Monday, April 10, 2006

Stan

One of my husband’s co-workers died today. I didn’t know much about Stan other than what Larry has told me. But his passing left me as rattled as if he’d been a member of my own family.

I was on the way back from town when Larry called me, his voice shaking, to tell me he'd been performing CPR on Stan for the last 20 minutes. The paramedics had finally arrived, and as my husband poured out what had happened, I could hear shouts of "Clear!" in the background.

Larry said when Stan arrived for work, they had spoken briefly about their respective weekends. Then Larry had walked away. When he looked back a little later and didn't see Stan, he walked over and found him lying on his back, his eyes wide open. At first he thought it some sort of prank, but when Larry knelt and found Stan wasn't breathing and didn't have a pulse, he knew it wasn't a joke.

Larry was trying to be optimistic as we talked. The paramedics told him he'd done everything right; they praised him for performing CPR so diligently. They said if he pulled through that would have made the difference. But despite everyone's best efforts, Stan wouldn't be revived.

The ambulances were just sitting there when I pulled up. No flashing lights, no activity. The stretcher sat idle in the back of one and Stan still lay under a sheet where he’d fallen, the toes of his tan work boots poking out at the end. His left arm, with a silver watch on the wrist, stuck out at the side. Larry was talking to a deputy, giving him what information he could. The deputy said he’d personally go and deliver the bad news to Stan’s wife.

I knew about as much about Stan’s wife as I knew about Stan. I knew she was a younger woman, a mail-order bride from the Philippines. I knew he was proud of her. Larry said he talked about her all the time. She'd just learned to drive and he was pleased about that. They had two little children.

I turned away and walked over to the group of paramedics. I yelled at my dad’s border collie, Reuben, who had gone over to nudge Stan’s hand. As Reuben slunk away, the paramedics agreed they should go ahead and bag the body, even though they couldn't move until it the coroner gave the O.K.

Stan didn’t look dead when they pulled the sheet off. He looked like a neglected patient. An intubation tube was still in his mouth, electrodes were still stuck to his chest. He wore khaki pants, a checkered shirt and a white T-shirt pushed up to his neck.

Having just gotten to work, Stan hadn’t had time to get dirty. His clothes were still clean and I imagined his wife washing that outfit a day or two before, carefully putting it away, so he could select it to wear this very morning. Neither of them knew as they touched those clothes that they’d be the last thing he’d ever put on.

It’s the seeming randomness of death of it that unnerves me so. Some people get advance notice. Others are just plucked from mortal existence. One minute you’re here, the next minute you’re laying dead. Just like that.

On the way back to the car, Larry turned and hugged me - hard. I returned the hug, and while we didn’t say anything, we were thinking the same things. First, “Poor Stan, poor family” and second, that it could have just as easily been him in that body bag. Or me. It could have been our ordinary day interrupted by a county deputy come to give us the news that our loved one was lost forever.

I confided in a dear friend this morning how quickly death can upend one’s comfort zone. For some reason, I can’t stop thinking about Stan’s clothes. Donning them was part of a routine he had no idea was about to end. It made me acutely aware of my ordinary routines, and now I find myself eyeing my coffee cup with a certain unease; will this be my last morning coffee? Outside my window the rooster crows. Will I hear it again tomorrow?I have no way of knowing. I’m as clueless as Stan was this morning when he put on his checkered shirt.

But for now, I’m still alive. For now. And the death of a man I barely knew has thrown my life into sharper focus, making feel silly when I consider how I sometimes fritter portions of it away on petty distractions.

“I’ll do it tomorrow” is something I need to stop saying, because tomorrow might not come. I shouldn’t put off living and loving more deeply - and that includes finding in my heart a way to love people I don’t even like or hardly even know. For we all impact each other - we all teach - whether it’s by through word, gesture or - in the case of Stan - our last dying breath.

10 comments:

eaglewood said...

Morgan,

I came over here from Vox’s after hearing what Pretty Lady said about your husband losing a friend. Birdie (my wife) and I will be praying for his wife. We are well acquainted with the grief of losing a loved one as we lost our son just last Wednesday. He was our fifth child and brought us much joy in the 38 weeks he had in the womb. Not much more I can say, you said it well. Hold on to those that you love as you never know when it is your time.

Morgan said...

Oh, Eaglewood, I am so sorry about the loss of your baby. I know at times like these there's little one can say. I have five children, too, and yes, they bring you joy even before they are born.
I appreciate your and Birdie's prayers. Stan's wife has a lot to deal with. It's all just been so very sad.
Thank you for your comments.

Morgan said...

Eaglewood, you'll also be in the prayers of me and my family.

Mia said...

Morgan,

So sorry to hear about the loss of your husband's friend/co-worker. I like what you wrote about "finding in our hearts a way to love people that we don't like" - I often come to the conclusion THAT is exactly what our lesson on earth is all about.

And Eaglewood ~ it's so kind of you to take the time to console another when you are suffering from such a loss yourself - sending up prayers for all of you.

Take care,
Mia

Morgan said...

Mia,

I was so touched by Eaglewood's kindness. You are right; for him to reach out in the face of his overwhelming grief says much about his fine and Godly character.

Thanks for your comments, Mia. Larry's having a hard time looking at the big picture and is spending a lot of times on "what if's." He keeps second guessing himself, saying he should have checked sooner even though he had no idea Stan was going to collapse.

I guess part of that is natural, but I told him today that rather than focus on Stan's death, he should focus on who he was in life.

After reading Eaglewood's comments on his blog about his son, I plan to show them to Larry. I think it will help him to see how Eaglewood focused on the joy and personality of his unborn son even more than his death. I don't think we are ever brought together by accident, and I am so thankful for Eaglewood's tender example.

There is such beauty in people. Sometimes it makes me just want to cry.

tc said...

Morgan, tell Larry that his reaction is very normal and it'll pass with time. *Anytime* you're dealing with someone dying in your presence, you do this--I think that the importance of saving someone's life if possible is as heavily wired into our circuits as killing threats quickly.

Death is a very mysterious thing--mind-blowing in its own way. One second a person is doing the sort of things that you do every day, the next second, they're inert matter. It's certainly understandable that most religions try very hard to answer the "what happens to us after we die?" question.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to his Wife and to you and Larry. Appreciate the beauty of your farm, your children and each other. Everything worldly is fleeting, this too will pass.

Tom

Morgan said...

Thanks Tom. Truer words were never spoken. I'm doing all I can to appreciate life today. Larry is still shell-shocked and was just asked to be a pallbearer at Stan's funeral on Thursday. Stan's wife is just so grateful that someone was there with her husband and tried to help him, even if the efforts were futile.
It's definitely going to take some time for Larry to work through all of this.

Amber said...

Oh Morgan; I am sorry. It is scary when someone close to you dies, whether friend or family or a co-worker and I'm sure Larry is taking it very hard. So are you, and that makes sense.

I'm not a regular reader; I just dropped by today and I hope you don't mind me commenting.

I don't know what else to say except I echo your thoughts on letting the "silly" things take over our lives when what's really important is that we all remember to cherish our loved ones and hold them close whenever we can. For we could lose them in the blink of an eye.

Thanks for that valuable reminder. I needed it today. :-)

Morgan said...

Thank you, Amber. Your kindness is so appreciated.

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