The Earth Shook - he's dead

"I cannot fathom having to write this post. I have had the shock of my life. My mind is numb and body won’t stop shaking. My soulmate, dear sweet husband Rick, has died unexpectedly. He was found by my neighbor at the Morgan’s Landing, our beautiful river property, that he loved so much. My heart is shattered and I fear will never recover. We were the perfect pair, best friends, with so many plans. Married for almost 32 years and together for even longer. Hug your loved ones, you just never know. He was only 53 years old." --This was written approximately three years ago.

On a Friday morning, the Earth shook and it wasn't' an earthquake it was a reality check, a mortality check. my husband of 32 years was dead, and my world would never look the same. The irony? He was found on March 31st by the coroner for whatever reason that I will never understand, listed his death date as April 1, April Fool's Day. if you knew him, he would have laughed at this so, there is that.

This was not how it was supposed to happen. We had decades left or so we thought. We were together since I was in my late teens, he in his early twenties. It just seems that naturally we would die old, working hard until the end, helping everyone around us. It is not to say that life was better or worse however, just different. Life as I knew it had changed. This is what comes with death, transition of the person who passed and an altered life for those with whom they left behind.

It has taken me a few years to finally re-read my grief writings, those that I wrote in raw form through anger, tears, shame. I did not know if I could open this wound again, but it is time to now reflect on this point of my life in a different manner. Open, honest, unapologetic, and use my experiences to help others. The funny thing is, during the year of grief and solace, I romanticized the reality. Only years later would I understand the truth about my life, our marriage, and my pathway forward.

Friends have begged me to write a book(s)...someday was always my answer. For now, I will start here, in this forum, every Thursday, diving into my own experience with grief and that of others. I hope to offer insights, tools, and guidance to others at the same time. I won't reveal specific dates or names to maintain a little bit of anonymity, but it surely won't impact the content. I call this segment of the blog, of this Flight of the Phoenix Diary, "the Grief Chronicles."

It was a crisp, beautiful Friday morning, blue sky and puffy white clouds, kind of strange really because where we lived, the sky was often, as he put it, "a beautiful shade of gray." I was at work getting my day started. Employees were chatting away with their morning coffee talking about new ideas and plans for our clientele. I chatted with them delighted at their intellect and creativity, and also because it was Friday and I considered ending my day early in the afternoon. A average looking woman approached in business casual clothing, dull and not overly flashy asking for me by my full name. It was nothing unusual because often faculty would arrive asking for me. I assumed I had to troubleshoot a problem and thought nothing of inviting her to my office when she asked for privacy. We walked through the study area into the back of the department where one of two entries offered access to my professional yet comfy office. As I was opening my door, she asked if I knew of a man (by name) who was a neighbor at our second property (a little place we were developing on the river for weekends away). I indeed did know of him. He and his wife had bullied us ever since we made the purchase. They simply could not understand why we spent so much time there (well my husband more than me). Of course, no response was required or given.

My husband was out at this property working on it while I was at the university. He had been clearing trees and debris, raking stone, and making plans for several small buildings that were newly installed for this little camp. I had seen him on Thursday at our farm, we were normal, cordial, kisses goodbye, nothing out of the ordinary. I was frustrated because I felt like he was using the place as an escape sometimes. He had been there since Monday with no plans to return home anytime soon. I was left to work fulltime, take care of the farm, the animals, and my holistic business, as well as my mother (who lived in our extra house at his invitation, not mine). His mother had passed away a couple of months before and he was devastated. We had cared for her for several years. she had dementia and a few other ailments (she was living in my second house on the farm where my mother was now residing in). A side note, she never cared for me much, but I allowed her to live out her days near her son despite her sour behavior (pre-dementia mind you). It was a terrible time and truly is a story for another post. Frankly, my mother living there was also a very difficult time, something I will write about later (clue - this will be a discussion on narcissistic parents).

Anyhow, I spoke to him that evening (Thursday) around 5pm. He had mentioned needing to charge his phone. it was a little flip phone. He never liked anything fancier. He would remark that it made phone calls and held a charge, he could take a few pictures or bad video, it was good enough and not complicated. I told him I would be playing online games with friends and would see him on Saturday to help. He wanted me there sooner, but I really had to work. I apologized, we said the familiar, "luv ya" and hung up. I called him later that night, but he did not answer. The next morning on my way to work I told Siri to dial him, several times, no answer. I was annoyed but not overly surprised. I never did speak to him again. Ever. Such a strange thing really.

So, as this woman now revealing herself as an officer with the state police, mentioning the neighbor, I instantly thought maybe the two men had a confrontation and for some reason, they were informing me. The man was pretty overbearing and also part of law enforcement. I truly had no idea. Had they been in a fight and both in jail? Was someone hurt? Or was this harassment because of the neighbor's profession?

She sat quietly in my beautiful office, adorned with teal paint on two walls, tchotchke on the bookshelves, large TV on the wall, cute Italian furniture. This place was more life a second home because I was there more than at my actual home (sometimes by choice to avoid intrusive relatives and conflicts - stories for another day). Finally, after she was able to spit out the words, she told me he was dead. The neighbor had found him. She asked me to get someone from my department into my office for support. Two women joined me. One barely composed herself as she was extraordinarily compassionate, and the other was supportive and asked important questions on my behalf as I stared at the wall, tears silently falling. I don't cry in public and especially not at work, or I never did, but that would change on this day. The officer gave me a business card and told me that the coroner would give a detailed report and that an investigator would be calling. I asked her several questions too: Do I need to do something or sign something? Should I go see his body and make an identification (maybe they were wrong)? Where was he when he was found? How did this happen? And, probably a few more questions that I can no longer recall. She only responded that seeing his body was unnecessary as the neighbor identified him and that I would not want to see him in this state, to keep my memories intact. I heeded her warning. She also indicated that more information would come from investigators and the coroner. Things would take time and I needed to be patient.

I sat at my desk for a few hours unable to move. I honestly didn't know what I was supposed to do. I was always in charge of everything but in this moment, I was devoid of thought. Should I just stay at work? Why go home? I finally decided to leave at the urging of my staff and said goodbye to them indicating that I would be gone for a few days to sort matters out. I was very normal and business-like in this moment. I also sent emails to my boss and human resources. Business first of course, always. It is extraordinary if I was to calculate the number of countless hours, I gave my employer versus the hours I spent with my family (animals and husband, no kids).

As I drove out of the parking lot, another officer phoned me. He was the investigator at the scene. As I was pulling my car into a nearby parking lot to take the call, I saw a dear friend of mine who also worked at the school pulling behind me. She had heard the news and was told I had just left. She stopped to check on me. In that moment I was okay, trying to conduct business by taking a call, trying to be normal. In all my life's stress moments I try to be solid, stern, non-reactive. Inside, my soul was confused and crushed. We had been having difficulties, if I was to be really honest about it (and it took a long time for me to admit it). We had been strained in our relationship for the last 15-20 years. Time flew by and we pushed through, but things were not like in the previous years. We were now increasingly unhappy, stressed out, exhausted. Life had taken a toll on us both in different ways. I will discuss this in another post but will mention that elder care, careers, sickness, it is all stress that destroys life and pushes love over to the side, despite the best intentions. You have to be deliberate to keep this from happening. I now realize it and would have done many things differently. Silently, I wonder if we both had strategies and knowledge, if we would have made different decisions, if he would be alive today. Maybe we would not be married but just maybe he would not have died so young (53). Hindsight, 20/20.

When I spoke with the investigator, I asked him questions the other officer refused or was unable to answer. "Where was he found, in the grass by the camper? What was he wearing? What was he doing? How did he die? I would be told that tests and an examination would be conducted by the county coroner's office, and more information would be forth coming. He was found by the neighbor, that morning, floating in the river near an icepack about 100 yards out, had the ice not been there he would have floated away. This is a large body of water. He saw him because my husband's golfcart was parked in the gravel and shallow water which made zero sense. The neighbor looked further into the scene and discovered his floating corpse. He had a lot of alcohol (light beer) stockpiled in the camper. I knew there had been sales and since the pandemic, probably before, he hoarded groceries. The honest truth is that he was a functioning alcoholic for years (as were his mother and father) and it only got worse and worse. It was a devastating part of our marriage (a story for another time, an important one). They suspected alcohol could have been part of his demise, in addition to his congestive heart failure and type-two diabetes. It was information I needed to know and wanted to know. Again, more forthcoming with the official reports. I had asked both officers if I should go see him in the morgue. I truly had no idea. They both indicated as did the first officer, that I should refrain and remember him as he was. I heeded their advice and stopped asking the question. In a few weeks, I would know why and how he died but I had my suspicions.

After the call ended, I drove myself home. I took care of the animals, told my mother who was residing on my property, I made phone calls to his family and mine, a Facebook post would come the next day (the one you read above). I stared at the wall a lot. Honestly the rest of that day and evening is a blur. I do however recall taking solace in the company of my dogs. They had gotten me through a lot of difficult times. This would be their biggest challenge, and mine. Life as we knew it was gone. What would happen next? I had a lot of responsibilities and had to figure out how to pivot and take on more.

About six weeks later, I received a call from the investigator. He said that the official cause of death was accidental drowning. From what both of us pieced together based on information and photos (I did not see them but insisted that the investigator describe them to me), he was driving in his golf cart with a beer in hand, undoubtably drunk (his BAC was three times the legal limit post mortem), had not eaten all day despite his condition (he regularly did this), his dinner sitting out in the camper ready to be cooked. The hill from the top of the property t the river was a long distance, sloping grassy terrain that lead right into the river. The beauty of the place is that it was easy to enjoy the water. Anyhow, he was likely driving down the hill to view the magnificent sunset, drunk, low blood-sugar. We believe that he passed out in a diabetic coma, foot on the accelerator, rapidly descending to the river. The cart was electric with regen brakes. he probably hit the pebbled riverbed, foot slide off the accelerator which would instantly stop the cart (not to mention the terrain). Passed out, he would slide out of the cart, floating away, lungs filled with water, and he died. The hope is that he was unaware of his predicament (and this is likely). No one will ever know for sure. But he was dead and gone and life as I knew it was changed (for better and worse).

Please check my future posts to understand more about this grief story and our lives in more depth, more about grief in general, dying, and life after death (there truly is life after death).

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