The Only Time We Got Is Right About Now
I’m sort of falling into an evening rhythm. It’s probably dumb to call it that so far, since it’s only been my rhythm for the past couple of weeks, but habits are challenging for many of us to form. So I’m going to call it a rhythm and see if it ends up being categorizable as such.
My parents go to bed around 9, so I then sit and stare at the wall for a while, probably cry a bit, and then go clean up the kitchen and do the day’s dishes. I make myself a snack, sit and stare some more (hopefully with a podcast in the background or some YouTube) and then give up and go to the bedroom. At that point, we turn on the bedroom TV and I play my nightly game of Tetris, have a conversation with Kellie, pick up a book and put it back down again, and then eventually drop off to sleep.
Last night, I went out to sit in the garden again and contemplate the state of the universe. I took Coco with me this time, so she sat on Kellie’s bench and was very quiet and good as well. We were somewhat disturbed by the presence of a very large spider, but we let them do their thing and we did ours, and neither of us was ultimately the worse for wear.
For the SECOND (!!) night in a row, Coco settled down sufficiently to be able to sleep on the bed with Ivy and I. There were some initial disagreements about personal space between the dogs, but I was able to intercede sufficiently to calm things down. I would love it if I could reach out and pet both dogs when I wake up in the night, as I did last night, because a king-sized bed is pretty big for me, Kellie’s pillows, and Ivy on our own. Coco helps fill things in a bit. I woke up before Coco did for the second morning in a row, slightly after seven. She asked for some belly rubs and then all three of us went out to the backyard so they could roam around. If I could convince both dogs to settle down enough so we could all sleep together every single night, it’s possible that I could get to sleep in (!!) until 7 every day, which would probably make a dramatic positive impact on my state of mind. Keep your fingers crossed for that one, folks. I’m manifesting (even though manifestation has zero impact on the state of the world, and you can feel free to fight me over that).
Coco had such a good time in the dew-drenched backyard, in fact, that she required her first bath in a while. Baths are one of Coco’s least favorite activities, so that resulted in us both getting a bath together (mine was second-hand).
I tried my very best to buy tickets for Tom Morello’s huge Power to the People concert this morning during its presale, which I really really want to go to this October.
I’ve been a huge fan of Morello’s for many years, and this lineup is one of the best I’ve ever seen. You’re going to see me going to all kinds of concerts in the future, because live music is one of my biggest joys in the world. Doing that has been much more complicated for the past few years, but I’m ready to give it a shot again. If you’re interested in heading to the DC area for this show with me in October, let me know. I’m fine going alone, and I’m also fine spending time with buddies. I plan to drive, if I can get a ticket, since it’s really not that far and since that lets me roam around DC a bit, which was another one of Kellie’s and my favorite things to do.
The presale didn’t go as planned, unfortunately. I was online a few minutes before the presale began, and when I officially entered the queue, here was my place in line:
So needless to say, I did not get my presale VIP ticket. I’m trying again tomorrow for the general presale, so we’ll see. I immediately went to the aftermarket scalper sites, and tickets were already selling for more than double their face value. So we’ll see tomorrow, but I’m not THAT hopeful. If you want to buy me a ticket, I will gladly accept it.
Speaking of Kellie, I’m missing her so much today. Every few minutes I still find myself looking for her out of the corner of my eye to let her know something that she would find funny, or irritating, or cute. And so every few minutes, I still find myself shocked and dismayed and very alarmed at the fact that in this universe, she’s not here with me anymore. Or if she is, she’s not physically here with me, and her corporeality is one of my favorite parts of Kellie, so that is an incredibly challenging part of my minute-by-minute existence.
Speaking of Kellie, I think I’m probably far enough out from it happening to share something that only a few of you know. When she died, it was at home, with me. She was only 49, and her cause of death could have been any of a huge number of things. I was told that the standard procedure when that happens is to send the decedent out to Cuyahoga County for an autopsy, and that it will be 6-9 months to get a report back due to the medical examiner’s office being backed up.
That timeline was fine with me, because I wasn’t under any illusion that an autopsy would reveal some huge truth which would make me okay with this whole thing. I knew that it wouldn’t really help my process a huge amount. I knew that it was just one more piece of the whole. All of those things were known to me going in. So I gave my consent for the autopsy and she was transported to Cleveland that night. A couple days later, I heard that she was transported back to the funeral home, and that she had been cremated, per her wishes (and mine). The following week, the funeral director dropped off the certified copies of Kellie’s death certificate, and that’s when I found out a few facts (from the certificate) which have been a real source of pain for me ever since (though as I said, I am far enough out now that I am starting to be able to manage this pain better).
They did not perform an autopsy on her.
Her cause of death is listed as cardiac arrest, due to hypertensive and atherosclerotic heart disease, due to pulmonary hypertension.
Her time of death is listed as 4:37pm.
All three of these things are problematic to me, and all three of them have caused me a whole range of emotions. I’ll also make clear that I have no intention of taking my anger and discomfort with these facts any further than just talking about them. I have been urged to seek legal counsel and to make complaints and to rage, rage, rage against all the powers that be who were a part of this chain of events, but I will be doing none of those things.
Here’s why the death certificate makes me kind of freak out every time I look at it (which doesn’t stop me from looking at it):
I consented to the autopsy, and there were dozens and dozens of people who were waiting to hear what the autopsy results ended up being. I will never know why they decided not to even do an exam and to bring her back to town and cremate her without telling me that was going to happen. I am shocked and dismayed and deeply hurt that she wasn’t worth the effort of going through the standard protocol.
She did not have a history of cardiac issues, she did not have a history of hypertensive atherosclerotic heart disease, and she did not have a history of hypertension. The fact that random credit card company representatives have to see a legal document saying she died from a heart attack without any attempt at verifying those diagnoses feels incredibly unjust and disrespectful. That cannot be changed, it cannot be taken back, and it feels like a random thing to put on this form because it’s easier to do it that way.
She did not die at 4:37pm. She actually died between 4:15pm and 4:17pm. She fell at exactly 4:15, and my phone log shows that I called 911 at 4:17 (it felt like thirty seconds, but as I’ve said, time is doing funny things for me right now). The paramedics were here within five or six minutes, but she had no pulse or respiration as of the second she fell down at 4:15. I don’t know why the arbitrary 4:37pm got used, but I guess that’s just par for the course of putting random information on this thing.
I had to have a conversation with Kellie’s sister and explain what had happened. We had to talk to Kellie’s mother and explain what had happened. These decisions have extended way beyond me and my discomfort and pain—they’ve hurt a lot of people. I don’t say that out of vindictiveness or pettiness, I say it because it’s also a fact.
Everybody deserves dignity and respect. Everybody deserves to have their final moments (and the time after their final moments) conducted with dignity and respect. That didn’t happen with Kellie—not just related to the death certificate and the autopsy procedure—but I don’t know when, or if, I’m going to feel comfortable talking publicly about all of that. Honesty notwithstanding, there are some aspects of my experience that are going to need to remain mine. Suffice it to say that we have a long way to go when it comes to respecting folks who have died and their survivors after a death occurs.
But I have no way to know how much time I have left. Maybe it’s days, weeks, years, or even decades and decades. I do not have unlimited energy, and I do not wish to spend any of that energy on bitterness and anger if I can avoid it. The frustration I still feel about the autopsy is not the same as an emotion which would spur me on to action of some sort—I am putting this out there and am in the process of making my peace with the facts as they exist.
I think the reason why I’m talking about this today is because of Joan Didion’s book The Year of Magical Thinking. A friend brought me the book, and then bought me the audiobook version too, and I’ve been working my way through it as I can. That’s the autobiographical account Didion wrote about her husband’s traumatic death and its aftermath. In the second or third chapter, she talks about her husband’s autopsy and some of the details on the death certificate that she couldn’t stop thinking about, along with looking at the logs for her building to see when the paramedics had arrived and who was on duty at the front desk, etc. It’s got me thinking about some of my own details, and when I think long enough about a topic it tends to seep out into this Substack. So there you go. Thanks a lot, friend, for giving me the gift of (two copies of) this book. Joan Didion’s experience isn’t identical to mine, of course, but it does rhyme sufficiently to make it worthwhile to me.
I’ve had a good afternoon. I worked, did homework, and took a nap with the dogs (which was, as usual, delightful).
I had a moment after I woke up from my nap where I considered what it would be like for me if my parents weren’t here in Ashtabula—I thought, “I wonder what would motivate me sufficiently to get up from this bed at all if there wasn’t someone here who would be alarmed by that?” And I know that’s a simplistic thought, I also know there are so many people who would care if I bed-rotted permanently. People would be alarmed, at the very least. It’s just different now, and my parents are serving a real function for me beyond just hanging out in my house and doing my laundry on occasion.
I’m happy for the weekend. I’m happy that people continue to check in, despite all the folks who have said that that will immediately drop off and that I’ll be forgotten pretty quickly. In fact, I counted a minute ago (again, in the interest of honesty) and TWENTY-ONE people have reached out to me today. Not counting my parents, since they live with me right now. I can’t tell you how shocking it is to me to actually look at that number and marvel that 21 of you still care about how I’m doing, more than five weeks after Kellie’s death. The number is really way higher than that, since that’s just the number who have talked to me today. That doesn’t take yesterday or any other day into account.
So that’s the note I’ll end on today. I am blessed beyond measure to have a support system that has not abandoned me, and seems to have no plans to do so.
I miss Kellie beyond all measure, but I am loved. That’s going to have to be okay.
XOXO,
Matt