The business of death; the business of life

Well, we've passed the one-year mark, just about fourteen hours ago. I was sobbing then, after a pretty miserable day. But today is easier. Though Sandy's death certificate says she died on July 19, my body says it was the 18th. She'd begun her final death breathing before midnight, and I don't know whether she was even aware of our presence after that. Her focus was necessarily on the final business of dying, and after holding off for so long, she completed it quickly. Neither Laura nor I had begun to get ready for bed yet when everything shifted. We were back to the house shortly before dawn, having left Bailey Boushay for the final time. I went to bed at 6:30 a.m., ending July 18th, and when I got up at 9:30, July 19 began.*

I remember bits about that day: calling the Social Security office, eating three meals, Laura and Randy driving me to see my therapist. Dean and Doña and Abby drove me to Belchers' to hang out with Sandy's family before many of them made the trek back across the mountains or up to Alaska. Tonia arrived from Portland to spend the week with me.

It was a hard day, a day of sorrow and disbelief, of struggling to remember what life was like without hospice and caregiving, a day of letting others take care of me. But it was not a traumatic day, and I feel no need to dwell on it as I have the days that led up to it. I'm weepy today, but I also have a sense of relief.

The carnage from the emergency kit was
right where Sandy was sitting in this
picture. But none of the surrounding beds
were affected at all. I guess birches and
hydrangeas and rose of Sharon bushes
aren't interesting to hungry beasts.

I went out to water and to harvest more plums, after not spending any time in the garden yesterday.  I first noticed something was amiss when I stepped over the remains of a rotting chunk of eucalyptus tree (left over from the Great Falling Tree Adventure of 2006). I'd been ripping parts of the rotting chunk off for the yard waste bin every few weeks, but now it's smashed on the ground. I pondered whether a cat fight might have left it looking like that, and then I saw that the emergency kit had been opened. It's in a Rubbermaid container — a couple of grab-n-go backpacks with a first aid kit and duct tape tucked in as well. The lid was off the Rubbermaid container, the first aid kit tossed aside, and a plastic packet of soy nuts had been gnawed through and partially eaten. Because the lid was off, I thought a human must have been the culprit, but why wouldn't a human just grab the backpacks and go? And a human wouldn't gnaw through the soynuts bag, right? That's when I realized it must have been a raccoon. Somehow that raccoon rummaged through the backpacks without pulling them out of the bin, because I found an empty fruit leather wrapper a few feet away, and later, near the plum tree, an empty Luna bar wrapper. I chuckled over fruit leather, soy nuts and a Luna bar as some sort of balanced diet. I stopped chuckling when I saw the plum tree. The limb that had split a few weeks ago, which I'd taped up to heal, had been wrenched downward; other small branches littered the area beneath the tree or dangled precariously. Green plums were scattered on the ground, and there wasn't a ripe, nearly ripe, or even turning-color plum to be found; there had been dozens close to ripe when I last harvested two days ago. Someone was hungry, pulled branches down to pluck every piece of ripe fruit, maybe even climbed the young tree, given how much damage there was.

I repaired the tree as best I could. I invited the cats, who'd come out with me, to smell the areas of the emergency kit and the plum tree, thinking their reaction might confirm a raccoon's presence for me. They were unconcerned; Belly even rolled around happily in the area where the emergency kit had been after I took it inside.

I'd been looking forward to more plums, though I'd been a little overwhelmed with the bountiful harvest. I've already eaten a couple dozen, and I'd been thinking I'd need to find the energy to make jam or do something creative with them. So I really don't mind sharing the harvest. But I do mind the damage to the tree, and I'm grateful that the tomatoes weren't yet ripening.

It was disturbing to find the emergency kit rifled through and the plum tree damaged. But once I'd reassured myself that the cause had been something other than a human (what human would be so reckless and then close the gate as they left? What human would have taken only fruit leather and a Luna bar from the emergency kit?), I actually appreciated the primal nature of it all. Hunger drove this visitor, and that hunger was fed. Hunger is so basic, something all bodies share, part of the drive to live. And right now, on the first day of the second year of my widowhood, I honor that drive to live. I hope the raccoon's hunger was satisfied and that he or she now believes there is nothing left of interest in this yard!


*I'm aware that while Sandy's death was on the 18th for me, before I'd put that day to bed, most people learned of her death after they woke on the 19th. Only a handful of us were awakened in the middle of the night (or not yet abed) when she died. So, for many, this would be the hardest day, and I don't want to minimize that.