would need later, others made arrangements with the funeral home, another found his planner with the names and numbers of so many people we would call in the next few days. Then co-workers started showing up at the door, some from over an hour away. Thye had heard and were worried I might be alone. Later, my friend Cheryl and her family came, after Jackie hunted them down in church. They got so lost they didn't find me until after midnight, but they made it when I needed them.
Throughout the night, people gave me gifts when I most needed them. Not gifts in the traditional sense – what I mean is that each time I felt I was going to crack wide open and not be able to pick up the pieces, someone would bring me back by giving me a little unexpected piece of Kirk to hold on to. First, his wedding ring and wallet, which the police had brought over. A chain to hang the ring on around my neck. Then, the news that he had been planning to surprise me with new jewelry and that’s where he had been that day. A while later, his shirt – the one he had worn the night before, laid into my lap as I cried and cried.
The one thing that gave me any focus was dealing with how to tell those who needed to know. Despite the craziness in my head, the racing thoughts, the pain, it was the one thing I was clear about. The kids, his parents, his sister, they had to be told first. How was I going to tell them? I was especially concerned about the kids and his mom. I knew his sister and his dad would likely not be alone, but Erika and Kirk’s mom live alone, and while Matt does not, he could easily be home alone. I didn’t want any of them to hear without support. On Friday night, Matt is usually at work, Erika was either home studying or out dancing (there’s no in between for her). Who could I count on to be there for them? For Erika, her friend Jamie. For Matt, my sister Jennifer or niece Katie (his girlfriend was out of town). For Mom W., her sister Martha.
I started Pam on a hunt for Jamie. I knew where she and Erika used to work - they were still friends with people there and maybe someone would have Jamie’s number. My plan was to call Jamie in case they were out together, and if they weren't, to have her head to Erika's house. While Pam hunted for Jamie, I called Jennifer. We agreed she would call Katie, who shares an apartment with Matt and might know where he was. While she called Katie, I called Jill, Kirk’s sister. She was the first person I told – I’m sure I did it badly. I had decided I needed her to call her parents. I felt terrible that I wasn’t doing it, but the thought of having to tell them their child was gone was more than I could stand. I also knew my capacity was limited, and I had to focus on the kids. How was I going to tell them? What words to say?
I talked to Matt first. It was the worst thing I can imagine telling a child. His dad was gone, snatched away, stolen from him when he should have had him for so many years yet. He was very worried about me and about Erika. He kept saying call Erika, call Erika, call Erika. I promised I would call her right away.
She was home alone studying – I never did reach Jamie. I said it again – your dad has been in an accident. Daddy died. The thing I remember most is that she was breathing so hard, so fast, out of control. I kept saying breathe, breathe, breathe. I was scared she was going to hyperventilate all alone in her apartment and pass out with no one to help her.
It was a long long night. Phones ringing and ringing and ringing. House phones, cell phones. Every house phone battery eventually died from overuse and all we had left were cell phones. People whispering about sedatives and anti-depressants – baggies of pills with dosages written on them appeared. I didn’t want any of them. Deciding what to do about telling Mark and Nancy, Brian and Yvette, Kathy and his SYSCO friends, Jerry. It is long after midnight – might as well let them have a good night’s sleep – I will call them all tomorrow.
Jennifer is coming, flying in tomorrow, she won’t take no for an answer (thank God). The funeral director will be here at 10 a.m. tomorrow. Pam will spend the night. Finally, at 4 a.m., crawling into our bed, on his side, wearing his shirt. Breathing deep deep deep – where is his smell? Up at 7 - no sleep at all just more and more tears. Showering with no lifeguard. Hair and makeup. Why did I care what I looked like? Because I’m still me I guess, and I ALWAYS do my hair and makeup. At 7:30, a shocking phone call – do I want to donate his skin, bones, corneas? I have to decide fast, they have to know soon or it will be too late. I say no – it is too much. This is not the answer they hope for, but they are nice – no pressure or guilt trip. And from then on, the phones ring and ring and ring and Day 2 is underway.
Funny that I hear her voice more clearly than I hear Kirk’s. Life changed forever, hope was taken away, with those two words – “No, ma’am.”
A word of caution: I re-read this before posting, and you should think carefully before you decide to keep reading – I think it is a very tough entry to take.
It was Friday. I had a phone meeting late in the day. I hung up about 5 p.m. While I finished up some things at work, I debated whether to go to the mall after work or go home. We had a formal charity event to attend the next night, and I didn’t have anything I was willing to wear. I decided to go home. I really didn’t feel like shopping, and I could always go the next morning. I was looking forward to the end of the week and to spending time with him.
I remember thinking as I wrapped up that it was funny he hadn’t called me. He would usually call around the end of the day to see when I was leaving so he knew what time he should plan to have dinner. Before I left my office around 6, I called him at home and on his cell to say I was leaving. No answer. That was even more unusual than him not calling. I decided he must be at home but outside working in the yard or talking to the neighbors, and the cell was in the house.
When I got to the car, I texted that I had left. I did this every night, because even though we normally would have talked from my office, I am notorious for saying I am about to leave and then not actually leaving until much later. The text was always the proof that I had indeed left work and am heading home. He always texted back, “Yea!!!” Earlier in our texting days, we had debated whether the proper spelling was “Yay,” “Yeah,” or “Yea.” He settled on “Yea” followed by many exclamation points. That night, he did not answer. This is when I started getting really concerned. There was no way that it would get to be after 6 and we still had had no contact.
The whole way home I tried to call him, with no luck. I kept telling myself I would find him hanging out in the neighbors’ yard. At 6:30, I pulled in the driveway, and the car wasn’t there. That was the moment that confirmed something was wrong. It was a complete impossibility that he would not be home at that time and also be unreachable unless something had happened.
I went in the house and looked for a note or a message. Nothing. I called Pam and Jim from across the street – the neighbors he talked to the most. They were not home, but I talked to their adult daughter. She hadn’t seen him, but would have Pam call when she got home. She reassured me that he was probably just hung up somewhere.
I was calm. Why? Because he was hurt or sick – I just knew it – but soon someone would call me and tell me where I needed to go. I just had to wait for the call.
I fed the dogs. Normally they are always fed at 7, but since I was sure that I was going to get a call any minute telling me he was in the hospital, I figured I better take care of them now. I noticed that Codie did not have enough medicine to get through the weekend – had he gone to the vet? Too late to call them and check – they were closed.
I wrote out instructions on how to feed the dogs – how much food they each got, what medicine to give Codie. One of the neighbors would need to feed them the next morning while I was at the hospital. Then I went and changed. As I was deciding what to wear, I was careful to pick something that would be comfortable while I was at the hospital – I figured that if I got any sleep it would probably be in a chair. I also chose layers so I could take them on or off depending on the temperature there. I picked a new shirt I had never worn before. I love the shirt, but have not worn it since. It is hanging clean but otherwise untouched in the laundry room – I can’t bring myself to put it on, put it away, or get rid of it.
I came back out into the kitchen and took out the phone book. We live out in the country, so we just get the little skinny phone book that doesn’t list all the regional hospitals. I could look online, but I didn’t even know the names of the local hospitals, and also had no idea where he had been, so I didn’t know what to look for. Besides, I really thought that if he was already at a hospital they would have called me. He carried good ID and we were listed so it wouldn’t have been hard to find me. I was really thinking that he was hurt or sick in his car somewhere and in need of help. I thought it could be a heart attack. I called the one hospital in the phone book – he wasn’t there. I don’t really know why I didn’t keep calling hospitals. I think I was avoiding facing it for real.
I decided that if I hadn’t heard anything by 8, I would call the police. In the meantime, I would keep busy until the hospital called by cleaning the kitchen. He was notorious for picking up the dishes but not wiping down the counters or sweeping the floor, and sure enough, there were crumbs everywhere. I figured I’d clean up so it would be in better shape when the neighbors came to take care of the dogs. Every few minutes I called him – no luck.
8:00 came – still no call. I knew that when I called the police they would just think I was some worrying wife. How could I make them understand how predictable he was, and that it was impossible that he was fine but just delayed? I decided to go next door – the couple that lives next to me, Bobby and Kim, are both police officers, and I thought maybe they could tell me what I needed to say to make someone listen. I took my cell phone in case he called, and went looking for them.
Bobby was at work, but another neighbor told me Kim was a few houses down at another neighbor’s house. As I started walking there, Pam, the neighbor I had left a message for, came home. I told her what was going on and asked if she had seen him. She said no and asked if I had called the hospitals. I explained that I was going to call the police after finding Kim. She and I walked to the house where Kim was.
By the time I found Kim, there were about 5 neighbors giving their input. They were reassuring me. Without meaning to, they were dismissing my concern. He’s out having a beer with friends, he ran out of gas, he’s shopping for that riding lawn mower he decided to buy, his cell phone is dead. I kept quietly saying no – he never lets the tank get below ¼ full, he never loses the charge on his phone, and he would never choose lawn mowers or bars over being there (in the kiss chair) when I got home. I’m sure they thought I was ridiculous – what husband doesn’t do those things sometimes? Inside I knew they were all wrong.
Kim said there was really no way to get the police to sit up and pay attention with such a short time having gone by. She felt calling the hospitals would be the quicker way to narrow down the possibilities, and then if we still hadn’t located him, try the police. They all offered to help, but there were a million little kids around and I didn’t want the chaos. Pam and I went back to start calling from my house. When we got to my driveway, she went across the street to get her phone book because she had the larger city phone book that would have all the hospitals. As I walked, I sent him this text – “I am very worried about you and know that you would call me if you could. I hope you are safe. I love you very much and I will find you.” I went inside and checked for messages. There were none. Even so, I was calm – he is hurt or sick and I just need to find him. I never ever thought he might be dead.
While Pam was at her house, I went online and checked the bank accounts. No charges that day that would give me a hint of where he had been. I checked his email account. He had sent the bjod (for those who do not know what bjod is, it stands for “bad joke of the day”) out early in the afternoon, so I knew he had been home then.
I saw someone at the door - it was Pam. As I opened the door, I saw she had her cell phone in her hand, and I heard her say “Tell Dad to get over here now – NOW – RIGHT NOW.” I couldn’t figure out why she needed her husband so much. Then over her shoulder I saw a white car parked in the road. It had some sort of emblem or seal on the door. I was trying to see what it said – I stepped out onto the porch (my heart is racing as I write this). That’s when I saw a woman get out of the car and start walking around the back of the car. She was wearing khakis and a polo shirt with an emblem on it. And behind her was a man - a police officer. I couldn’t see it because the porch column blocked my view, but there was a police car in front of the white car.
It was just like being a military wife – I knew instantly why they were there. The way they walked, the solemn, even grim look on their faces – I could see it all the way from the road. They were not here to tell me he was hurt. I doubled over, put my hand against the porch wall to hold me up. Don’t come up here I thought - I held my hand out to keep them away, as if that could change the truth. I started saying no oh no oh no oh no. Pam held onto me; Jim came running across the street.
The woman and the man came up the sidewalk and asked if we could talk inside. I was shaking and breathing so hard – not crying yet maybe I am wrong maybe I will not need to cry after all. But inside me I knew better.
I opened the door and they all came in – Pam and Jim, the man and the woman. I did not look at her shirt, did not want to see what that emblem said. I switched into some sort of surreal control thing in my head. I invited them in, asked them to have a seat. The dogs were going crazy about all the people. I called the dogs and told them to go outside, opened the back door to let them out. They did not want to go. They were agitated – I think they could feel in the air that something was wrong, that something other than normal visitors was happening here. I spoke to them quietly and calmly – told them it was all right, and that they should go outside. Like you would to a child. They went.
I wanted to go right out after them and not look back. Very bad things were about to be said to me. I closed the door and walked back into the room where they all were. The woman was sitting in Kirk’s recliner. The man, the police chief, was standing. I sat down in the chair next to the woman. Pam sat on the arm of the chair and put her arm around me, Jim stood behind me. I said to the woman, “You’re not here to tell me he’s in the hospital, are you?’
I will never ever forget her voice and what she said. She said the two words so quietly, so carefully, so caringly. Perfectly, really, given the situation. She said, “No, ma’am.”
As in “No, ma’am, he is not hurt.” “No ma’am, he is not out of gas.” “No ma’am, his cell phone is not dead.” “No, ma’am, he did not buy a lawn mower or stop for a beer.” And as in, “No ma’am, he is never coming home.” And “No ma’am, you will not get to hold him and say goodbye, or touch him while he still smells like him.” That’s what medical examiners say to people. “No, ma’am.”
From that moment on, that night is a blur, yet in some ways so clear in my memory. She explained what had happened, and what would happen next. An autopsy, then the funeral home. I couldn’t see him before the funeral home – the medical examiner didn’t have the facilities for that (in hindsight I think she was trying to spare me something). She asked if he could have been drinking. I said absolutely not. He loved his beer, but not at that time of the day, when he still needed to drive somewhere. Of course, I proved to be right. Before she left, I thanked her, and told her she had done a really good job. I think she was shocked, and probably thought I was crazy. I meant it though – she handled the worst moments of my life in a way that helped just a little bit. Like I try to do when I tell someone their job has been eliminated, only her job is so much harder.
It was just after 8:30 – he had already been gone for four hours and I had just found out. I had been right - something was not okay, and he was definitely hurt. But I had been oh so wrong about how badly.
More neighbors appeared. Everyone helped. Some worked on travel arrangements, others talked to the police and got more details than I could handle then but would need later, others made arrangements with the funeral home, another found his planner with the names and numbers of so many people we would call in the next few days. Then co-workers started showing up at the door, some from over an hour away. Thye had heard and were worried I might be alone. Later, my friend Cheryl and her family came, after Jackie hunted them down in church. They got so lost they didn't find me until after midnight, but they made it when I needed them.
Throughout the night, people gave me gifts when I most needed them. Not gifts in the traditional sense – what I mean is that each time I felt I was going to crack wide open and not be able to pick up the pieces, someone would bring me back by giving me a little unexpected piece of Kirk to hold on to. First, his wedding ring and wallet, which the police had brought over. A chain to hang the ring on around my neck. Then, the news that he had been planning to surprise me with new jewelry and that’s where he had been that day. A while later, his shirt – the one he had worn the night before, laid into my lap as I cried and cried.
The one thing that gave me any focus was dealing with how to tell those who needed to know. Despite the craziness in my head, the racing thoughts, the pain, it was the one thing I was clear about. The kids, his parents, his sister, they had to be told first. How was I going to tell them? I was especially concerned about the kids and his mom. I knew his sister and his dad would likely not be alone, but Erika and Kirk’s mom live alone, and while Matt does not, he could easily be home alone. I didn’t want any of them to hear without support. On Friday night, Matt is usually at work, Erika was either home studying or out dancing (there’s no in between for her). Who could I count on to be there for them? For Erika, her friend Jamie. For Matt, my sister Jennifer or niece Katie (his girlfriend was out of town). For Mom W., her sister Martha.
I started Pam on a hunt for Jamie. I knew where she and Erika used to work - they were still friends with people there and maybe someone would have Jamie’s number. My plan was to call Jamie in case they were out together, and if they weren't, to have her head to Erika's house. While Pam hunted for Jamie, I called Jennifer. We agreed she would call Katie, who shares an apartment with Matt and might know where he was. While she called Katie, I called Jill, Kirk’s sister. She was the first person I told – I’m sure I did it badly. I had decided I needed her to call her parents. I felt terrible that I wasn’t doing it, but the thought of having to tell them their child was gone was more than I could stand. I also knew my capacity was limited, and I had to focus on the kids. How was I going to tell them? What words to say?
I talked to Matt first. It was the worst thing I can imagine telling a child. His dad was gone, snatched away, stolen from him when he should have had him for so many years yet. He was very worried about me and about Erika. He kept saying call Erika, call Erika, call Erika. I promised I would call her right away.
She was home alone studying – I never did reach Jamie. I said it again – your dad has been in an accident. Daddy died. The thing I remember most is that she was breathing so hard, so fast, out of control. I kept saying breathe, breathe, breathe. I was scared she was going to hyperventilate all alone in her apartment and pass out with no one to help her.
It was a long long night. Phones ringing and ringing and ringing. House phones, cell phones. Every house phone battery eventually died from overuse and all we had left were cell phones. People whispering about sedatives and anti-depressants – baggies of pills with dosages written on them appeared. I didn’t want any of them. Deciding what to do about telling Mark and Nancy, Brian and Yvette, Kathy and his SYSCO friends, Jerry. It is long after midnight – might as well let them have a good night’s sleep – I will call them all tomorrow.
Jennifer is coming, flying in tomorrow, she won’t take no for an answer (thank God). The funeral director will be here at 10 a.m. tomorrow. Pam will spend the night. Finally, at 4 a.m., crawling into our bed, on his side, wearing his shirt. Breathing deep deep deep – where is his smell? Up at 7 - no sleep at all just more and more tears. Showering with no lifeguard. Hair and makeup. Why did I care what I looked like? Because I’m still me I guess, and I ALWAYS do my hair and makeup. At 7:30, a shocking phone call – do I want to donate his skin, bones, corneas? I have to decide fast, they have to know soon or it will be too late. I say no – it is too much. This is not the answer they hope for, but they are nice – no pressure or guilt trip. And from then on, the phones ring and ring and ring and Day 2 is underway.
Funny that I hear her voice more clearly than I hear Kirk’s. Life changed forever, hope was taken away, with those two words – “No, ma’am.”
Friday, August 21, 2009
Kirk and Lisa: Chapter 2
Late August, 1979. Summer was ending and it was time for me to leave for University of Vermont. As I said earlier, we had decided to stay together despite the 12 hour distance – a tall order for a 5 week old relationship. I’d like to think we knew in our hearts we were right for each other, but that would be fantasy. We were just 17 and 19, in love, and a bit naive about how tough it would be.
We stayed up all night long the night before I left. It was really hard to say goodbye. He was worried about the recent ex-boyfriend being right across the lake from me. I reassured him, but I knew it wouldn’t be easy either.
My mom and my sister Lauren drove me up there. When we went into the dorm, the first thing I checked out was the phone situation. No phones in the rooms in the freshman dorm – just one pay phone per floor, in the landing of the stairwell. Big signs saying 10 minutes only. Not even a chair to sit on. I would spend many hours on the phone leaning up against that wall over the next few months, or waiting for some other girl to get off the phone with her boyfriend so I could call mine.
We got unloaded and eventually my mom and sister headed back home. I think I called him right away – collect of course. Throughout that semester, he ran up his parents’ phone bill so much he had to take out a loan to pay it off. We were still making the payments after we got married.
I would love to tell you that we blissfully talked on the phone every day and all was rosy. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although he grew out of it later as he matured into his 20s, at 19, he struggled somewhat with jealousy. It was hard for him to be at home while I was off in a new world with new friends, new guys, and you-know-who 30 minutes away. I had a hard time with him wanting to talk for hours every night when I wanted to go out with my friends (strawberry daiquiris at the Radisson downtown – it was the thing to do in 1979).
Classes started and I got a job – Papa Gino’s pizza parlor. It was tough fitting in at school. I was a kid who had grown up in a family that was not poor, but that didn’t have a ton of excess cash floating around either. I was surrounded by well-to-do kids who drove brand new cars and debated whether they should buy their season ski pass at Stowe or Killington, or both, while I served pizza to pay for books and food.
Despite the challenge of being apart, we did really miss each other. By the end of September, I figured out that if I took a lot of hours at work, I could earn enough for a plane ticket home in about 3 weeks as long as I didn’t spend money on anything else. Food became optional, as did daiquiris (most of the time). My first trip home was also my first plane ride ever. I flew in a tiny prop plane that seated about 8 over the Adirondack Mountains in a severe thunderstorm while people all around me threw up. I was terrified, but it was worth it when I saw him. I checked into the Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge next to the restaurant where he still worked, and stayed there all weekend, and we were together every minute he wasn’t working. The hotel manager gave me the room for free. It was four miles from my home, and I never told my family I was there. And so began the rhythm of that semester – work enough for a ticket, blow off school on Friday, and stay at Howard Johnson’s for three days. I almost got caught when I came home at Thanksgiving (to see my family like normal kids do) and my mom told me she had been arguing with my bank. Because I was 17 when I opened my checking account, she was a joint account holder with me. She said a notice had come that I had bounced a check in a store across the street from Howard Johnson’s. She had been adamantly informing the bank I could not have done so, because I was away in Vermont on the day it happened. Oops…so much for checkbook balancing. I didn't fess up. Fortunately, she eventually prevailed and I was never caught.
He wrote me a letter every single day. EVERY day. At one point in between my visits home, he drove up to see me. I still remember watching for him out the window of my room on the fourth floor. I was so happy when I saw his car drive in the parking lot – a navy blue two door Monza, with a big dent in the rear quarter panel and that stupid rubber brain on the dashboard. An arm wearing a buffalo-plaid shirt hanging out the window. I couldn't see his face from up there, but there was no doubt who the driver was.
Trouble finally came though. In early December, the ex made an unexpected appearance. He loved me, he missed me, he should have told me how he felt earlier, he wanted me back. Uh-oh. I really cared about him still. Decision time again. While he and I were talking, another girl from the dorm came to say that Kirk was on the phone. It was our usual time to talk. I went to the phone and he started the conversation like always – what’s up? I decided to tell him. He asked me what I was going to do. I told him I didn’t know. I cried a lot – he asked me not to make a decision until we talked again and I agreed.
I went back to my room and told the ex I needed to think. He left quietly. He was always stoic about emotion. I told him I’d call him. I stayed up late, drank too much wine, and couldn’t make a decision. Finally I feel asleep.
Very early the next day, the RA knocked on my door and woke me up. I had a visitor. I walked out into the common area and there was Kirk. He had driven all night to get there and he looked exhausted. He wasn’t angry, pathetic, pleading, or threatening - he was just firm in his conviction. He had come to tell me he wanted me to pick him. And he intended to stay until I did. I know this may sound like crazy boyfriend stalker stuff but it wasn’t. I looked at him standing there and thought, “I can pick the one who only says he loves me after I break up with him, or I can pick the one who tells me he loves me every day, and will drive all night to tell me how much he wants to be with me.” It was suddenly a very easy decision. Little did I know then that I would see the same behavior for the next thirty years - he told me he loved me many times every day, and would go anywhere or do anything for me. (Side note – it was a great decision for more than one reason. The great-looking athletic ex now lives in Denver with his long-time boyfriend .)
After that semester, I quit school and came home. Truth be told, my grades were so bad they were kicking me out anyway. I went back to work at HoJo’s, although he had his own restaurant by now and didn’t work at that location anymore.
Next time, I’ll tell you how we got married.
We stayed up all night long the night before I left. It was really hard to say goodbye. He was worried about the recent ex-boyfriend being right across the lake from me. I reassured him, but I knew it wouldn’t be easy either.
My mom and my sister Lauren drove me up there. When we went into the dorm, the first thing I checked out was the phone situation. No phones in the rooms in the freshman dorm – just one pay phone per floor, in the landing of the stairwell. Big signs saying 10 minutes only. Not even a chair to sit on. I would spend many hours on the phone leaning up against that wall over the next few months, or waiting for some other girl to get off the phone with her boyfriend so I could call mine.
We got unloaded and eventually my mom and sister headed back home. I think I called him right away – collect of course. Throughout that semester, he ran up his parents’ phone bill so much he had to take out a loan to pay it off. We were still making the payments after we got married.
I would love to tell you that we blissfully talked on the phone every day and all was rosy. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although he grew out of it later as he matured into his 20s, at 19, he struggled somewhat with jealousy. It was hard for him to be at home while I was off in a new world with new friends, new guys, and you-know-who 30 minutes away. I had a hard time with him wanting to talk for hours every night when I wanted to go out with my friends (strawberry daiquiris at the Radisson downtown – it was the thing to do in 1979).
Classes started and I got a job – Papa Gino’s pizza parlor. It was tough fitting in at school. I was a kid who had grown up in a family that was not poor, but that didn’t have a ton of excess cash floating around either. I was surrounded by well-to-do kids who drove brand new cars and debated whether they should buy their season ski pass at Stowe or Killington, or both, while I served pizza to pay for books and food.
Despite the challenge of being apart, we did really miss each other. By the end of September, I figured out that if I took a lot of hours at work, I could earn enough for a plane ticket home in about 3 weeks as long as I didn’t spend money on anything else. Food became optional, as did daiquiris (most of the time). My first trip home was also my first plane ride ever. I flew in a tiny prop plane that seated about 8 over the Adirondack Mountains in a severe thunderstorm while people all around me threw up. I was terrified, but it was worth it when I saw him. I checked into the Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge next to the restaurant where he still worked, and stayed there all weekend, and we were together every minute he wasn’t working. The hotel manager gave me the room for free. It was four miles from my home, and I never told my family I was there. And so began the rhythm of that semester – work enough for a ticket, blow off school on Friday, and stay at Howard Johnson’s for three days. I almost got caught when I came home at Thanksgiving (to see my family like normal kids do) and my mom told me she had been arguing with my bank. Because I was 17 when I opened my checking account, she was a joint account holder with me. She said a notice had come that I had bounced a check in a store across the street from Howard Johnson’s. She had been adamantly informing the bank I could not have done so, because I was away in Vermont on the day it happened. Oops…so much for checkbook balancing. I didn't fess up. Fortunately, she eventually prevailed and I was never caught.
He wrote me a letter every single day. EVERY day. At one point in between my visits home, he drove up to see me. I still remember watching for him out the window of my room on the fourth floor. I was so happy when I saw his car drive in the parking lot – a navy blue two door Monza, with a big dent in the rear quarter panel and that stupid rubber brain on the dashboard. An arm wearing a buffalo-plaid shirt hanging out the window. I couldn't see his face from up there, but there was no doubt who the driver was.
Trouble finally came though. In early December, the ex made an unexpected appearance. He loved me, he missed me, he should have told me how he felt earlier, he wanted me back. Uh-oh. I really cared about him still. Decision time again. While he and I were talking, another girl from the dorm came to say that Kirk was on the phone. It was our usual time to talk. I went to the phone and he started the conversation like always – what’s up? I decided to tell him. He asked me what I was going to do. I told him I didn’t know. I cried a lot – he asked me not to make a decision until we talked again and I agreed.
I went back to my room and told the ex I needed to think. He left quietly. He was always stoic about emotion. I told him I’d call him. I stayed up late, drank too much wine, and couldn’t make a decision. Finally I feel asleep.
Very early the next day, the RA knocked on my door and woke me up. I had a visitor. I walked out into the common area and there was Kirk. He had driven all night to get there and he looked exhausted. He wasn’t angry, pathetic, pleading, or threatening - he was just firm in his conviction. He had come to tell me he wanted me to pick him. And he intended to stay until I did. I know this may sound like crazy boyfriend stalker stuff but it wasn’t. I looked at him standing there and thought, “I can pick the one who only says he loves me after I break up with him, or I can pick the one who tells me he loves me every day, and will drive all night to tell me how much he wants to be with me.” It was suddenly a very easy decision. Little did I know then that I would see the same behavior for the next thirty years - he told me he loved me many times every day, and would go anywhere or do anything for me. (Side note – it was a great decision for more than one reason. The great-looking athletic ex now lives in Denver with his long-time boyfriend .)
After that semester, I quit school and came home. Truth be told, my grades were so bad they were kicking me out anyway. I went back to work at HoJo’s, although he had his own restaurant by now and didn’t work at that location anymore.
Next time, I’ll tell you how we got married.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Blogging - Therapy and Legacy All in One
First, a bit of housekeeping. When I posted the entry below called “The Case,” I included a link copied from the Sheriff’s department website that was supposed to take you to the profile and mug shot of the person who caused the accident. I realized today that the link was connected to the wrong suspect. I have fixed it, and if you click on it now, it will take you to the right record.
Now on to the real topic of the day -
This blog thing seems to be helping me. Much more than I anticipated, actually. When I am really overwhelmed by something, and I write it down, the pressure, frustration, pain, sadness, or whatever I feel eases considerably. The feelings are still there, but they are much more manageable, and I seem to be able to breathe more easily.
Another thing that is really helping is hearing from all of you. Thank you so much for the support and encouragement you are providing. Some of you have chosen to be public about the fact that you read this, and have listed yourself as Followers. Many more have called or emailed to let me know that you are reading. A couple of you have told me that you read the whole thing, from the very first entry, every single day. Others have said that after a new entry, you talk about it at work with co-workers who also read it, and remember him together. I suspect there are others who read it, but have given me no sign.
Lots of you have thanked me for sharing my thoughts and feelings, because it is helping you cope with losing him. This is a reaction I never expected – I knew it would help you know what was going on with me, but had not realized it might help with your own sadness. I am glad it has. I often hear that reading makes you cry. That is never my intent, but I guess it’s part of the package right about now.
Some have wondered about how the kids, his parents, and other family members are doing. I appreciate you asking, and I know they do too, but I intentionally do not write about them. I don’t think it’s right for me to speak for them - this experience is too personal and individual. I could not possibly accurately represent how they are doing (I have enough trouble trying to capture my own feelings in any logical and understandable way!). I will say that they have found the same thing I have – that our feelings change constantly, that much of what we are feeling is unexpected, that this is not a predictable or logical process. That’s about all that I can say on their behalf. I also don’t post pictures of them (at least not current ones) because I feel that it’s not my place to post anything with them on it in such a public forum. (Note to family – if you do want to say something, email it to me and I will post it.)
When I started the blog, I was struggling with being surrounded each day by people who did not know him and do not talk about him. I continue to have a hard time with this. But by writing about him and about the experience of losing him, I have figured out that the issue is bigger than people not talking about him. I find that when I write an entry, I often have an unbidden sense of relief as I finish. In my analytical way, I tried to figure out why - where was relief coming from?
And that's how writing and “publishing” all of this helped me identify one of my biggest issues. Here it is – I have a tremendous fear that Kirk will be forgotten. I had not consciously realized that I was worried about this until I realized that the relief came from feeling like I have created a record of him out in the world, for anyone to see, that no one can take away. A memorial of sorts, I guess. That was never my intent, but it is a key part of what is helping me. I know logically that those of you who knew him well will not forget him. He had too big of a personality for that. But as I have learned, logic does not triumph over emotion right now, and emotionally, I still fear he will not live on in your minds. That’s why I like that so many people seem to be reading this. By writing it, and you reading it, I get to poke you – remember him, remember him, remember him…
He was certainly worth remembering, wasn’t he? I feel like in a way we literally owe it to him. If you really knew Kirk, I know he gave you something. It may have been advice, service, help, perspective, or encouragement. Maybe he challenged you to think beyond your own opinion or to be better at something than you thought you could be – he did that for lots of people. He may have loved you, and if he did you are really fortunate. He most likely gave you LOTS of food and hospitality. But if nothing else, he gave you laughter – even more laughter than food. It was the very essence of Kirk – humor. The least we can do in return is think about him sometimes, tell a story about him, smile to ourselves about him. Not every minute, maybe not even every day, depending on how close you were to him. But sometimes, remember him.
What will we remember? I mean SPECIFICALLY what will any of us retain of him? One of the things I hate is that even for me, some things are blurry – and getting more blurry as time passes. I know there are events, stories, experiences that I am not retaining, and I want every single one. I am starting to not remember exactly what he looked like - I know he had a scar about a centimeter long on one cheek, but which cheek? And why don’t I know how he got it? I also can’t hear his voice in my head at all – I have to listen to it recorded. So what do I remember? I saw a quote the other day from Maya Angelou that describes it perfectly. “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” That’s it for me – more than anything I remember how he made me feel.
Unlike most of us, he had no wish to die peacefully, of old age, in his sleep. Nothing so tame for him. He always told me that he wanted to live to be old, and then die saving the life of a child. He thought it would be perfect to live a long life and then have it end as he rescued someone with a lot of living yet to do. He didn’t get his wish, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave something worth remembering. So keep reading, okay? I’ll keep poking.
We ♥ Kirk.
Now on to the real topic of the day -
This blog thing seems to be helping me. Much more than I anticipated, actually. When I am really overwhelmed by something, and I write it down, the pressure, frustration, pain, sadness, or whatever I feel eases considerably. The feelings are still there, but they are much more manageable, and I seem to be able to breathe more easily.
Another thing that is really helping is hearing from all of you. Thank you so much for the support and encouragement you are providing. Some of you have chosen to be public about the fact that you read this, and have listed yourself as Followers. Many more have called or emailed to let me know that you are reading. A couple of you have told me that you read the whole thing, from the very first entry, every single day. Others have said that after a new entry, you talk about it at work with co-workers who also read it, and remember him together. I suspect there are others who read it, but have given me no sign.
Lots of you have thanked me for sharing my thoughts and feelings, because it is helping you cope with losing him. This is a reaction I never expected – I knew it would help you know what was going on with me, but had not realized it might help with your own sadness. I am glad it has. I often hear that reading makes you cry. That is never my intent, but I guess it’s part of the package right about now.
Some have wondered about how the kids, his parents, and other family members are doing. I appreciate you asking, and I know they do too, but I intentionally do not write about them. I don’t think it’s right for me to speak for them - this experience is too personal and individual. I could not possibly accurately represent how they are doing (I have enough trouble trying to capture my own feelings in any logical and understandable way!). I will say that they have found the same thing I have – that our feelings change constantly, that much of what we are feeling is unexpected, that this is not a predictable or logical process. That’s about all that I can say on their behalf. I also don’t post pictures of them (at least not current ones) because I feel that it’s not my place to post anything with them on it in such a public forum. (Note to family – if you do want to say something, email it to me and I will post it.)
When I started the blog, I was struggling with being surrounded each day by people who did not know him and do not talk about him. I continue to have a hard time with this. But by writing about him and about the experience of losing him, I have figured out that the issue is bigger than people not talking about him. I find that when I write an entry, I often have an unbidden sense of relief as I finish. In my analytical way, I tried to figure out why - where was relief coming from?
And that's how writing and “publishing” all of this helped me identify one of my biggest issues. Here it is – I have a tremendous fear that Kirk will be forgotten. I had not consciously realized that I was worried about this until I realized that the relief came from feeling like I have created a record of him out in the world, for anyone to see, that no one can take away. A memorial of sorts, I guess. That was never my intent, but it is a key part of what is helping me. I know logically that those of you who knew him well will not forget him. He had too big of a personality for that. But as I have learned, logic does not triumph over emotion right now, and emotionally, I still fear he will not live on in your minds. That’s why I like that so many people seem to be reading this. By writing it, and you reading it, I get to poke you – remember him, remember him, remember him…
He was certainly worth remembering, wasn’t he? I feel like in a way we literally owe it to him. If you really knew Kirk, I know he gave you something. It may have been advice, service, help, perspective, or encouragement. Maybe he challenged you to think beyond your own opinion or to be better at something than you thought you could be – he did that for lots of people. He may have loved you, and if he did you are really fortunate. He most likely gave you LOTS of food and hospitality. But if nothing else, he gave you laughter – even more laughter than food. It was the very essence of Kirk – humor. The least we can do in return is think about him sometimes, tell a story about him, smile to ourselves about him. Not every minute, maybe not even every day, depending on how close you were to him. But sometimes, remember him.
What will we remember? I mean SPECIFICALLY what will any of us retain of him? One of the things I hate is that even for me, some things are blurry – and getting more blurry as time passes. I know there are events, stories, experiences that I am not retaining, and I want every single one. I am starting to not remember exactly what he looked like - I know he had a scar about a centimeter long on one cheek, but which cheek? And why don’t I know how he got it? I also can’t hear his voice in my head at all – I have to listen to it recorded. So what do I remember? I saw a quote the other day from Maya Angelou that describes it perfectly. “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” That’s it for me – more than anything I remember how he made me feel.
Unlike most of us, he had no wish to die peacefully, of old age, in his sleep. Nothing so tame for him. He always told me that he wanted to live to be old, and then die saving the life of a child. He thought it would be perfect to live a long life and then have it end as he rescued someone with a lot of living yet to do. He didn’t get his wish, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave something worth remembering. So keep reading, okay? I’ll keep poking.
We ♥ Kirk.
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