In The Quiet Morning... in Understanding the Unthinkable

…there was much despair. Do you remember that Joan Baez song?

The funeral was over, everyone had gone home. And then my husband and youngest son left town for a job in North Florida for the week. I did not tell anyone they’d be gone because if I had, well-wishers would descend upon me again. I did let eldest son come check on me daily (mainly because I wasn’t sure how I’d do), and I’d make a few comments on facebook to reassure everyone that I was still around and not suicidal.

It was quiet after the men left and I was finally able to grieve, really grieve. I held Nick’s clothes to my face and breathed in his scent. And then I forced myself to wash them. When I’ve completed the task of sorting clothes, I gave them away to a charity that serves homeless men.

I was okay until I got to Nick’s workboots. I held them up and told the lady that these were steel-toed boots…and then my voice broke but I managed to choke out that they should go to a man who was working on a construction job as they are OSHA compliant, only I could only say “OSHA compliant”. God bless her, she reached across the counter and took my hands in hers and looked me in the eye and said, “When one of our men lands a job, we give them a voucher for the clothes they need. I will make sure to give your son’s boots to a man who can really use them.”

In that place swarming with homeless men, we were an island of two women, sharing pain and knowing what needed to be said. I know she kept her promise. I know she chose the recipient carefully. And I know the man who is wearing them is blessed because I blessed them before they left the house.

Count that as another thing I’ve learned about death: there is dark humor in death, there are blessings in death. Are you keeping track? There’s more to teach you before I am done. Death is not mysterious or fearful, it is a moving from one world to the next.

I filled out the pages in the funeral guest book, who served where, gifts given, flowers, cards, etc. The watch that Nick so treasured is laying gently in my jewelry box.

All papers went into the Nick file, to be dealt with later. He saved every letter I ever wrote to him. Nobody else’s, just mine. He was such a Mama’s boy! Worse yet, he was PROUD of it. Italian, through and through. I hear his voice in my head and in my heart. I dream of him often. Tears are always just under the surface. I ask nobody in particular how my boy could be dead. I pray and ask God to watch over my boy. I hope in a reunion one day. I search for a way to find a new normal and wonder what I’m supposed to say from now on when someone asks how many children I have.

I am not without comforts. My cousin Patsy gave me some wind chimes made by a New England musician. The tone is soft and musical. I hung it against a post outside my bedroom window, so any breeze is light upon the cylinders. I’ll be changing the sheets or polishing the bathroom mirror and hear the gentle tones softly dancing toward me. I feel a reassurance in it. There are other gifts and remembrances, reminders that I am loved.

Dreaming of Nick is something I look forward to and treasure the experience when it happens. The first dream was quick. I answered the door and he was standing there and I told him to come in. That’s it, just a flash: the doorbell rings, oh, it’s Nick, well, come on in, honey, Nick’s here. I can’t recall details of the second dream but it was happy. All the dreams have been that way. At the height of his drug use, all my dreams of him were angry, worried dreams, but now dreams are of the old Nick: “Hey, Mom, whatcha got to eat?”

Nick’s best friend Courtney called to say she’d dreamed of Nick. She said she was so excited and said, “Hi, I haven’t seen you in ages.” She said he answered, “Oh, I’m great. I’m so happy now, Courtney. I moved, you know.” I cried and cried when she told me, but am so grateful she did.

Mile markers have been met and survived: Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Nick’s birthday in June. His absence at work is sorely missed. Each of our sons has their field of expertise within our company. Nick rocked demolition and tile work.

I pored over the autopsy report when it finally arrived. Toxicology was negative. Nick told the truth. He was clean. Manner of death is listed as “natural”. He weighed 175 pounds. Nick told the truth. He had gained weight. He died climbing out of his troubles. And that, in itself, is his victory. He wasn’t at the top of the ladder, but he was climbing up and he wasn’t at the bottom.

Anatomic findings were ordinary, except for this: “pulmonary edema, generalized visceral congestion, and enlarged thyroid. The thyroid was symmetric, diffusely enlarged, and composed of reddish brown parenchyma that was watery.” Nick died of Diffuse Toxic Goiter, otherwise known as Graves Disease. From what I understand, the thyroid goes into overdrive, shooting out too many hormones, straining the major organs. It is easily controlled with medicine that is very cheap.

The symptoms: shaky hands, extreme weight loss, erratic behavior, etc., exactly the same as an addict’s withdrawal. If he had not been a recovering addict, we would have had him in the ER.

Graves Disease is a genetic disease, so we had to do blood tests. My husband is now on thyroid medicine. Youngest son is okay but will test periodically. Eldest son still needs to go. I’m okay, but will also test periodically, just to be sure. I live in fear of having to face another death anytime soon.

At first, we did not share the autopsy information with anyone but my husband’s family, since it stems from his side. There was a reason we were reluctant to share it. Our hearts had been sliced through when approached with questions of “Was it drugs?” Did it matter? Who asks a grieving mother such insensitive questions?

We felt too much attention was focused on the last few of his years and not enough on the majority of his years. It hurt. But we could not withhold life-saving information, so we did open up first to my husband’s family, where the gene seems prevalent. Our niece had stopped taking her meds (because of weight gain), but when she heard that Nick had died from thyroid issues, she went back on them.

Now I say it to you: get your blood workup done. We did it at the hospital through a program called H2U. It was $65, which I thought very reasonable. The needle was small and did not hurt at all.

I’ve since learned that thyroid conditions can be triggered by environmental or emotional stress, as well, so I now think EVERYONE should go through a periodic blood test, just to be sure. We went public with the news. I provided a link but it had to do with Celiac disease and sure enough, people started saying Nick died of Celiac disease. face plant

We will never know exactly why Nick died: was it just a sleeping monster or set in motion because he stayed too long, playing with fire? Was he instinctively self-medicating? Did he know but just didn’t tell us? If any of us, including Nick, had only known, what would we have done differently? It’s just so sad to know that Nick didn’t have to die. Youngest son said, “Mom, if he hadn’t been taking those drugs, we would have insisted he get medical help.”

What if, we shoulda, if only…such thoughts can make you crazy so my advice is don’t go there. It’s non-productive, full of lies, and there’s no way of knowing.

So we settled into life without Nick. While others moved on, we are still adjusting. I’m still adjusting. Not a day passes without tears at some point, but Nick wouldn’t want any of us to stop living, so I dry my tears and swallow the hurt back down, knowing that they’ll be waiting for me just around the corner. You never know when the grief will envelop you, but you know, without a doubt, that it is always there, just below the surface.

My brother was given this description: In the beginning, grief is a huge boulder that threatens to crush you flat. Slowly it becomes a heavy weight you carry. Eventually, it becomes a pebble in your pocket. It’s always there with you, but not always noticed, except for those times when you slip your hand in your pocket and accidentally touch it and you feel it there, a constant in your life.

Last updated September 06, 2015