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From the Archives: The Funeral Home
It was 12 hours after Shawn died. And there were already a half-dozen places I had to visit. The first place I had to go was the worst: the funeral home. I piled in a minivan with my dad and a half-dozen of my friends and they drove me just a few blocks up the street. For years I had gone on runs past this funeral home and never noticed it. It wasn’t small, and it was on the main road. But what use did I have for funeral homes? The funeral home looked just like I’d expected it to look—heavy drapes, ornate wallpaper, ugly carpet and tacky wall hangings.…
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From the Archives: Your Dad Died Last Night
The morning before Shawn died, my dad woke my children and got them ready for school. Claire sat at the kitchen counter and ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast while my dad wiped the kitchen counter. When she had gone to bed, both Shawn and I had still been in the house, and she was confused. My dad told her that we’d spent the night at the hospital. The house was quiet, and Claire didn’t say anything as she ate. She looked up after she finished, and with a furrowed brow asked my father, “Grandpa Tom, is Dad going to die?” He didn’t mince words. “Yes,” he said, “he…
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From the Archives: That’s What We Have Right Now. Hope.
My dad arrived a week before Christmas. Initially, when Shawn was diagnosed, he’d offered to come in January for the duration of the chemotherapy. Shawn and I thought it would take about six months, and my dad could help our family until the worst was over. What we didn’t know was that my dad had different plans. After he saw the scans that were taken a few days before Shawn’s colonoscopy, he knew it was much worse than we realized. I didn’t know till later that he’d sat at his computer in his living room and held a printout of the scan, crying as he looked at it. My dad…
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From the Archives: Marjorie, What If I’m Dying?
Throughout the past 4 1/2 years, I’ve written pieces that never appeared on the blog. Sometimes, these pieces of writing were too raw for me to share, and sometimes they were simply musings that I wasn’t sure were interesting for a bigger audience. Often, I wrote to process what had happened and to try and understand how my life had turned out the way it did. These writings went in a folder, and for the next few months, I plan to share some of them with you. I’m calling these posts, “From the Archives”. Here’s the first one. The pain in Shawn’s gut became obvious at the end of October,…
There’s No Handbook for How to Do This
