MY SISTER ELLEN WAS the one to break the news to Amber. They had left the hospital only about an hour or so before Gina died, and it was a forty-five minute drive to Ellen’s house. There was no way they were going to make it back in time so I made the decision to just let her tell her. Amber was ten-years-old and knew it was coming. Should I have brought her back that night? Maybe. Do I regret not having the conversation with her myself? I don’t think so. I know it sounds like something I should have absolutely done, but like I said, it wasn’t a shock. She knew it was a grave situation and at ten-years-old, as traumatic as it was it was, something that was fully anticipated from the moment she walked out of the hospital.
I can’t really remember the rationale of why I let her leave or let Ellen tell her, but looking back now I can say that they were little girls and I was doing everything I could to simultaneously include them and protect them. Trust me, it’s a very tight rope to walk.
Between the events that had just transpired, being smack dab in the middle of winter and in the darkest part of the middle of the night, the car ride home felt like it took forever. Nobody talked. We didn’t turn on the radio. With the exception of the sniffling, it was absolutely silent. As we got home, everybody was completely spent. Jackie went into her room and got ready for bed fairly quickly. Amber was still at my sister’s, so I tucked Jackie in and then went downstairs.
As it turned out, some of the people that were at the hospital came over to stay with me. They all came by and we sat around the kitchen, had some drinks, and told stories for hours. It was good for me to laugh and I was glad that they were there. Had I come home alone I don’t know that I could have handled it. When I finally did go to bed, it was awkward. Although I felt numb and exhausted, I could sense a different air in the room. I had grown somewhat used to her not being in bed with me, but it felt different than before. It was as if I could feel that she wasn’t alive anymore. Out of habit, I lied down on my side of the bed, but my God did I miss her. I reached over and grabbed her pillow, pressing it to my face to catch any remaining whiff of her scent. The reality was too much for me.
I’ve heard stories about people wondering or obsessing about what was happening with their loved one’s body once they had died; they visualize where the body goes, the inside of the morgue…creepy things like that. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. When I walked out of the hospital that night, I think some sort of switch went off in my brain that saw her body as only a vessel that was no longer her.
You would think I would’ve slept forever having been so exhausted, but my body was restless, and I woke up after only a few hours. Never before have I woken up with such a feeling of heaviness and sadness pressing down on me. It actually felt like a manhole cover sitting on my chest. I laid there for a few minutes just stirring in the sadness, but then my mind jumped to all the things I had to do, yet had no idea how to. All my preparations for this day were purely mental. I had to buy a burial plot, book and arrange a funeral, and get her obituary to the newspaper. You would have thought I would have at least touched on these things before, but I never did. In part it was because I thought we had more time. The other reason for it was her denial. That goes back to the communication issues we had and my lack of strength to force the issue. Things like this were too morbid for me to take on back then, so I always pushed it off, thinking I would just take care of it when the time came. Well, as I lay there in bed that first morning, the stench in the air told me that the time had come.
It was too much for me then and it is too much for me now. I could feel that she was gone and just burst out into tears. I knew I would never wake up with her again, or ever see her again; I felt thrown into the thrust of her absence, and it overwhelmed me. It was only 7am and I already felt beaten for the day.
It was a process for me to get out of bed that day and for a lot of days after. Even today, mornings are still always the roughest. That first day was the worst. It was all about doing things in steps. I forced myself to get out of bed and into the shower. After the shower I sat on the bed and very easily could have just lied back down and started bawling again. I had to push myself to get dressed and go downstairs.
As I was moving around in the kitchen people were starting to wake up, and you could tell they were waking up with me on their minds. Mark spent the night on the couch and was already up planning a grocery run. My buddy Carl called to check on me. My sister Robyn called to let me know she was on her way over and was going to go through some pictures with the girls to make a nice photo collage. I was amazed at the outpouring of support but at the same time, not at all surprised. I just shuffled through it because my mind was filled with the desolate anticipation of going to the funeral home.
As I mentioned, Mom and I spoke the night before at the hospital before Gina passed and made some plans. When she did go, Mom called the funeral home and arranged a meeting for 8am.
I let Jackie sleep in. I figured it would be better to let her get her rest while I went and took care of the details. Sandy and Charlie spent the night and told me they would stay with Jackie while I went and made the funeral arrangements. Amber was still sleeping at my sister Ellen’s house.
Walking out of the house, I remember hearing Mark go over the list of things he had to get from the store. My sister Robyn had arrived by then and was helping him with the list, as everyone knew people would be coming in and out and an Irish wake would materialize. Less than eight hours after Gina died, people were jumping onboard to help fill her role. It didn’t make me feel much better, but it was nice knowing I had so many people around me to help because already it was too much for me to handle.