Grief Part 3: On This Anniversary

Near the spot where Roman collapsed and died.

Monday November 6th 2006, actually started out on an upswing.  My heart was at ease from the conversation I'd had with my recently estranged husband, Roman, the day before. My apartment was now my own, free of all blatant reminders of his previous existence there, and my mind was focused on the promise of today, tomorrow, and the next day.

Work that morning, began with a meeting that I had been dreading for quite some time leading up to that point.  It was with an intense, emotional mother, who came equipped with threats, demands, and a team of advocates to be sure she got what she wanted for her son.  My district routinely put the fear of God into us about dealing with parents like this, so I was not quite sure what to expect because I was so green professionally.  Although, looking back, it’s funny to me now that I was worried about the case I dealt with that day, because since then I’ve dealt with some certified doozies, which made that mother look like a calm, rational, novice by comparison.  At any rate though, I was uncertain at the time, and was relieved to have the meeting turn out to be copacetic, which in turn helped the rest of the day turn out to be steady and productive.

My two hungry kitties greeted me as I came home that evening.  It had been a good day at work, but I was happy still to be home in my nice apartment.  My comfy clothes beckoned as they always do after a day at work, so I changed clothes, made myself dinner, fed my  furry monsters, and got comfortable on the sofa watching reruns of my new favorite show, “Scrubs.” My evening was restful and routine, until about 6:30, when the phone rang.  

Assuming it was my mom, I got up and answered it without hesitation; completely oblivious to the oncoming metaphoric roundhouse kicks I was about to take to the head, heart, and gut.  The voice on the other end came as a surprise.  It was not my mom as I expected, but instead was Stu, Roman’s brother.  His voice was one I recognized, but his heavy tone was one I did not.

“Sunny,” he said flatly, “Its Stu, Roman’s brother…I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Roman just died.” 

He said it without pause, so matter-of-factly, that I thought it was a joke. 

Stu and Roman were always razzing one another so naturally, I figured this had to be one of their weird jokes...One that I did not think was funny, and one that I was so angered by, that I nearly hung up on him.  

“WHAT??” I snapped.
  
Stu had a history of being an offensively inappropriate jokester.  So much so, that I wrote apology notes on his behalf after he insulted countless guests at my wedding reception with his buffoonery, which people assumed was due to intoxication; though in truth, he behavior was due to nothing other than him being his socially inept self. So much so, that I, a well known potty humor enthusiast, had reached my limit with his drawing of anatomically correct penises into the dirt of Roman’s car (as writing “wash me” would have been too mundane a method of getting his point across) that I finally demanded that Roman tell him to knock it off; even though admittedly, at first it was a riot. 

But this…this was too much, even for Stu.
  
He repeated himself in response to my irritated question by flatly stating, “Roman died.”  

“I just saw him yesterday,” I protested, “he didn’t die!”  

Stu took a deep breath and continued, “Remember before when he collapsed that time, when he was jogging and he woke up in the ambulance?”

"Yeah," I said.  

“Well, this time he didn’t wake up.” 

And now I could hear it in Stu's voice...He was definitely not joking.

My heart dropped to my stomach and my mouth went dry as sand in an instant.  I could barely speak as I asked somberly in a single sweep, “Where are you? Do you need me to come over?  What happened?”

Stu took another deep breath, and then asked if I remembered how to get to their mom’s house.  I said I did and he then instructed, “When you make the left hand turn onto the street just before her neighborhood, you’ll see the flashing lights…That’s where we are...You’ll know….You can’t miss it.”  

I agreed and hung up the phone. 

In a surreal state of disbelief, I dashed out the door leaving the TV on.  I guess I was hoping I’d be right back. I was somehow clinging to the hope that this would turn out not to be real after all.  But that notion was fading faster than my mind could comprehend, and from here on out, my memory of the evening is hazy, like a dream sequence in a movie.  It was as if I began operating on autopilot...as if I was someplace in an audience, watching myself from afar on the screen. 

It did not feel real.
  
Barely able to speak, with a mouth desiccated by shock, I managed to call my mom on my cell phone as I drove to the location.  My step dad answered the phone. Laboriously, I asked to speak to my mom.  

“It’s Sunny” I heard him say as he handed her the receiver.  

“Hi Babe!” she said enthusiastically at my impromptu evening contact.  

My mom calls everyone she loves “Babe.”  Sometimes, if the whole family is together, nobody is sure which “Babe” she is addressing when she says something like, “Hey Babe?  Will you come help set the table?”  But this time, it was decidedly me that she was addressing, and never in recent memory could I recall being as comforted by it.

“Mom?” I muttered, “Roman died.  I just got a call that Roman died.”

“What??” “Roman died...” I heard her say as she repeated the news to my step dad.  “Oh my...What happened?!”

I told her I thought it was a joke and stated that I could barely speak because my mouth was so dry.  I reiterated as much as I knew up to that point and asked her to stay on the phone with me for the duration of my ten-minute drive to the scene.  

“I’ll know its real when I see the flashing lights…Please stay on the phone until I know its real?”

“Of course!” she said.  

I didn’t speak much for the remainder of the drive.  I couldn’t speak.  I just needed her company, which she graciously provided.  Though, in shock by the news herself, I remember she often repeated how "bizarre" this all was.  Certainly, I agreed.  But my state of mind was not lucid and I couldn’t muster more than a few words at a time in response, until I made it to just beyond the left hand turn at which I was told I would find Roman’s family.  

“Mom,” I said as I saw the red flashing lights, “It’s real.”

I pulled over to the side of the road, behind the row of police cars, where I got out and hurried toward everyone.  Stu approached and then hugged me tightly. 

He was sobbing.  

The flashing lights of the police cars make my memory of this instance look something like watching myself moving in the presence a strobe light.  My memory is choppy, but I recall saying something to Stu like, “Thank you for calling me!” and then asking again what happened as we moved closer to the spot where Roman had collapsed.

An investigator from the county coroner’s office was still at the scene gathering information as I approached the grass where my husband had fallen.  She asked immediately if I was Roman’s wife.  I affirmed that I was, but disclosed that we were recently estranged.  I distinctly remember her commenting that he was not wearing his wedding ring at the time that he was found, but that his mother had provided a wedding photo to help identify him.  Her words about him not wearing his ring were not a surprise, but they still stung.  They were an echo of the sting I felt when he told me that he had cheated.  They were a reminder that while I was still legally his wife, he no longer loved me when he left this life.
   
I rambled something to the investigator about having seen him the prior day and then yelled disjointedly at her about him being in "perfect health" and "never having so much as a headache" in his young life.  Attempting to soothe me and bring my mind into focus, she calmly confirmed that his brother and mom told her the same thing before I arrived.

Listening and interacting in a normal social manner however, was not possible in my state at the time and I remember continuing to shout at her something about "healthy people don't just drop dead" and arguing that he was not really dead.  

But each time, she calmly replied that he was dead for reasons unknown.  In fact, at one point she added that he was deceased for approximately 30 minutes, according to her estimate; before being spotted by a passerby, face down on the greenbelt next to the sidewalk.

I asked to see his body…I needed to see him that instance.  But she informed me that he’d already been taken to the coroner’s office.  Roman’s mom already identified him officially for the coroner so they had no reason to keep his body there any longer.
  
Roman’s mom was, and continues to be no-nonsense, logical, powerhouse of a little lady.  I remember her affect that night being stoic, but visibly shaken.  She said Roman came home from work that evening, started some laundry, and then went for a run like always, but she began to get worried when he didn’t come home by a certain time.  Fearing the worst, she set out to find him; when shortly thereafter, she came across the flashing lights.  

He had collapsed once before during a jog, so she knew instinctively why the authorities were there.  Approaching the scene, she stated that she was the unidentified runner’s mother.  He did not have his driver’s license or anything on him at the time, so they instructed her to go home and get proof of identity.  

She rushed home, just a couple blocks away, where she grabbed our wedding picture and his wallet to show to them.  It was at that time that she alerted Stu to return with her.  

Stu too confirmed that he saw “the body” and recognized it as being that of his younger brother.  He said to me, “He just looked like he was sleeping…his eyes were closed…it was him.”

Finally accepting the news, I stopped raging at the investigator and began listening to her instructions.  An autopsy would be performed and toxicology results should be in within the next couple days. She then provided a number to call if I had any questions and noted that final autopsy results could take up to six weeks to complete. As she left, she handed me a business card and a pamphlet on bereavement.
  
Though Roman and I were separated, I was still his wife and as such was also his legal next of kin.  I was now a widow and would be looked upon to handle the sort of details that widows handle; estranged or not…faithful or not.  My role was now that of a legal next of kin, "estate" holder (put in quotes because there were no assets to speak of) , and decision maker…no longer that of soon to be divorcee. It was not a role I wanted, but one I accepted nonetheless; Albeit, with major reservation, ambivalence, heartbreak Monday November 6th 2006, started out on an upswing.  My heart was at ease from the conversation I'd had with my newly estranged husband, Roman, the day before. My apartment was now my own, free of all blatant reminders of his previous existence there, and my mind was focused on the promise of today, tomorrow, and the next day.

My day at work began with a meeting that I had been dreading for quite some time leading up to that point.  It was with an intense, emotional mother, who came equipped with threats, demands, and a team of advocates to be sure she got what she wanted for her son.  My district routinely put the fear of God into us about dealing with parents like this, so I was not quite sure what to expect because I was so green professionally.  Although, looking back, its funny to me now that I was worried about the case I dealt with that day, because since then I’ve dealt with some certified doozies, which made that mother look like a calm, rational, novice by comparison.  At any rate though, I was uncertain at the time, and was relieved to have the meeting turn out to be copacetic, which in turn helped the rest of the day turn out to be steady and productive.

My two hungry kitties greeted me as I came home that evening.  It had been a good day at work, but I was happy still to be home in my nice apartment.  My comfy clothes beckoned as they always do after a day at work, so I changed clothes, made myself dinner, fed my monsters, and got comfortable on the sofa watching reruns of my new favorite show. My evening was restful and routine, until about 6:30, when the phone rang.  

Assuming it was my mom; I got up and answered it without hesitation, completely oblivious to the oncoming metaphoric roundhouse kicks I was about to take to the head, heart, and gut.  The voice on the other end came as a surprise.  It was not my mom as I expected, but instead was Stu, Roman’s brother.  His voice was one I recognized, but his tone was one I did not.

“Sunny,” he said flatly, “Its Stu, Roman’s brother."  "I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Roman just died.” 

He said it without pause, so matter-of-factly, that I thought it was a joke. 

Stu and Roman were always razzing one another, so naturally, I figured this had to be one of their weird jokes...One that I did not think was funny, and one that I was so angered by, that I nearly hung up on him.  

“WHAT??” I snapped.
  
Stu had a history of being an offensively inappropriate jokester.  So much so, that I wrote apology notes on his behalf after he insulted countless guests at my wedding reception with his buffoonery, which people assumed was due to intoxication; though in truth, he behavior was due to nothing other than him being his socially inept self. So much so, that I, a well known potty humor enthusiast, had reached my limit with his drawing of anatomically correct penises into the dirt of Roman’s car (as writing “wash me” would have been too mundane a method of getting his point across) that I finally demanded that Roman tell him to knock it off; even though admittedly, at first it was a riot. 

But this…this was too much, even for Stu.
  
He repeated himself in response to my irritated question by flatly stating, “Roman died.”  

“I just saw him yesterday,” I protested, “he didn’t die!”  

Stu took a deep breath and continued, “Remember before when he collapsed that time, when he was jogging and he woke up in the ambulance?”

"Yeah," I said.  

“Well, this time he didn’t wake up.” 

And now I could hear it in Stu's voice...He was definitely not joking.

My heart dropped to my stomach and my mouth went dry as sand in an instant.  I could barely speak as I asked somberly in a single sweep, “Where are you? Do you need me to come over?  What happened?”

Stu took another deep breath, and then asked if I remembered how to get to their mom’s house.  I said I did and he then instructed, “When you make the left hand turn onto the street just before her neighborhood, you’ll see the flashing lights…That’s where we are...You’ll know….You can’t miss it.”  

I agreed and hung up the phone. 

In a surreal state of disbelief, I dashed out the door leaving the TV on.  I guess I was hoping I’d be right back. I was somehow clinging to the hope that this would turn out not to be real after all.  But that notion was fading faster than my mind could comprehend, and from here on out, my memory of the evening is hazy, like a dream sequence in a movie.  It was as if I began operating on autopilot...as if I was someplace in an audience, watching myself from afar on the screen. 

It did not feel real.
  
Barely able to speak, with a mouth desiccated by shock, I managed to call my mom on my cell phone as I drove to the location.  My step dad answered the phone. Laboriously, I asked to speak to my mom.  

“It’s Sunny” I heard him say as he handed her the receiver.  

“Hi Babe!” she said enthusiastically at my impromptu evening contact.  

My mom calls everyone she loves “Babe.”  Sometimes, if the whole family is together, nobody is sure which “Babe” she is addressing when she says something like, “Hey Babe?  Will you come help set the table?”  But this time, it was decidedly me that she was addressing, and never in recent memory could I recall being as comforted by it.

“Mom?” I muttered, “Roman died.  I just got a call that Roman died.”

“What??” “Roman died...” I heard her say as she repeated the news to my step dad.  “Oh my...What happened?!”

I told her I thought it was a joke and stated that I could barely speak because my mouth was so dry.  I reiterated as much as I knew up to that point and asked her to stay on the phone with me for the duration of my ten-minute drive to the scene.  

“I’ll know its real when I see the flashing lights…Please stay on the phone until I know its real?”

“Of course!” she said.  

I didn’t speak much for the remainder of the drive.  I couldn’t speak.  I just needed her company, which she graciously provided.  Though, in shock by the news herself, I remember she often repeated how "bizarre" this all was.  Certainly, I agreed.  But my state of mind was not lucid and I couldn’t muster more than a few words at a time in response, until I made it to just beyond the left hand turn at which I was told I would find Roman’s family.  

“Mom,” I said as I saw the red flashing lights, “It’s real.”

I pulled over to the side of the road, behind the row of police cars, where I got out and hurried toward everyone.  Stu approached and then hugged me tightly. 

He was sobbing.  

The flashing lights of the police cars make my memory of this instance look something like watching myself moving in the presence a strobe light.  My memory is choppy, but I recall saying something to Stu like, “Thank you for calling me!” and then asking again what happened as we moved closer to the spot where Roman had collapsed.

An investigator from the county coroner’s office was still at the scene gathering information as I approached the grass where my husband had fallen.  She asked immediately if I was Roman’s wife.  I affirmed that I was, but disclosed that we were recently estranged.  I distinctly remember her commenting that he was not wearing his wedding ring at the time that he was found, but that his mother had provided a wedding photo to help identify him.  Her words about him not wearing his ring were not a surprise, but they still stung.  They were an echo of the sting I felt when he told me that he had cheated.  They were a reminder that while I was still legally his wife, he no longer loved me when he left this life.
   
I rambled something to the investigator about having seen him the prior day and then yelled disjointedly at her about him being in "perfect health" and "never having so much as a headache" in his young life.  Attempting to soothe me and bring my mind into focus, she calmly confirmed that his brother and mom told her the same thing before I arrived.

Listening and interacting in a normal social manner however, was not possible in my state at the time and I remember continuing to shout at her something about "healthy people don't just drop dead" and arguing that he was not really dead.  

But each time, she calmly replied that he was dead for reasons unknown.  In fact, at one point she added that he was deceased for approximately 30 minutes, according to her estimate; before being spotted by a passerby, face down on the greenbelt next to the sidewalk.

I asked to see his body…I needed to see him that instance.  But she informed me that he’d already been taken to the coroner’s office.  Roman’s mom already identified him officially for the coroner so they had no reason to keep his body there any longer.
  
Roman’s mom was, and continues to be no-nonsense, logical, powerhouse of a little lady.  I remember her affect that night being stoic, but visibly shaken.  She said Roman came home from work that evening, started some laundry, and then went for a run like always, but she began to get worried when he didn’t come home by a certain time.  Fearing the worst, she set out to find him; when shortly thereafter, she came across the flashing lights.  

He had collapsed once before during a jog, so she knew instinctively why the authorities were there.  Approaching the scene, she stated that she was the unidentified runner’s mother.  He did not have his driver’s license or anything on him at the time, so they instructed her to go home and get proof of identity.  

She rushed home, just a couple blocks away, where she grabbed our wedding picture and his wallet to show to them.  It was at that time that she alerted Stu to return with her.  

Stu too confirmed that he saw “the body” and recognized it as being that of his younger brother.  He said to me, “He just looked like he was sleeping…his eyes were closed…it was him.”

Finally accepting the news, I stopped raging at the investigator and began listening to her instructions.  An autopsy would be performed and toxicology results should be in within the next couple days. She then provided a number to call if I had any questions and noted that final autopsy results could take up to six weeks to complete. As she left, she handed me a business card and a pamphlet on bereavement.
  
Though Roman and I were separated, I was still his wife and as such was also his legal next of kin.  I was now a widow and would be looked upon to handle the sort of details that widows handle; estranged or not…faithful or not.  My role was now that of a legal next of kin, "estate" holder (put in quotes because there were no assets to speak of) , and decision maker…no longer that of soon to be divorcee. It was not a role I wanted, but one I accepted nonetheless; Albeit, with major reservation, ambivalence, heartbreak, and lasting resonance.