Tomorrow marks the five month mark since my husband's sudden and still-shocking-to-me death. We still do not have answers, and my shock is starting to give way to a small but healthy dose of outrage.
How is it possible that after five months, after over 150 days of waiting, our family still does not have closure?
How is it possible that someone like Bobbi Kristina Brown sits in a coma for nine months, but her autopsy is complete and released to the rabid public within two days? Does Bobbi Kristina's status as daughter of has-been 80's pop stars make the cause of her death so much more important than the millions of people waiting ahead of her family? (Yes, I know she died in Georgia and we are in North Carolina, but you get my point).
Something has GOT to change, and it must start with us. The "system" is obviously broken.
Chris's body was sent to the state medical examiner's office because of a serious of bad luck events. Ha! We won't go directly to the point of a 45 year old man dying suddenly at home being bad luck enough.
He was sent automatically for an autopsy because he was at home, and not under doctor's care (ie, healthy) and still considered young by death's standards. It happened late at night, so the Davidson County NC office was already closed. And, even though a regional medical examiner's office was not more than 6 miles from us, because we literally lived 2/10th of a mile within the Davidson County border, the jurisdiction became Raleigh.
All of this leads to the perfect storm of Chris being sent to the slowest, most backlogged, understaffed, and under apologetic medical staff in the state.
On the day after his death, I was told that the autopsy results would take about 8 weeks, or 12 at the most. That was before our funeral director realized he had been sent to Raleigh, where the timeline immediately became "at least 3 months". After three months, the timeline was modified to "up to six months". The last time I spoke with someone, I was told it could be 8 months.
I am seriously concerned that I should be preparing for a battle.
I simply want answers. I desperately NEED answers. I know most people can understand this on a surface level, but the woman I used to be...the woman who tried her best to save her husband's life on May 20th, 2015 needs to know that she did all she could. I need some form of closure from the worst 15 minutes of my life. I need to know that (please God) it was not preventable. I need to know it's not something genetic that I need to think about for my kids.
Tell me why my needs are falling to the bottom of a stack of paperwork on the chief medical examiner's desk?
Monday, October 19, 2015
Thursday, October 8, 2015
The End of Off Season
Gabriel and I are watching the Carolina Hurricanes season opener tonight. This is a day we've both dreaded. I cannot see hockey, think about hockey, or hear the word hockey without thinking about Chris.
The last time I watched hockey, Chris died. We were watching the Stanley Cup playoffs when he collapsed.
I have survived an off season.
It still remains to be seen if Gabriel can once again love the sport that he shared with his dad. I myself cannot even ice skate, and we've moved 1.5 hours away from the nearest ice rink. Likely, Gabriel won't be playing hockey again for at least a year or so. We are thinking about starting our own roller hockey league here in the grand 'ole Mayberry. After all, I've always had dreams of being a roller derby girl and Gabriel is an ace on skates. A natural.
Chris and I bought Gabriel some really great skates and pads for his birthday. I will never forget wrapping those skates in the floor at 4:00am in the morning after Chris had died 5 hours earlier.
Anyway, happy hockey season Chris. I hope the ice is always fresh, the skates are always broken in, and the goals are plentiful where you are resting. We will never forget you.
The last time I watched hockey, Chris died. We were watching the Stanley Cup playoffs when he collapsed.
I have survived an off season.
It still remains to be seen if Gabriel can once again love the sport that he shared with his dad. I myself cannot even ice skate, and we've moved 1.5 hours away from the nearest ice rink. Likely, Gabriel won't be playing hockey again for at least a year or so. We are thinking about starting our own roller hockey league here in the grand 'ole Mayberry. After all, I've always had dreams of being a roller derby girl and Gabriel is an ace on skates. A natural.
Chris and I bought Gabriel some really great skates and pads for his birthday. I will never forget wrapping those skates in the floor at 4:00am in the morning after Chris had died 5 hours earlier.
Anyway, happy hockey season Chris. I hope the ice is always fresh, the skates are always broken in, and the goals are plentiful where you are resting. We will never forget you.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Rainy Days and Sundays
It's been raining in North Carolina for about two weeks now. I don't know if it's the weather or just the phase of grief that I'm in, but I'm really freaking depressed today.
Sundays have really gotten the best of me this fall. Chris loved football, and we devotedly watched the NFL games on TV. Today was "the big game" for us each season, the Panthers vs. Buccaneers. Even though he became a North Carolinian in 2003, Chris maintained his loyalty to the Bucs, who hailed from his parents home state of Florida. Like usual for the past few years, the Bucs are terrible. And I had no one to gloat over it with. Even watching the game put a pall of gloom over the household today. His absence was almost palpable in this quiet, quiet house.
In my quest to constantly stay busy, I baked a cake, attempted to make Chris's spaghetti and meatballs recipe (failed miserably) cleaned my kitchen, played football with Gabriel, and worked out for over an hour. I am physically exhausted, but still cannot stay busy enough to keep the sad thoughts away.
I miss him so much. I've gotten into a steady routine these days, but the loneliness wraps itself around me like a blanket at all times. I don't know what I'm looking for to help....I'm literally surrounded by people 24/7, so it's not literal loneliness, but just that yearning for adult partnership.
I hate Sundays. And not even because it means the end of another weekend and the preparation for another 5 days of getting up at ungodly hours. I miss our routine. I miss the rhythm of life we'd developed and perfected over the years. I miss my past life, the one I didn't choose to let go of.
Sundays have really gotten the best of me this fall. Chris loved football, and we devotedly watched the NFL games on TV. Today was "the big game" for us each season, the Panthers vs. Buccaneers. Even though he became a North Carolinian in 2003, Chris maintained his loyalty to the Bucs, who hailed from his parents home state of Florida. Like usual for the past few years, the Bucs are terrible. And I had no one to gloat over it with. Even watching the game put a pall of gloom over the household today. His absence was almost palpable in this quiet, quiet house.
In my quest to constantly stay busy, I baked a cake, attempted to make Chris's spaghetti and meatballs recipe (failed miserably) cleaned my kitchen, played football with Gabriel, and worked out for over an hour. I am physically exhausted, but still cannot stay busy enough to keep the sad thoughts away.
I miss him so much. I've gotten into a steady routine these days, but the loneliness wraps itself around me like a blanket at all times. I don't know what I'm looking for to help....I'm literally surrounded by people 24/7, so it's not literal loneliness, but just that yearning for adult partnership.
I hate Sundays. And not even because it means the end of another weekend and the preparation for another 5 days of getting up at ungodly hours. I miss our routine. I miss the rhythm of life we'd developed and perfected over the years. I miss my past life, the one I didn't choose to let go of.
Friday, October 2, 2015
I'm no Sheryl Sandburg.
This week was my ultimate road warrior test and I survived. Four states in three days, several business meetings, and back home to the kids that I am constantly in fear of neglecting.
Balancing this shit is a job in itself. I don't think I've ever given single moms enough credit. Many people have sent me articles about Sheryl Sandburg in the past few months, feeling as if I might relate to the journey she is traveling that is very similar to my own.
You know what? Sheryl Sandburg makes me feel like a failure on all fronts. Within a couple of months of her husband's passing, Sheryl was jetting off to China and being fabulous. I am in awe of how she has picked up the pieces of life and seems to be back on track with her life's mission of saving the world through her brilliance and power with Facebook.
Sometimes I wonder if her money helps makes things easier. Does she have to wake up at 4:45 each morning to scuttle her children off with their grandparents for the morning? Does she have to rely on her dad or sister to make sure her children do their homework? Does she drag herself home at 7:00 every night and resort to mac and cheese for dinner because she's so exhausted? Or does she have an immense team of nannies, butlers, housekeepers, etc. who is making this bullshit called widowhood more survivable?
Do Sheryl's kids cry themselves to sleep over the phone when she's on these business trips? Does she feel like life is a constant battle of letting someone down and having to choose who that person will be on any given day?
I'm sure Sheryl Sandburg is fighting her own battle, so I don't judge her on how well she seems to be doing in public. One thing all of us widows have in common is the ability to fake the hell out of life. But I cannot help but think that I'm getting this all wrong some days.
Balancing this shit is a job in itself. I don't think I've ever given single moms enough credit. Many people have sent me articles about Sheryl Sandburg in the past few months, feeling as if I might relate to the journey she is traveling that is very similar to my own.
You know what? Sheryl Sandburg makes me feel like a failure on all fronts. Within a couple of months of her husband's passing, Sheryl was jetting off to China and being fabulous. I am in awe of how she has picked up the pieces of life and seems to be back on track with her life's mission of saving the world through her brilliance and power with Facebook.
Sometimes I wonder if her money helps makes things easier. Does she have to wake up at 4:45 each morning to scuttle her children off with their grandparents for the morning? Does she have to rely on her dad or sister to make sure her children do their homework? Does she drag herself home at 7:00 every night and resort to mac and cheese for dinner because she's so exhausted? Or does she have an immense team of nannies, butlers, housekeepers, etc. who is making this bullshit called widowhood more survivable?
Do Sheryl's kids cry themselves to sleep over the phone when she's on these business trips? Does she feel like life is a constant battle of letting someone down and having to choose who that person will be on any given day?
I'm sure Sheryl Sandburg is fighting her own battle, so I don't judge her on how well she seems to be doing in public. One thing all of us widows have in common is the ability to fake the hell out of life. But I cannot help but think that I'm getting this all wrong some days.
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