I was sorting through a box of stuff on the conference table at work. We had just moved back into our building after repairs were completed. It felt good to be back in our space. I wanted the conference table to be cleaned off before Bill got here - a symbol of our progress.
The office phone rang, Willy answered it on speaker phone in his office. Rachel looked up at me and said, "if Ralph Scott is your dad, he's calling." I stepped toward Willy's office when I heard my mom's voice. She said, "Bill?" And Willy replied with "no, it's Willy." And as I was walking toward his door, she asked for Bill or John. My gut knew it was bad news before my brain did. I felt my stomach twist into a knot. He told her neither of them were here. She said, "I need you to get Alison into your office. I have to tell her something." He told her I was there.
I said hello, I asked her what was going on. She said "we had to call paramedics for Susan this morning." And I replied, "okay, where are you now?" And she said, "we're at home."
And there it was, the knot in my stomach was suddenly in my throat. "Mom?"
"Susan passed away this morning, Ali."
Then all I could hear was a ringing in my ears while Willy tried to calm me. I know I said it over and over again, "no, no, no, no." But I can't remember the sound of my own voice.
I don't remember saying goodbye to my mom. I don't remember breathing. I only remember trying to get my keys, trying to call JM, trying to walk.
I fell in the grass outside the office just as Bill pulled into the parking lot. Cindi got out of the passenger side, came over, and asked what happened. I couldn't breathe to tell her. She thought I hurt myself when I fell.
Bill got out of the car and tried to calm me, tried to help me up, thinking I had gotten hurt.
I looked at him, and for the first time, I said, "Susan is gone."
Cindi engulfed me in a hug. She held me, crying in the wet grass. Bill moved to action. "Okay, Cindi, get her keys. You drive her home, I'll follow you. Alison, can you call JM from the car, or do you want me to?"
Cindi drove me home. From the road, I called JM. I just told him to be dressed and to meet me in the driveway. We had to go immediately to my parents' house.
He walked out into the road to meet me on the passenger side of my own car. He knew when I got out either Susan or Dad had died. All I could say was "Susan."
He drove me home through tears of his own and cries of mine.
We pulled in my parents driveway, Dad was on the steps with a sheriff who was waiting for the medical examiner. Dad was weeping. JM hadn't even parked the car and I was out, walking as quickly and as calmly as I could to my dad. I held him so tightly. We both just wept. My mom came outside, she was in shock. I held her and we cried.
Kelly was there. Bill and Cindi had followed us out to be with my parents. Jeff was on his way from work. Susan was there too, still in her bed. Jeff got to Mom and Dad's and we all just kept hugging each other. There wasn't anything but shock bouncing around the room. None of us understood how or why this happened now.
Bill pointed out two bald eagles circling low over the house, "they're escorting her spirit home."
We couldn't go in her room at first. We had to wait for a medical examiner. When she was done, she spoke to our family about how clearly well cared for and how loved Susan is. She commended my parents for the work they did to provide for Susan. And she offered her condolences for the shocking loss.
Dad kept saying things like he didn't know she didn't feel well or that he would have sat with her all night if he had known. I would learn later that he performed CPR and mouth-to-mouth for 45 minutes while he waited for the ambulance to arrive because he couldn't be the one to decide she was gone. Because he had never given up on her and wasn't going to do that now.
Dad was in shock. He quite possibly still is.
We were allowed in the room with Susan before the funeral home attendants arrived. We each held her hand, touched her face, hugged and kissed her. I wouldn't know it at the time, but that goodbye was more therapeutic for me than the goodbye at her funeral services. Her skin was still soft, her fingers curved around my hand. In the casket, she didn't even look like herself, let alone feel like herself.
The funeral home attendants came and spoke to all of us before they put Susan on the gurney. Once they did that, we had more time to say goodbye. I hugged her, I kissed her forehead, I told her her I love her and that Dominic loves her. And I said I'd see her on the other side of all this.
The office phone rang, Willy answered it on speaker phone in his office. Rachel looked up at me and said, "if Ralph Scott is your dad, he's calling." I stepped toward Willy's office when I heard my mom's voice. She said, "Bill?" And Willy replied with "no, it's Willy." And as I was walking toward his door, she asked for Bill or John. My gut knew it was bad news before my brain did. I felt my stomach twist into a knot. He told her neither of them were here. She said, "I need you to get Alison into your office. I have to tell her something." He told her I was there.
I said hello, I asked her what was going on. She said "we had to call paramedics for Susan this morning." And I replied, "okay, where are you now?" And she said, "we're at home."
And there it was, the knot in my stomach was suddenly in my throat. "Mom?"
"Susan passed away this morning, Ali."
Then all I could hear was a ringing in my ears while Willy tried to calm me. I know I said it over and over again, "no, no, no, no." But I can't remember the sound of my own voice.
I don't remember saying goodbye to my mom. I don't remember breathing. I only remember trying to get my keys, trying to call JM, trying to walk.
I fell in the grass outside the office just as Bill pulled into the parking lot. Cindi got out of the passenger side, came over, and asked what happened. I couldn't breathe to tell her. She thought I hurt myself when I fell.
Bill got out of the car and tried to calm me, tried to help me up, thinking I had gotten hurt.
I looked at him, and for the first time, I said, "Susan is gone."
Cindi engulfed me in a hug. She held me, crying in the wet grass. Bill moved to action. "Okay, Cindi, get her keys. You drive her home, I'll follow you. Alison, can you call JM from the car, or do you want me to?"
Cindi drove me home. From the road, I called JM. I just told him to be dressed and to meet me in the driveway. We had to go immediately to my parents' house.
He walked out into the road to meet me on the passenger side of my own car. He knew when I got out either Susan or Dad had died. All I could say was "Susan."
He drove me home through tears of his own and cries of mine.
We pulled in my parents driveway, Dad was on the steps with a sheriff who was waiting for the medical examiner. Dad was weeping. JM hadn't even parked the car and I was out, walking as quickly and as calmly as I could to my dad. I held him so tightly. We both just wept. My mom came outside, she was in shock. I held her and we cried.
Kelly was there. Bill and Cindi had followed us out to be with my parents. Jeff was on his way from work. Susan was there too, still in her bed. Jeff got to Mom and Dad's and we all just kept hugging each other. There wasn't anything but shock bouncing around the room. None of us understood how or why this happened now.Bill pointed out two bald eagles circling low over the house, "they're escorting her spirit home."
We couldn't go in her room at first. We had to wait for a medical examiner. When she was done, she spoke to our family about how clearly well cared for and how loved Susan is. She commended my parents for the work they did to provide for Susan. And she offered her condolences for the shocking loss.
Dad kept saying things like he didn't know she didn't feel well or that he would have sat with her all night if he had known. I would learn later that he performed CPR and mouth-to-mouth for 45 minutes while he waited for the ambulance to arrive because he couldn't be the one to decide she was gone. Because he had never given up on her and wasn't going to do that now.
Dad was in shock. He quite possibly still is.
We were allowed in the room with Susan before the funeral home attendants arrived. We each held her hand, touched her face, hugged and kissed her. I wouldn't know it at the time, but that goodbye was more therapeutic for me than the goodbye at her funeral services. Her skin was still soft, her fingers curved around my hand. In the casket, she didn't even look like herself, let alone feel like herself.
The funeral home attendants came and spoke to all of us before they put Susan on the gurney. Once they did that, we had more time to say goodbye. I hugged her, I kissed her forehead, I told her her I love her and that Dominic loves her. And I said I'd see her on the other side of all this.
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