Miles to Go

When Rich died 15 years ago, I was profoundly shocked and unprepared. He was only 27, and I didn’t comprehend that someone so young could die of natural causes. I knew that it happened, but I don’t think I really believed it could. At least not to him.

I was 30 then, and now I’m 45, dealing with the same issue again. I was shocked to walk into the ICU and see Shannon's tiny room full of people with every light on. I knew what was going on from across the unit. I must have looked visibly shaken, because someone came up and asked me if I was Jeff before I made in 10 feet from the door.

The hospital had left a message on my home phone minutes after I left to go see him. They didn’t call my cell phone, and that’s probably just as well. I might have run the car off the road if they had.

The shock is wearing off slowly, and I wasn’t really prepared for Shannon’s death. I don’t know that anyone can “be prepared” for the death of anyone they love. I think we psychologically fight the awareness that death is a possibility as long as we can and only acknowledge it when there is no other choice.

I wasn’t prepared, but I was better prepared than I had been 15 years ago.

I was talking to a co-worker whose husband died the same weekend Shannon did. She said she has 3 divorces under her belt, but this is the first time she’s been a widow. She wanted to know what it was like and how long it took to get over. I told her that I’ve never gotten over Rich’s death, but I’ve gotten beyond it.

That took 5 years.

I think that’s the best any of us can hope for: to get beyond.

I’m nowhere near that right now as regards Shannon. I found out today that my co-workers had contributed $350 in his memory to the local food bank. Enough for 1,050 meals. My first thought was that I had to tell him, and then I realized I’d have to hope he knows in his own way. It made me cry.

He would be happy that the money wasn’t spent on anything else. Not flowers or plants or anything other than where it went. As am I. It was a fitting tribute to a fine man that I’ll never get over.

When I’ll get beyond is anyone’s guess. It won't be soon. I hope it's not 5 years. That's too long. Longer than I want. Regardless, I have miles to go before I sleep.