My Story

The Day the Music Died

Before we go any further on this journey together, I should tell you my story. We all have them, that’s why we are here. This is mine.

That Day

You know which one, the one we had all been fearing from the time we agreed to “put a ring on it”. When Ken first told me he loved me, I knew he meant forever. I expected to be elated, thrilled, excited. What I didn’t expect was to suddenly have this horrible sense of dread. I felt a responsibility for something that I couldn’t bear to lose.

“That day” really began the evening before. Ken was at work, so was Megan. I had taken Jack and Mandy to track practice. I was watching them from the bleachers in the balcony when I saw Ken come in. I remember smiling when I saw him. The memory still makes me smile.

He came upstairs and began telling me about his day at work. The company he worked for had gone through some rough times. Ken had to commute fifty miles every day to the corporate offices and the drive took its toll. That night he had good news. It seemed that the company may be purchased by another firm located in the Southwest. We were happy and joking about moving.

After track practice was over, I drove Jack and Mandy home and Ken went to pick up Megan at work.

Not Feeling Well

We ate dinner, the kids did their homework, and Ken and I watched TV for a while. Usually, after Jeopardy, Ken would go into the Den and work on the computer, leaving me to my “chick shows” on TV.

That night he told me he was tired and thought he would go to bed early after riding his exercise bike first. Then he added, “Maybe I won’t even ride the bike, I don’t really feel very well”. Then he went upstairs.

I stayed up and watched my shows until my regular bedtime. When I went up to bed he was still awake. He kissed me goodnight and reminded me to wake him up at “first bell” (meaning don’t hit the snooze button) because he had to pick up some things from Walmart to take with him for a Health Fair they were having at work the next day.

The Next Morning

Our morning routine was for me to wake him up, then go downstairs, start the coffee and get the kids off to school. When I came back upstairs, Ken was still in bed. He told me, “I think I’m really sick”. There had been a lot of flu around and I thought it had probably caught up with him. I asked him if he had thrown up and he said “No, but I feel like I could”. He said his bowels were loose though. He thought he shouldn’t go to work.

I should have known better. Ken had never missed a day of work in the twenty-seven years we had been married, let alone on a day when they were having a Health Fair. He looked pale as a sheet. I should have called 911 right then. (We will discuss guilt in another blog). Instead, I just said, “Whatever you think.”

I needed to go back downstairs and watch for the next school bus. I also needed to get myself ready to go bowling. I was the secretary of my bowling league and I had all of the standings, scoresheets, etc. It was March (playoff time), and I wanted to get there on time to make sure everything was ready for the league.

When I returned to the bedroom, Ken was up and getting ready to leave. He said, “I think I’m feeling better, I am going to work”. I was relieved. I took my shower, dressed, kissed Ken goodbye, and left for the bowling alley.

That Damn Van

While I was at the bowling alley, I called home a couple of times during breaks, to see if Ken was OK. No one answered the phone, which I took as a good sign. He had left for work.

After bowling, I stopped at the store. As I was driving up to the house, I spotted Ken’s van in the driveway and it turned the blood in my veins to ice. Dreading the worst, I went into the house.

I was met with the sound of (I thought) the shower running. So, I relaxed. I reasoned that he was asleep when I called the house, that’s why he didn’t answer the phone. The sound of it ringing must have woken him and now he was in the shower getting ready for work. I put the groceries away and even started doing my bowling statistics on the computer in the den before I realized: the water was running much too long.

Oh Schweety

I opened the door to our room, afraid of what I may find. Just as I had feared, there he was on the floor. The water that was running wasn’t the shower at all, but the faucet in the sink. He had collapsed just a couple of steps away from it.

I had been trained in CPR for my job as a preschool assistant, but there was no question that it was way too late for that. I felt like I was in a trance. I called 911 then I called our church and asked for a priest. I told them what had happened and they suggested that Father Joe could also talk to Jack and bring him home from school.

When the paramedics arrived they called the coroner. I was in such shock that I hadn’t touched anything. I didn’t even cover Ken with a blanket. I am thankful that they took him out of the house before the kids got home from school. They said they had to take him to the coroner’s for an autopsy because he was so young (53). It’s a good thing because I didn’t have any idea what funeral home I wanted to use or how to make any arrangements.

Notifications

Father Joe had brought Jack home. Megan came home on the bus from High School and walked into a scene of Jack crying and me talking to the priest at the kitchen table. After explaining what had happened, I asked her if she would go and pick Mandy up at the skating rink. (I can’t believe the things I expected from my children in the days to come. These too, will be discussed in a future blog). Her class had had a skating party after school and I hadn’t wanted to take away any happy moments from her.

I called my parents. I called my brother-in-law and asked him if he would please call his Mother and brother and sister. I called my best friend, Nancy. She said she would call our other friends and then she asked,”We can’t stay for the whole time, but would you like us to come now, or later when you have the funeral?”. I said “Now!”. I don’t even know who called the Army so they could notify Justin and arrange time for him to come home.

Help From My Friends

As I said before, I had no idea who to call to make funeral arrangements. I called a friend from our church who had children who went to school with my kids for advice. She and I had been friends since Ken’s company had moved us to this city, (she and her husband had been moved here by the same company) and we met in a new neighbors group. She not only gave me the name of a Funeral Parlor, but also arranged the reception, including all the food, after the memorial service.

My friend, Nancy and her husband Mike, drove straight through and were here that night. It was a Thursday. The next morning they drove me to make the arrangements with the Funeral Parlor and then to a florist to arrange flowers. I don’t know what I would have done without them. They drove back home in a tornado. ( We joked that Ken was a very unhappy camper and was not going “gentle into that good night”.)

Final Goodbyes

I arranged to have Ken cremated. That was something we had discussed. Since we lived in a different state than all our families, we resisted the idea of any “permanent” resting place. Originally, I had planned to not have any viewing hours but later decided that we needed to have a private viewing for my children and Ken’s immediate family.

We held the Service on Monday. There were three priests officiating. The Principal of Megan’s school, The parish pastor, and Father Joe. The whole eighth-grade class came to honor their former assistant coach. The service started almost a half-hour late because there were so many people. We had photos and other memorabilia set up in the entryway.

The music we chose was all joyful and I felt that way through the service. I guess I was still on auto-pilot. Some of the children said a few words, then Jack played the pipe organ. The sanctuary rang with the thunderous sounds of “The Phantom of the Opera”. People still mention this to me to this day. It was something Jack had always wanted to play for his Dad.

I couldn’t tell you when anyone arrived, or where they stayed. Or when they left. After the reception at the church a few people came back to the house for a while- then we were alone.

Still Here

That Thursday night, I didn’t sleep much. It never entered my mind to call a doctor or take a pill or anything. I spent most of the evening waiting for Mike and Nancy to arrive, then talking with them.

When I did sleep, I slept in my own bed. I told myself that if I couldn’t sleep there that night, I would never be able to sleep there again. I am still here. Same bedroom, same bed. Same floor. I have kind of covered up the spot where Ken fell with my knitting yarn, books, and other things, but I know the spot is there. When I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom I step carefully through there. I have an irrational fear of falling in the same spot. Who knows? Maybe someday I will.

Well, that is my story. I’d love to hear some of yours.

Until then….this is Kitty