Two Years Four Months

(From my journal and recording of my grief 10/2012)

Two years four months…

Its two years and four months almost to the day, a Tuesday. She died on a Tuesday.

Suddenly last night as if it was that day I asked Ted, “Did they have to wait for a coroner?”

“What?” he seemed confused.

 “For Mandy? Did you have to wait for a coroner to come?”

“Oh, yes.” He said, “They couldn't move her until one came. It took a while; they got there soon after I left.”

“You left?” I was surprised, not upset really, but surprised.

“I wanted to get home for you. I was afraid that someone would call and you would find out that way.”

“So did the emt’s pronounce her or how does that work?”

“Yeah, they pronounced her, but then couldn't move her so they called the coroner and waited.”

“So people were like walking around her the whole time?”

“They covered her up.”

“Yeah, I know, but people walking around her must have known they were walking around a dead body.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Tears and hurt welled up and spilled down my cheeks. I hadn't really thought about her body until then, until two years and four months later. Once it started my mind couldn't help but follow her body on the rest of its journey. From the ground in front of the interstate rest area into the ambulance, or did the coroner come with one of those long black cars. Did they put her in there and take her somewhere?

I am glad that she wasn't really there, that she was already gone from her body, but I do wonder if she was still attached enough to see or know or watch what happened.

I guess I don’t really know where they took her, someplace where they take bodies and put them in a cold place, cold enough so to preserve things, at least temporarily. She wasn't there long, wherever that was.  Not more than a couple hours because I got the call that they would not be doing an autopsy, that there was no legal or medical reason to do one, but they did want to know how I felt about that.

I told them how I felt. I told him that something was wrong with her and that she was on her way home from Boston, from seeing a specialist because something was wrong inside her head, that she kept going blind and that her sed rate was over 100 and that maybe that is what happened to her.

He was very kind and very polite but he said, “Yes, but that doesn't matter. It still isn't a legal or medical reason to do an autopsy so the state won’t authorize one in your daughters case.”

What do you say? What can you say? I was crying, a voice inside my head was screaming, ‘what do you mean? She’s thirty-five years old. She dropped dead in a parking lot. What do you mean natural cause? No legal or medical reason to find out what made her die?’ but being the well-mannered, laid back conformist that I am I just muttered, “I understand.”

“… with her size and her hypertension…”

What hypertension? I didn’t know about hypertension? I did know about her size, of course I knew how large she was. I knew about her asthma, her breathing difficulties, the fact that she used oxygen. I knew a lot of things about her condition, her life, her medications, but I didn't know about hypertension, was that blood pressure? Why didn't I know about this? How could I not know?

“It’s being considered natural…”

“I see, okay.” I heard myself saying into the phone.

He continued, which surprised me. He wanted to know which funeral home we wanted to use. I told him the name of the only one I knew. “Alright then,” his voice continued, “You’ll be hearing from them shortly, probably tonight.”

“Alright, thank you.” I said, then he was gone and I pushed the off button on the phone without actually finding out where she was.

I found out from the man at the funeral home that her body had left the big city in New Hampshire and was being transported to Claremont, New Hampshire, just twenty minutes from us, “then,” he said, “We’ll be going over later tonight to bring her here.”

He asked about seeing us to make arrangements and questioned whether we will be wanting to see her.

Ten o’clock Wednesday morning was set for me to see her body, for us to make arrangements for her remains – remains that which stays here after the essence, the spirit, the soul has left. I knew about remains and that they need to be taken care of. More than ten years earlier we had to make decisions about Danny’s remains.

The journey of her body didn't end that Wednesday morning. Wednesday afternoon it traveled back to Claremont where it waited for three days to be cremated. In the state of NH a body can’t be cremated for three days, then on Friday, according to the certificate of cremation her body was cremated on that day then traveled, now ash in the urn back to Vermont where we held her services on the following Monday, after which we carried her ashes in the urn home which still sits on a shelf in the living room. Danny’s ashes are on the top of the roll top desk along with photos and a few mementos.