Read Part I
Read Part II
Many of the details of those days between Friday the 31st and the day of the funeral on September 6th have faded, as memories do. During a time like that so much of what you are doing is forced by the necessity of decision making. As a professional-league procrastinator, it was a shock to my already-shocked system to have to make so many serious decisions in such a short time.
The morning after Daniel died, we went back to the house and picked out clothes for him. Fortunately, we had bought him a nice jacket for a wedding the previous autumn and it still fit (and it was in Chicago, not back in Michigan where the house was still on the market and still contained lots of our stuff). We picked out a pair of graves. We went to the funeral home and picked out everything else you have to pick out. I think we even picked out flowers that day, but that might have been another day.
I say "we" because in this whole process I never had to be alone. My two sisters helped with everything. And my brother would be my rock on the day of the funeral. Countless other friends and relatives contributed in a variety of ways. I cannot even imagine going through something like this alone, which some people are forced to do.
One of the many phone calls on Saturday the 1st was from the funeral home, who relayed the autopsy results: pulmonary embolism. A blood clot (several probably) had formed somewhere in his veins and traveled to his lungs, which was the cause of his shortness of breath. Part of the clot stopped his heart. (This is the same condition that would cause the death of NBC reporter David Bloom in Iraq in April of 2003.)
We'll never know exactly what caused the clots in the first place. Daniel never exhibited most of the many symptoms of blood clots. If he had pain in his legs or abdomen in the days before his breathing problems started, he never told me and he never told the emergency room doctors. Daniel was the kind of guy who shrugged off pain. Long before we were married he attempted to "walk off" a knee injury that ended up being a completely severed tendon.
I have not spent much time with "what ifs" in the sense that his death could have been prevented. My "what if" ponderings tended towards how it could have been worse. It could have happened in front of me. It could have happened in the hospital, where because they did not know what was wrong he would have died anyway. It could have happened while he was driving, putting other people in danger (most especially my nephew C, who drove with him on our last trip back from Michigan).
As it was, Daniel died alone. Maybe in his sleep, maybe not. I have been told by doctors that it would have been very fast. The last face he saw was mine (if you don't count the cat). Yes, I was hot and grouchy that morning, and I didn't kiss him goodbye. But he knew I loved him.
The night before he died as we sat together watching the lightning, we talked about all the things we had been through, and what we might be facing if his health did not improve. He asked me what I wished for. I told him that all I wanted was some peace...I wanted both of us to be well, for the house to finally sell, for my job situation to get resolved...to have even one month without a major drama.
I would eventually get my wish for peace, but not the way I wanted it.
continued
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