In which we all had a pretty awful day.

Saturday morning my MIL went up to Cedar Rapids to spend a few days with her daughter and granddaughter while her daughter, a grade school teacher, is on spring break. Monday, her husband’s oldest son called her to say he hadn’t been able to get in touch with his father. She couldn’t get JG on the phone herself, either.

Tuesday morning found me awake far too damned early — it was well before seven, and there was a rude and irritating few inches of snow on the ground — and sitting in front of the woodstove with Bread, hacking up a lung and listening to him call me Snot (like he always does when I have a head cold) when his mom called him and asked him to stop by her house on his way to work to check on things.

At seven-thirty, he called me. His voice was strained, husky. His mother’s husband was dead. He’d found him in the kitchen, slumped against the door. Thought he’d been there a day or two. Said he looked peaceful. It seemed he’d gone quickly, easily… Bread asked me what to do. I said I was pretty sure he didn’t have to call an ambulance in a case like this, but I didn’t know who he could call instead. I had that odd, dissassociated feeling one gets when things like this happen, and I could hear in my husband’s voice that he was freaked out, hurting. “My brain has just shut down,” I said. “Shit. Ah shit, baby, I don’t know what to tell you. I think you can call the funeral home directly, but I have no idea which one they’d want.”

“God, Mush. I don’t want to have to tell my mom this,” he said, voice rough. He cleared his throat. I could almost see him standing up straighter, throwing his shoulders back. “Okay. I have to call my sister,” he said. “I’ll call you back.”

When he called back, he’d told his sister and she was breaking it to their mom. He’d called 911 and services were on the way. He said people were probably going to converge on our place, since it was closest. I said I’d get the house presentable. He sat in his truck and chainsmoked. I had a cup of coffee and a big shot of NyQuil straight out of the bottle and started tidying the house, glad of the busywork. I worked up a sweat, sweeping, tidying, vacuuming, stacking all the dishes in a creative and coherent fashion right next to the sink.

Bread didn’t get back home until ten. He’d had to wait for the sheriff and the ambulance, the medical examiner, the guy from the funeral home. His sister and mother were on their way back from Cedar Rapids. JG’s sons had been called and were on their way, too, expected by noon.

I told Bread I was sorry he’d had to go through that experience… he lied and said “it was all right,” as men do, but that he sure wished for a shot of whiskey. Then he got up and did the dishes. I kept cleaning, then showered because I knew I couldn’t go anywhere smelling like a sickroom. Before too long his sister and her toddler and his mother had arrived. KW came in and while she and Bread talked my poor broken MIL wandered around outside for a bit, crying and breathing the air. When she came in I gathered her in a tight hug — she’s my height — and whispered the things you say to a woman who has suddenly lost her husband: I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I’m so sorry. We’re here for you. We’ve got you.

We waited — finding phone numbers, making calls, hugging, filling out the booklet Bread had received from the funeral home, tearing up and sniffling, guzzling coffee, chasing the toddler — until JG’s sons called again. Then we left to meet them at the funeral home.

KW and I stopped at MIL’s house to air it out and check on the cat and make sure it was okay for her to return to, which it was. Then went in to meet everyone at Behner’s.

Shortly after arriving there, my coffee/NyQuil cocktail wore out and I was wretched again and had to give the baby back to KW. I sat in the back and tried to breathe quietly. Eventually the arrangements were all made, the bill was presented, and the whole family went in to view the body. I sat with a box of kleenex in the big room and chatted with the funeral director and my MIL’s awesome bosses. (She’s Office Goddess for two attorneys, and they adore her.) The funeral director was sixty and had clearly chosen the right profession; he made the process bearable and smooth and balanced between compassion and humor. I liked him.

KW and baby and I rode together again afterward. It was after one o’clock and no one had eaten all day. We stopped at Hy-Vee for food and then went to MIL’s house where everyone was pouring over photo albums and crying and grieving.

I popped some cold meds and slammed a Coke and cooked. (Sure I’m a little sick but germs understand family emergencies, and those people needed food.) After everyone who was going to had something I tidied up, loaded the dishwasher, hugged and talked. Joined Bread in a foray to the bar around three, so he could finally get his shot of whiskey… and tell the barflies that JG had passed. They sent their condolences back with us.

Went back to the house, made dinner. Ate with my MIL while Bread and his sister went to borrow a playpen for the toddler and hit Wal-Mart for diapers. Sat and talked with her for a long while. She’s in pain, of course, but she’s a strong lady and she has the sense to let people love her when she needs to be loved — its a kind of grace. The whole day broke my heart, but it’s also only under such conditions that people really shine and their beauty shows. I was awed over and over by Bread and his little sister, how fierce and loyal and beautiful they are, how much they both love their mother and the lengths they would both go for her.

By the time her kids came back we’d finished our meal. I tried to nap on the couch but I can’t sleep in front of a TV. Bread finally poured me into my coat and brought me home at nine. I slept like a log. Woke up sicker, called in to work, and went back to bed.

Now Bread’s home from taking his mom to proof the obituary, and I’m going to make a cream soup and eat it. (Because when I’m congested? All I want to eat is dairy. Maybe there’s some brie left, that would really hit the spot.)

So, I love you all. Now go hug someone you love right now, because, as my second mom told me yesterday, “You can lose them so fast. So fast.”