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Writer's pictureAnnie McGeary

Decisions

Sonya from Burkholder’s Funeral Home came to the house early in the afternoon on Friday. KK set up the appointment with her and Charlie was keeping John’s sisters and brother in the loop. The funeral was set for Thursday, March 7th. Almost an entire week, it would seem an eternity.


Sonya sat down at our dining room table and handed me a small manila envelope. I opened it and my heart dropped. I don’t remember if I said anything, maybe a slight exhale. Definitely tears. That small piece of round gold that stood for the promise of forever, that meant for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. There it was. In a little manila envelope. It made my mind swirl and brought me right back to Wednesday afternoon. I tried to take myself to the exact moment that I found him. It was as though I thought if I could remember everything about that moment, I could figure out why he did what he did.


Sonya started talking (such a kind, caring voice) and so my mind came back to the table. There were decisions that needed to be made, yet they didn’t seem at all as though they were mine to make. Most people have a preference about how they want to be interred and whether or not they want to be cremated. Kathie, Ronnie, Kevin and I chatted a little about what to do on Wednesday night. I remembered once when we had a conversation about death that John made one of his “manly” statements like, “Don’t take up good earth for me.” And then probably something like “just take me to the beach.” At least one of his siblings remembered a similar sentiment. The kids were all with me sitting at the table and we agreed on it together. I hated the thought of cremation (well the thought of the process of cremation), and I still do, but the decision was made.


The questions kept coming. We were making very hard, very personal decisions in a highly emotional state. Who knew what I would think of these choices two months, ten months, two years down the line. But a person dies and you have to make decisions. Sonya was so good about giving us time. She said if we changed our minds about anything to call by Sunday night. There is an option now to have the deceased person’s fingerprint taken. They do that so that families have the opportunity to create a personal memento. The kids and I agreed that we would like to have that.


Later in the day a few of our friends had hired a cleaning crew to come to the house. A clean sweep would be a good thing given the number of people who would be coming through to visit. It gave the kids and I a good reason to get out for a little while. That night we went to Charlie and Jen’s with just a small crew of friends. We often gathered for family dinners at their house, so this would be the start of a thousand “firsts” without him.


Back home, later, the kids and I continued our conversation from the morning. We talked about finances and the house and living without John. A conversation about credit cards led us to the office to confirm a few things and to see if we could get into his computer. John was a paper and pen kind of guy. Old fashioned. And he had lists of everything, including his log in and passwords for almost everything. All written neatly on the last two pages of a yellow legal pad, PIN numbers and challenge questions included.


While John John was looking through things Brendan asked me if we could go down to the basement. “I just need to see it for myself,” he said. I told him that it didn’t look any different than it did the last time he was down there. He said, “Maybe there is something they missed. A note or something.” So the two of us went down together. There were tears, I told him exactly what happened and what I saw. He walked around and looked. Checking for any sign or symbol that would give us any bit of closure. There was nothing.



Back up in the office John John was sitting in his dad’s desk chair. Gabbie, Brendan, Kat, Maddie, and I were all in the room. It was obvious that he was angry. Sad, but angry. He motioned for us all to come to the computer. On the screen was an email that John had written to a client at 8:30 Wednesday morning. “So sorry. I will need to cancel our conference call this morning. A small family emergency has come up.”

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