Jim and I took an impromptu road trip on Memorial Day weekend and on our way back, we stopped at an Ikea. We spent part of the morning wandering through the maze of treasures with unpronounceable names and ended up with an armful of things we desperately needed – or so it seemed.
Jim checked his phone and got a panicked look on his face – an urgent request to call his brother. He found an exit to take a call and I started to try and find the checkout – then backtracked when I realized he wouldn’t be able to find me. When we did meet up again, he was shattered. His brother had gone to visit their mom that morning and found her on the floor of her home.
Janice was gone.
Jim melted down, as one would expect, somewhere in office supplies of the Ikea. I held him for a few moments, then we decided that he needed to go to the car. I still had all the things in hand that we’d picked out and I decided – because I’m American and hardwired as a consumer – that I would check out and meet him soon. He headed for the door and I found the checkout again – but the line was 20 people deep and I came to my senses. I left everything on a table with an unpronounceable name and left the store.
I got to the car and Jim was sobbing uncontrollably. I tried to console him – knowing full well there was nothing I could really do – and then got behind the wheel. The next and only thing to do was get home.
We didn’t talk much on the way and didn’t listen to any music as we normally would. He was still in shock, but tried to notify people before it finally became too much. Janice had been into the hospital in early April for heart problems, but she had seemed to be on the mend and her sudden death was unimaginable.
Back in Akron, I dropped him off at his house and went home to quickly eat. When I was done, I picked him up and drove him to his mom’s house – his childhood home – to meet with his brothers.
There was nothing to be done there except speculate as to what had happened, try (and fail) to make sense of it all, and be there for each other. His sister in law brought food and we ate and talked quietly, the brothers taking turns stepping outside to make the dreaded calls.
They made plans to meet up with the funeral home the next day and so we drove back to Akron again.
Monday, Memorial day, the brothers met and made the arrangements. Jim and I met up later that day and I tried, and failed, to help.
A couple days later I made a craft store run and got some paper for flowers and a vase. It’s my small way to contribute and sometimes bring a little joy to the most terrible of times.
On Friday morning, the immediate family met at the graveside for a small service. It was… a beautiful day. Terrible, heart wrenching… but beautiful, none the less. There was a time before and after the service where we all just stood quietly and listened to the wind and birds.
The minister did a fine job not having known Janice and I think everyone found some comfort there. I drove Jim back to Akron and then went on into work for a few hours before the service. The timing was such that I ended up meeting the family at the funeral home and though her physical body wasn’t there, the sadness was just as palpable.
Jim wanted me in the receiving line with him and I stood with him, but a little back. Made it easier to step forward for introductions and to slide back when my presence would just be confusing to some of his more distant – and perhaps less understanding – relatives.
When not talking to people, I wandered about as I quietly made paper butterflies – one of Janice’s favorites. She and I were both a bit a reserved with each other and it took us a while to warm up – but we had gotten closer and I regretted that we hadn’t had more time. She had treated me as Jim’s partner and that meant lot to both he and I.
There was some familiar faces at the calling hours and a few surprises, but everyone was well behaved and the evening passed by.
After a meal together it was back to Akron to prepare for the luncheon on Saturday.
We got to the church’s hall early the next day, got set up, and waited. The crowd turned out to be a good one and I think having the family all together was the best thing. We cleaned up afterwards and once more back to Akron.
Sunday, there was nothing for Jim to do. The planning and arrangements and meetups were done. The phone calls completed, the flowers delivered – the only thing left to do was think.
He’d be nearly okay for a bit, then his gaze would turn inward and it would overwhelm him again.
And I kept wracking my brain to try and find something useful to say, something that could make things better or at least more bearable. And I kept failing – though I guess just being there helped.
I can’t imagine what he and his brothers are going through, but I’m hopeful that time will resolve what my words and good intentions cannot.
My heart breaks for him.