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Content warning: grief in the aftermath of death.
That evening in the hospital, I waited around for what seemed to be the longest time. I think I was waiting for assurance that the medical team was going to try to contact Nick's parents. In all the years I had been with Nick, he never wanted me to meet his parents or to contact them in any way, so I had respected that. Therefore, I did NOT want to be the one to call a couple of total strangers to tell them that their firstborn son had died. Absolutely NOT. But the ER staff was busy and I didn't want to go wandering around.
I texted my landlord and landlady to tell them what happened (they are my longtime friends, dating back to my first SCA event in 2004), and they drove over to the hospital. They had already been having a lousy Christmas, because one of the neighbors had lost her husband to a 20-year bout with cancer just that morning. But they were kind. They also brought Nick's phone so that I could find his parents' phone numbers and text them to myself.
I also had to answer questions from a Prince George's County cop. I suppose he had to investigate because a 47-year-old who had been having a perfectly normal day suddenly died. But I didn't get the vibe that he thought I was a killer. He seemed almost apologetic that he had to ask me questions. I noticed the two stripes on his sleeve and he seemed pleased that I recognized that he was a corporal.
I really wasn't paying any attention to time. At some point I got a nurse to confirm that a phone message had been left for Nick's parents (they are early-to-bed, early-to-rise types), and my landlord and landlady were getting tired, so we finally left ... after I said goodbye to Nick's cooling body for the last time.
My landlord and landlady invited me to sleep on their living-room daybed that night, so I wouldn't be all alone in the cottage. I did that, but I didn't rest well. The daybed mattress was hard, and the youngest cat (about 8 months old) kept walking all over me.
The first few days were ... tough. I cried for almost no reason. I was really concerned about getting in touch with Nick's parents. I was also concerned about Nick's body getting abandoned at the chief medical examiner's office in Baltimore. Maryland keeps unclaimed bodies for 30 days before turning them over to the state anatomical board -- you know, the people who send donated bodies to medical schools. These donated bodies are later cremated and buried anonymously, but I didn't think Nick should rest anonymously like that.
On Thursday the 26th Maugie and Patches invited me and a couple of other friends over to dinner. They gave me the courage to text Nick's parents from his phone (but identifying myself as myself, NOT as Nick, of course). The next morning Nick's mother wrote back, and we started exchanging messages. Apparently the ME's office had left her a phone message asking her to come to Baltimore to pick up her son's body, and she had thought it was a hoax at first. Well, duh, who wouldn't think that?!? I also had to explain a few things to her. She thought that Nick worked at the National Archives and that he was dating a woman (named Kathy) with a brain tumor. Uh, nope, not true at all. No wonder Nick didn't want me to meet his parents, in case I accidentally told the truth.
Anyhow, Nick's mother (a retired Episcopal priest) made arrangements with a Maryland funeral home to have Nick cremated. In the spring she will have his remains interred in the family plot in southern Michigan, where his grandparents are buried and where Nick's parents will eventually be interred. He won't be alone for eternity.
In the days afterward, Patches and another SCA friend, Clara, helped me go through all the stuff in my storage unit and pull out things that belonged to Nick and that his family might be interested in. (That was a *lot* of work.) Two other friends, Marilyn and Dave, came by my place and helped me take down the Christmas decorations. I'm glad I didn't have to do that alone because of all the floods of memories. Dave also unclogged the bathroom drains for me, and Marilyn brought me a lovely bouquet of flowers.
On January 9th I met Nick's mother and brother at the Blue and Green Cottage. (Nick's father didn't make the trip from San Antonio because he has Parkinson's.) Nick's mother was very pleasant, all things considered, and she didn't want to take too much stuff -- just family photos, letters to and from his late grandmother during World War II, a few shirts he sewed for himself, a couple of knickknacks. Nick's brother didn't say much. He is just not talkative, apparently. The two of them spent only about 90 minutes here.
There were a couple of things Nick's mother wanted that I couldn't find before her visit: a cardigan sweater that belonged to his grandfather and a Japanese sword that was some sort of spoils of WWII. Nick's brother came by, solo, to pick them up once I found them. He wasn't any more talkative.
Nick's mother and I had agreed on the disposition of Nick's stuff: I can keep the household goods, his clothes should go to charity, etc. To be honest, I think I'm going to keep his T-shirts because we took the same size. I just want to find a good place to donate his pants and miscellaneous stuff to -- a charity that will actually give the clothes to homeless people and/or refugees, as opposed to the places that resell only a small fraction of what they receive and throw the rest into either fabric recycling or the landfill. Given how Nick and I teetered on the edge of homelessness a couple of years ago, it seems only right to use his wardrobe to help people who really need the help. Especially in these cold, cruel days of the new Amerikan dictatorship.
I guess I haven't really probed all my feelings about Nick's passing. I'll put them in another post when I get a chance (I've got only a couple of days left before I disappear into the election-judging void for seven straight days -- primary for my county's special election). My emotions have veered all over the place, particularly in the last few weeks. They have taken me into some completely unexpected headspace. It's been an emotional roller-coaster.
That evening in the hospital, I waited around for what seemed to be the longest time. I think I was waiting for assurance that the medical team was going to try to contact Nick's parents. In all the years I had been with Nick, he never wanted me to meet his parents or to contact them in any way, so I had respected that. Therefore, I did NOT want to be the one to call a couple of total strangers to tell them that their firstborn son had died. Absolutely NOT. But the ER staff was busy and I didn't want to go wandering around.
I texted my landlord and landlady to tell them what happened (they are my longtime friends, dating back to my first SCA event in 2004), and they drove over to the hospital. They had already been having a lousy Christmas, because one of the neighbors had lost her husband to a 20-year bout with cancer just that morning. But they were kind. They also brought Nick's phone so that I could find his parents' phone numbers and text them to myself.
I also had to answer questions from a Prince George's County cop. I suppose he had to investigate because a 47-year-old who had been having a perfectly normal day suddenly died. But I didn't get the vibe that he thought I was a killer. He seemed almost apologetic that he had to ask me questions. I noticed the two stripes on his sleeve and he seemed pleased that I recognized that he was a corporal.
I really wasn't paying any attention to time. At some point I got a nurse to confirm that a phone message had been left for Nick's parents (they are early-to-bed, early-to-rise types), and my landlord and landlady were getting tired, so we finally left ... after I said goodbye to Nick's cooling body for the last time.
My landlord and landlady invited me to sleep on their living-room daybed that night, so I wouldn't be all alone in the cottage. I did that, but I didn't rest well. The daybed mattress was hard, and the youngest cat (about 8 months old) kept walking all over me.
The first few days were ... tough. I cried for almost no reason. I was really concerned about getting in touch with Nick's parents. I was also concerned about Nick's body getting abandoned at the chief medical examiner's office in Baltimore. Maryland keeps unclaimed bodies for 30 days before turning them over to the state anatomical board -- you know, the people who send donated bodies to medical schools. These donated bodies are later cremated and buried anonymously, but I didn't think Nick should rest anonymously like that.
On Thursday the 26th Maugie and Patches invited me and a couple of other friends over to dinner. They gave me the courage to text Nick's parents from his phone (but identifying myself as myself, NOT as Nick, of course). The next morning Nick's mother wrote back, and we started exchanging messages. Apparently the ME's office had left her a phone message asking her to come to Baltimore to pick up her son's body, and she had thought it was a hoax at first. Well, duh, who wouldn't think that?!? I also had to explain a few things to her. She thought that Nick worked at the National Archives and that he was dating a woman (named Kathy) with a brain tumor. Uh, nope, not true at all. No wonder Nick didn't want me to meet his parents, in case I accidentally told the truth.
Anyhow, Nick's mother (a retired Episcopal priest) made arrangements with a Maryland funeral home to have Nick cremated. In the spring she will have his remains interred in the family plot in southern Michigan, where his grandparents are buried and where Nick's parents will eventually be interred. He won't be alone for eternity.
In the days afterward, Patches and another SCA friend, Clara, helped me go through all the stuff in my storage unit and pull out things that belonged to Nick and that his family might be interested in. (That was a *lot* of work.) Two other friends, Marilyn and Dave, came by my place and helped me take down the Christmas decorations. I'm glad I didn't have to do that alone because of all the floods of memories. Dave also unclogged the bathroom drains for me, and Marilyn brought me a lovely bouquet of flowers.
On January 9th I met Nick's mother and brother at the Blue and Green Cottage. (Nick's father didn't make the trip from San Antonio because he has Parkinson's.) Nick's mother was very pleasant, all things considered, and she didn't want to take too much stuff -- just family photos, letters to and from his late grandmother during World War II, a few shirts he sewed for himself, a couple of knickknacks. Nick's brother didn't say much. He is just not talkative, apparently. The two of them spent only about 90 minutes here.
There were a couple of things Nick's mother wanted that I couldn't find before her visit: a cardigan sweater that belonged to his grandfather and a Japanese sword that was some sort of spoils of WWII. Nick's brother came by, solo, to pick them up once I found them. He wasn't any more talkative.
Nick's mother and I had agreed on the disposition of Nick's stuff: I can keep the household goods, his clothes should go to charity, etc. To be honest, I think I'm going to keep his T-shirts because we took the same size. I just want to find a good place to donate his pants and miscellaneous stuff to -- a charity that will actually give the clothes to homeless people and/or refugees, as opposed to the places that resell only a small fraction of what they receive and throw the rest into either fabric recycling or the landfill. Given how Nick and I teetered on the edge of homelessness a couple of years ago, it seems only right to use his wardrobe to help people who really need the help. Especially in these cold, cruel days of the new Amerikan dictatorship.
I guess I haven't really probed all my feelings about Nick's passing. I'll put them in another post when I get a chance (I've got only a couple of days left before I disappear into the election-judging void for seven straight days -- primary for my county's special election). My emotions have veered all over the place, particularly in the last few weeks. They have taken me into some completely unexpected headspace. It's been an emotional roller-coaster.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-24 11:41 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2025-02-25 01:14 am (UTC)From:I am sorry Nick's desire that you never meet his parents made this additionally complicated. Also sorry this did not spare you the need to inform his parents their child was dead. Telling my mother-in-law after Becky died was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I cannot imagine how much more awful it would have been had it been my first conversation with her.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-25 03:45 am (UTC)From:The hospital left his parents a message telling them about his passing? Wowza. I am so sorry you all had to deal with that. I thought "police come to your door to convey the news in person" was the norm for such things, or if not that, at least a request for an urgent call-back without saying why. Who leaves "your son died" on freaking voicemail??
It is natural that this is an emotional roller-coaster. It was a shock, and it would take a long time to process even if it were expected. I'm sorry. :-(
I hope you're able to find an organization that can get his clothes to people who need them. There is a lot of need, especially now. Maybe a local homeless shelter? Or if you've got a local organization that works with refugees, maybe that? (I know who I would ask here but I don't know about where you are.)
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 12:17 am (UTC)From:While they are focused on helping women and children, they might also be able to refer you to other relevant organizations.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 01:04 am (UTC)From:I know it's a bit far for you, but Fairfax County takes stuff like coats at police stations and community centers. So you might also try looking for similar things out your way.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 03:25 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 08:17 pm (UTC)From: