Tag Archives: death of a spouse

UPDATED: Certificates Make It Official – Maybe

Posted on by

0

I have a certificate for giving blood on September 11, 2001. I have a certificate for participating in a former employer’s management training program. I have a certificate for participating in a financial literacy class. Hell, Ethan came home today with a certificate for sitting through a few months of Junior Achievement. Certificates – they hand them out like nothing…

And now, I have another certificate. This one says that Mike is dead.

Side note: I had to sign for the death certificates. Weird that my signature was required for a few pieces of paper, but his cremains – well…whatever…

Thank God I took Greek and Latin etymology in high school. I challenged myself to break each of the causes (one primary and three secondary causes) into their root parts to decipher the meanings. Hepa = liver. Cardio = heart. Mega = large. Myo = muscle. Pathy = disease. Bili = bile.

I wanted to figure out the meaning of each of the words myself. It stretched my brain to recall information from 20 years ago. It prolonged the reality of KNOWING.  

Then I looked up the definition of the super-long, jargony causes of death, just to be sure. Bottom line: liver failure – 2 and super-duper weak heart – 2. All four causes were due to alcoholism.

Side note: Wouldn’t it be nice if the medical examiner could use “real people” words instead of a bunch of 18 letter dealios? Seriously, thank God for the Internet, but real words would have been better.

I spent a few hours wondering how long the drinking had been going on. And how I could have not seen it. I knew he was an alcoholic for a year before our separation, and I suspected the hard-core drinking might have started another six months or so before that. But now, I’m thinking, no I know, that it was going on a lot longer than that. Bottom line: he lied to me for the last two years of our marriage, then he died, so I’ll never know when or how or for how long or why…

Then I noticed the small, fine print at the bottom of the certificate. Line 28A (cause of death) and line 33 (manner of death, i.e., natural, accident, suicide, etc) were noted as “Pending Investigation.”

Investigation of what? Is there another cause of death for “alcoholic steatohepatitis”? You know, other than the alcoholism part that caused the steatohepatitis?

Of course, the ME inFt.Wayneworks, like, five hours a day, so I have to wait until (late) morning to call and ask what “pending investigation” means. And when the “pending investigation” will be closed and resolved. And if, when it’s closed, if I have to get more death certificates (because Hot Diggity, these things are ridiculously expensive)…

Damn, nothing can be just cut and dry, easy breezy.

Side note: Sorry for all the side notes. It’s a side note kind of night.

UPDATED: I just talked to the funeral home about the “Pending Investigation” on the death certificates. Per Indiana law, every change to a death certificate needs to include what was previously listed in a little bitty section at the bottom of the document. In this case, the coroner released the body to the cremation people (since the cause of death was pretty apparent by the condition of his liver), but since toxicology results weren’t in, the cause was listed as “Pending Investigation” on the death certificate (which had to be filed so the body could be cremated). Once toxicology results were back from the lab, the official cause of death changed – but “Pending Investigation” will always be part of the document since it was on the original version. Whew!

Faucet Tears at the Auction Fundraiser

Posted on by

0

Saturday night was the annual auction/fundraiser for Ethan’s school. I thought it would be a good chance to meet other parents and to personally thank those who have sent prayers, notes, dinners, toys, and general good thoughts our way since Mike died.

I also knew there was a good chance that I would chicken out and not to go.

I’m not a fan of these kind of events. – unless, of course, I know I’ll be able to snark with someone. For all his shortcomings, Mike was my go-to snarker at this kind of things. We could stand in a corner (drinks in hand, natch) and comment on anything. We didn’t have to mingle or talk to anyone, just “be.”

But, Saturday night, I was flying solo. Knowing that I would invent a million and one reasons to stay home that night, I emailed the committee and volunteered a few days before. At least this way, I rationalized, I was less likely to wimp out. Besides, I didn’t RSVP for the dinner, so I could go, work my shift at the registration desk, and come home.

Saturday night, I put on a sequin top, nice pants, and heels, and I drove to the hotel. Or, the hotel I THOUGHT was hosting the event. As soon as I got close to it, I didn’t think there were enough cars in the lot. Maybe the lot extends behind the hotel, I thought. It didn’t.

I almost turned the car around, but “I volunteered!” so I was determined to try to find the venue. I took out my iPhone and typed in the URL for the school’s website. Surely the address for the hotel would be on there.

It wasn’t. The name of the chain was listed, but no address. A quick Internet search, and voila!, only five of the hotels in the city. I decided I’d try the one closest to where I was, and if that wasn’t it, then I’d be able to go home. I tried, right?

I made it. Right hotel. Just on time.

I found the registration desk and slipped behind it, introducing myself to the woman who appeared to be in charge. Quickly, I was on a roll. Meeting and greeting. Welcoming and registering. And I was really enjoying the company of the four women working alongside me.

There was a lull in the activity, and we all started talking. “So, is your husband at home with the kids tonight?” one of them asked me.

Tears. Great big tears. Out of no where and uncontrollable.

“No,” I said. “He died in January…”

I couldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t a full-blown sob, but more of a “running facet” kind of cry. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing, no matter how hard I tried to turn them off. Soon all four of the ladies were hugging me, slipping me their phone numbers, and trying to get me to stop crying. I was a mess.

Still, after that breakdown and working my registration shift, I wasn’t ready to go home. I hadn’t registered for the event/dinner so I decided I would just work the rest of the event. Schlepping silent auction items to the back tables to be picked up later. Directing drunken partygoers to the nearest bathrooms. Counting money. Alphabetizing kids’ photos. Organizing wine bottles. Helping drunken partygoers check out and collect their stuff (most of which they would probably regret buying in the morning, but hey! it’s a good cause, right?).

I met some great moms. Most of the mom volunteers were divorced or separated. (Apparently, if you have a snark partner, you attend the event. If you don’t, you work the event.) Some knew of my situation, but most didn’t. No one asked probing questions, but everyone offered their support and love. I even joked with one mom who is going through a very messy divorce. “No matter what you think of him, no matter how much you hate him right now,” I told her. “You do NOT want him to die. Trust me.” Then we all laughed. A comfortable, I-know-kind-of-what-you’re-going-through kind of laugh. It was nice.

I didn’t leave until after 1 a.m.

Oh, and the best part: I won the Golden Ticket Raffle, meaning I got to choose any live auction item before the bidding started. I selected tickets to a Brewers game with a tailgating party. Turns out the tickets are second row, behind home plate. Ethan will love it.

Side note: one of my favorite conversations with Ethan took place as I was trying to explain tailgating to him the next morning. “Why would we get IN someone’s trunk for a party? Sitting in a trunk doesn’t sound fun…” and “So if there’s food and drinks IN the trunk, why isn’t it called a ‘trunk buffet’?”

My Life Doppelganger

Posted on by

0

I met with the Tax Guy today. I haven’t done taxes in 10 years – Mike did them. He said he liked them; although, when he was actually doing them, there was a lot of yelling and foul moods and complete procrastination until the April 15 deadline, so I think “like” was not really how he felt.

I started my session with Tax Guy by trying to break the ice a bit. “I just want to apologize up front for being this year’s problem child,” I said with a smile and a bit of a laugh.

“Oh,” he said. “You can’t have a worse story than this other client of mine. She separated from her alcoholic husband last year, and they were going through a divorce – then he DIED!”

My smile faded into nervous laughter. “Um, that’s my story,” I said. “That’s the same situation I have – well, except I also sold a house, moved to another state, and took a new job… So I might still win the title of Worst Client of 2012, right?”

Tax Guy said this woman works in financial services, and that she does not work at my employer. I’m curious who this lady is… what’s her story? I kind of want to find her and have coffee with her and give her a hug…

Somedays Suck

Posted on by

0

Monday was hard. Really hard.

It was one of the few times since Mike and I separated in August that I felt alone. “Alone” in the sense that I’ll “always” be alone, that I won’t find someone, that I won’t remarry, that the kids will forever be without a male role model.

I don’t know why that day was different. I’m happy that it was a short-lived funk, but I can’t put my finger on what was different about Monday that caused that surge of… I guess it was depression.

I’m usually a glass-half-full kind of girl, so Monday’s emotions really hit me in the gut.

Two days later, I’m not a weepy Debbie Downer anymore, but my mind has gone to that “alone” feeling for a few fleeting moments.

Questions People Ask

Posted on by

0

Q: Was he sick for a long time?

A: No, he was an alcoholic for a long time.