Rolling along, rolling along… I’ve always loved the mountains. And by mountains, I mean the mountains of the west. The smell of the air at high altitude, craggy snow capped peaks, alpine lakes, stunted trees giving way to meadows at the treeline. You just don’t get that in the Eastern US. Perhaps someday I’ll be back in the west and more able to take advantage of that landscape, but not today.

Dateline Butte, Montana –

Four days of ten hours plus driving. One more day to go. North Dakota ended with some rather picturesque badlands which almost, but did not quite, redeem it as a state. Then it was across the border and into Montana and the Big Sky country of the East (which looked suspiciously like a continuation of North Dakota…) Around Billings, I-94 became I-90 and began its ascent into the Montana Rockies, rolling foothills, bright green from the spring rains backed by clusters of snow capped mountains. The Great Red Hope trotted on past Yellowstone and cheerfully crossed the Continental Divide and descended into the Butte valley where, after 640 miles for the day, I said no more and got out of the car.

I’ve crossed the Rockies plenty of times in the past, and so had Tommy but I can’t remember ever doing it together, other than at 35,000 feet. He was not really a mountain person. Scenic beauty for him was important in how it formed and informed local culture, not something to be enjoyed for its own purposes.

The last time I was on this road, I was headed the opposite direction in 2000 Mustang convertible with the top down on my way from Seattle in Chicago, part of my last major cross country trek after Steve died. I also remember coming through here in 1986 when I went to Yellowstone and Grand Teton for a few days before starting my OB/GYN rotation in Boise that summer. All of those babies I delivered are now in their thirties. Where does the time go?

Tired tonight, so signing off for bad television and an early bedtime before tomorrow’s last leg.

And the drive continued. Fueled by Starbucks Caramel Macchiatos in the morning and Dr. Pepper in the afternoon. (And a supersize bag of Jelly Belly jelly beans courtesy of Anne Brisendine.) I had decided to take the Northern route across the country as it was one of the few roads I had never driven. It wasn’t the most exciting of drives…

Dateline Bismarck, North Dakota…

The drive today was nicer than yesterday as the weather cooperated. No more rain showers and instead sunny and 70s all day long. I slept in a little bit this morning and got a later start than I wanted so decided 500 miles was going to be the limit and that took me from the wilds of Wisconsin through Minneapolis/St Paul, St Cloud, Fargo and into the middle of North Dakota where I have stopped in Bismarck for the night.

Bismarck seems to be the same general size and shape as Oxford/Anniston with the cultural amenities of Eufala. It may be a state capital but Montgomery has it beat by a mile. I can now cross North Dakota off my bucket list (it was one of four states I am missing) and can think of no reason to ever return.

After checking into the local Hampton Inn (keep those Hilton points coming), I walked to something called Space Aliens for dinner. It seems to be a high concept TGIF/Chilis type place only decorated with plastic ET dolls and built around a circular dining room with a planetary mural on the ceiling. Neither my caesar salad nor my chicken tortilla soup was overly appetizing so I cannot recommend you stop here for dinner unless you have a seven year old going through a sci-fi stage.

On to Montana tomorrow. Trying to decide if I am going to detour through Glacier National Park. I spent my Family Practice rotation in medical school in Whitefish, Montana, right outside of Glacier, and Logan Pass is one of my favorite spots on the planet.

Maybe… and maybe I’ll save it for a trip when I’ll have more time to savor it. At the moment I just want to get to Seattle and hug my family.

I still hadn’t quite gotten into the rhythm of my Dateline posts yet on day 2 but things were beginning to develop a bit.

Dateline Eau Claire Wisconsin –

I can’t say that today’s drive was especially pleasant. It consisted mainly of Indiana farmland, stop and go traffic all through the greater Chicago area (which put me off my time table so I did not stop), and rain throughout rural Illinois and Wisconsin. Interstate driving in the dark and in the rain, which was the last hour from Wisconsin Dells to Eau Claire, is not one of my favorite activities but Hope handled the road with aplomb. Large indoor water parks seem to be all the rage in Wisconsin Dells. I did not stop to investigate. I think I’ve gotten to the lazy river age rather than the screaming spiral.

So I find myself going back to my roots in an odd way. The stretch of Wisconsin between Madison and Eau Claire that I-94 runs through is the area of the country that my immigrant Duxbury ancestors migrated to around the time of the Civil War to become dairy farmers. There are still Duxburys in central Wisconsin who are distant cousins. I have no idea if they are still milking cows for a living. My Duxburys all pulled up roots en masse around 1910 and moved to the Pacific Northwest for somewhat obscure reasons. I’m sure there’s a good story there but I don’t know it.

You forget how big this country is until you have to drive thousands of miles and realize that one interstate exit is very like another and that Hampton Inn is about the same in every state (and my Hilton Points are mounting…) Not much else to say about today. Finishing up volume 13 of The Wheel of Time on audio (my third time through the complete series) and should be well into the final volume 14 by the end of tomorrow. Not sure where that will find me. My guess is somewhere between Bismarck ND and eastern Montana.

I will add one short story here. There seems to have been a general exodus from central Wisconsin to Washington state just before World War I. There’s a rather creepy book called Wisconsin Death Trip full of morbid news clippings and photos about the area at that time and it makes it all sound very Gothic horror so maybe they were all running from something. My Duxbury fore bearers all ended up around Southern Puget Sound in various small towns (my grandfather’s family choosing Olympia). My grandmother’s family, the Crandalls, also from this part of Wisconsin independent from and not knowing the Duxbury clan, ended up in Everett. They had originally chosen Spokane but when it came time to make the journey, none of them was sure how to pronounce it so they made a last minute decision to head to Everett instead. They could pronounce that one. Odd to think that my existence depends on a hundred and some year old moment of geographic illiteracy.

When the Crandalls arrived in Everett, they were just in time for the Everett massacre and my great grandfather was deeply suspicious of the Wobblies and labor violence. He packed the family up again and they high tailed it to Oregon after just a few months. My grandmother and grandfather ended up meeting in the greater Portland area about fifteen years later. They married there before returning to Olympia. It takes generations of mistakes, coincidences, moves, social movements, and historical events to create every one of us.

And so, like that, the day came when I decided to drive out of Birmingham on the first of what would be a couple of road trips. I had originally thought of leaving for six or more weeks on one long continuous trip. (That’s what I did after Steve died). But there were some practicalities that required me to be back in Birmingham in early June – a couple of weddings I promised to attend, a work obligation around a legal case. And I decided as long as I would need to be back, that would be the right time to plan Tommy’s memorial service so I set that date in early June as well. As I wasn’t able to leave until mid-Afternoon as I seem to have had something to do at church that morning (I can’t for the life of me remember what it was…), I didn’t plan on a long drive that day and made it as far as Louisville. I then published the first of my dateline posts so that the world could keep track of me as I headed cross country.

Dateline Clarksville, Indiana, just across the river from Kentucky.

I left Birmingham about 2:30 this afternoon after church and some chores and some final packing and I am on my way on the first leg of the trip. I used to come up 65 somewhat regularly for business purposes but it’s been some years. I think the last time was in 2008. Tommy had just had one of several back surgeries and was moving slowly and we had to go as I had a speaking engagement in Chicago and then meetings with the mineworkers in Kentucky. I think we stayed a little bit north of my current location on our way to Chicagoland but I remember very little about the trip other than having to help Tommy in and out of the car with his cane.

Tomorrow, I should hit Chicagoland, then head up into Wisconsin and Minnesota. I have no idea how far I am going to get. It will depend on whether I detour into Chicago at all. I might, but I have a business trip there in late August to give some lectures at a conference so I might save it until then.

The new Prius is running smoothly and I have a name… Tommy had no nostalgia or regrets and always looked forward, no matter what. Therefore, the car, after the legend of Pandora, is Hope, The Great Red Hope. (Thank you Betty Tackett for the suggestion).

I originally thought that these would be relatively simple updates but the germ of the idea of storytelling was already there and it was going to take full form over the next few days. I’ve always been interested in story and narrative and, as I have aged into what is the grandparent generation, I have become keenly aware that this is the role of the healthy younger elder. Tell the stories. Make those younger than you aware of what has gone before so they can take some of it and use it and create a continuity with those who will come after them.

The closing number of Once On This Island encapsulates this as well as anything ever has.

Life is why – we tell the story

Pain is why – we tell the story

Love is why – we tell the story

Grief is why – we tell the story

Hope is why – we tell the story

Faith is why – we tell the story

You are why – we tell the story…

My birthday happened over the weekend. 56… Tommy and I tended not to make a big deal about birthdays. He was very anti Hallmark holiday occasions in general but we would usually acknowledge them with cake. He spent his last birthday in the hospital and wanted Continental Bakery carrot cake. I obliged even though it was definitely not on his diet plan. Various people made sure that this one of mine did not go unnoticed and I was taken out to dinner by some people from work. I have a good work family and we all watch out for each other and always have. It has to do with the mind set of those who self select for Geriatrics. We tend to be nurturers and a lot of us, like me, are INFJ (if you believe in that sort of thing).

And so, the time came to begin my trek and I let everyone know…

Birthday weekend is nearly over. Several very nice meals with good company. Packing tonight in preparation for leaving town tomorrow. I’m heading for Seattle to see the family. I am driving for maximum flexibility. Not sure exactly what route I’m going to be on or where or when I’ll stop. I’m going to make it up as I go along. I did something similar after Steve died and long hours in the car with audio books seems to have a calming effect on my nervous system so I’m going to try it again. I have some things to do tomorrow morning and early afternoon but I should be on the road by 2 or 3 and I think I’ll head north so I should spend tomorrow night somewhere around Louisville to Indianapolis. I’ll update everyone and post pictures as I trek about and, if you notice I am in your neck of the woods and would like me to stop by, send me a message and maybe we can work something out.

About three weeks before he was hospitalized, Tommy totaled his car. He wasn’t injured and had no idea what happened. One moment he was headed south on the freeway, the next he was in the ditch with a busted axle. In retrospect, it was probably an early sign that something was terribly wrong and he may have had a TIA or a mild syncopal episode that caused the accident but, as he was unhurt, we just went on about our lives. He had been driving a Prius V so we went down to the Toyota dealership and we found a 2017 Prius V in bright red that he liked. Unfortunately, the car was in Florida and had to be shipped up to Alabama. It arrived two days after he was hospitalized so I drove it home from the dealership and parked it behind the house so he’d have his new car when he came home. He never got a chance to see it. I found a good home for my old Acura and will be driving the Prius in Tommy’s honor. I need to think of a good name for it. I don’t always name my cars but I think this one deserves one.

I came back from the beach and walked into our house, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by it all. Anyone who knows us knows that my house is furnished in Early American Theatrical Prop and everywhere I turned was a reminder of a theatrical project that Tommy and I had been involved with over the last fifteen years or so.

So I’m back from the beach and starting in on all of those unenviable tasks that must be done when someone dies unexpectedly. I’ve made the business rounds and now I’m looking around this house that we bought together, only two years ago, intending to drive each other mildly batty in it for a few decades while we kept up our crazy life of medicine, music, theater, wigs and civic engagement. Now I have to decide what fits my possible futures, what does not and where to rehome those things that have value but which won’t fit into any of my forseeable paths.

Having been through this before, the hardest thing about widowhood is losing the keeper of shared memory. There are very few objects in this house that don’t have a story to tell and the only other person who knew those stories is gone. This has all been so sudden a change in my life that it all still feels very unreal. I found myself making mental notes at the beach about the things I needed to tell Tommy when I got back and then remembered and had to tell him silently then and there.

Many of you did not know me before Tommy. I was a very different person in my 20s and 30s when I was with Steve and after he died, I felt lost and could not imagine life having much meaning. Tommy found me and, when I thought it was not possible, he taught my soul to sing.

I continue to do OK. The grief bombs continue to explode at inopportune moments but my sleeping patterns are better and my appetite has improved a bit. I will be at home this week, and then heading for Seattle sometime after Friday and will be back in Birmingham by the first of June.

I don’t have a lot of needs at the moment. Mainly company. I eat better with other people around. Text or call me if you want to hang out at all this week.

People took me up on that last one. I think I had dinner with someone every night before I left on the first of my road trips. I had decided that I was going to get out of town for a while but I still had a few business things that had to be taken care of before I left.

I picked Orange Beach at random from the various Alabama Gulf towns and made a reservation for a long weekend at the Hampton Inn, splurging for an ocean front room. I packed a suitcase, through some other necessaries in Tommy’s new car, bought a long historical novel on Audible for the drive and headed out. Frankly, I don’t remember a whole lot about the trip, the beach, the hotel, the audiobook, or anything else. I know I was there and I spent a lot of time on the balcony listening to the waves. The one thing that I do remember was sleeping a lot. The last six weeks, I hadn’t been sleeping well at all between worry and spending as much time as possible with Tommy. I didn’t write a whole lot that weekend. My major Facebook post only consisted of the following:

The beach was the right call. Slept for nearly ten hours last night. I don’t think I’ve managed more than about six since Tommy got sick.

I’ve long believed in the restorative power of the beach. My only major beef with Birmingham is its distance from open water. Perhaps it’s my childhood in Seattle where water is everywhere. Perhaps it’s my young adulthood in California where trips to the beach were a routine occurrence on the weekends. I just know that when I get around sunshine and salt water, I feel more attuned to myself and the world. Steve also loved the beach. He spent a lot of his young adulthood living in Venice Beach outside of Los Angeles. We used to talk of our retirement together in some beach community, walking on the sand, watching the waves roll in. That was not to be but there’s still a chance I might retire to San Diego or some other such place. A small chance, but still a chance.

The next day or two were taken up with business: trips to the attorney, calls to insurance agents, dealing with the bank. I had a more personal task as well, writing Tommy’s obituary. The funeral home had offered to do it but I wasn’t going to let anyone else try to summarize this wonderfully complex man so I sat down and this is what I came up with.

Tommy, as he was known to everyone but the IRS and various lawyers, lost his courageous battle with severe and sudden onset cardiac disease on Saturday, April 28th 2018 at the age of 53. Up until his recent illness, he had continued to function in his myriad of roles as a fixture of the Birmingham performing arts scene including being the Company Manger of Opera Birmingham; wig, hair and make-up designer for Red Mountain Theatre Company; Children’s Choir director for the Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham; and running his own private studio in voice, piano and hair and makeup design. Tommy was born April 10th 1965 in Birmingham to Louie Tommy Thompson Sr. and Melvinia Dye Thompson. From a young age, he was captivated by music, making his operatic debut as the boy shepherd in Tosca at the age of 10 and singing for years with the Birmingham Boys Choir. In his teens, he was a member of the Summerfest ensemble and attended the University of Alabama Birmingham on, of all things, a track scholarship, where he majored in music, playing the flute in the Million Dollar Band and the oboe in the symphonic ensembles. After leaving UA, he showed his knack of picking up and mastering a wide variety of skill sets whenever something happened to pique his interest. He worked as a research assistant in linguistics. He obtained a culinary degree and worked as a professional chef and baker for such disparate employers as Continental Bakery, the Hilton, the Sheraton and Ralph and Kacoos. He even for a time helped run his own family restaurant. He enjoyed cooking, especially for other people, for the rest of his life and his cast parties and holiday open houses are legendary. When he got tired of restaurant hours, he went back to school and obtained his RN. His experiences in the early days of the HIV epidemic in Birmingham where he was helpful in the creation of such organizations as Birmingham AIDS Outreach and AIDS Alabama had wakened a life long need to help people in times of health crisis. After a stint as a pediatric nurse, he joined the staff of what was to become Birmingham Health Care, rising through the ranks to Chief Nursing Officer by the time he left the organization in 2005. Once again, it was time for self-reinvention and he returned to college in his 40s where he earned double degrees in music education and speech pathology from the University of Montevallo proving that it was indeed possible to teach this old dog a new trick or two. For the rest of his life, he took all of his inquisitiveness, his managerial skill, and his sheer love of the job well done to help better the condition of the performing arts in Birmingham. He spent countless hours in rehearsals, sang for many seasons with both the Opera Birmingham and the Alabama Symphony Orchestra choruses, stage managed, produced, performed in musicals, cabaret, and even the occasional play, and everywhere he went, encouraged his fellow performers and technicians to always improve their craft. Along the way, he picked up new skills in hair and makeup, helping give a more professional look to such shows as Annie Get Your Gun at Virginia Samford Theater, and The Little Mermaid and The Color Purple at Red Mountain Theatre Company. He even helped a few friends unleash their inner drag queen. He is survived by his husband and partner in musical/theatrical crime, Andrew Duxbury; his parents, Louie and Melvinia Thompson, his brother Pat Alan Thompson and wife Robbi, nieces Brooke Thompson Hedrick (Daniel) and Ashley Thompson Hubbard (Jeffrey), aunts, uncles, cousins, great nieces and nephews, and his huge extended Bohemian Birmingham family for whom he was a fixture both off stage and on. There will be a memorial service celebrating his life under the auspices of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham at a date to be announced later. In lieu of flowers, memorials can be made to either the Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham’s Children’s Music program or to Opera Birmingham. The best way to celebrate his legacy, however, is by teaching your children to sing.

It could have been twice as long, of course, but the Birmingham News are not overly generous with their column inches. (They must be making most of their profit off the obituary page these days). I finished this up, packed a suitcase, locked up the house, and headed for the beach for a few days to just stare at the waves and try not to think too much.

The 29th was a Sunday. I could not make myself get up and go to church and face a zillion in person condolences. Besides which, it was the Sunday our church was to first meet our new settled ministerial candidate and I didn’t want anything to distract from that process. Tommy wouldn’t have wanted that either. We had scheduled the family viewing for later that day. In the meantime, word was out and Facebook, email and all the rest were blowing up so I had to get something out to the world. I wrote this as a general message.

I am absolutely overwhelmed with all of the messages, phone calls, texts and other expressions of love and gratitude for my and Tommy’s moving through all of your lives over the years. You don’t think about it. You just live your life and you worry about the bills and whether you should have taken on that project and who picked up the dry cleaning and whether the cats have fresh water and before you know it, the years roll by and you find yourselves deeper and deeper embedded into a community. You have no time or inclination to really consider your particular thread in the tapestry until disaster strikes and your world is upended. All of a sudden all of the sureties and constants are missing and you’re left trying to calculate molar weights with an Avogadro’s number that is no longer fixed.

Five weeks ago, Tommy and I were in the midst of our normal chaotic existence. Romeo et Juliette was in production. I was on stage and he was doing his usual plethora of jobs including hair/make-up, running the box office and production management. The day after the show closed, he was fatigued, not unusual following a show weekend and spent the day resting. He felt even worse the following day and was beginning to have some severe lower extremity swelling. On the third day, he headed for the Emergency Department where they admitted him to the cardiologists who told us that basically the pumping mechanism of his heart had suddenly failed due to previously undiagnosed coronary artery disease. He had never had any chest pain, angina or other typical heart symptoms, only the asthma which he had suffered from for years and which, in hindsight, had masked his heart issues. His condition was so severe that the cardiologists argued among themselves for a week as to what they could do. Most felt there was nothing to be done. One felt that a risky course of cardiac stents and cardiac rest via some external pumps might get him out of the hospital. Ever positive, Tommy chose the latter and underwent an eleven hour stenting procedure and several weeks tied to bed by external pumps. The pumps were eventually removed in preparation for his being able to be rehabbed and sent home but last night, our luck ran out and he unexpectedly and suddenly died. It’s not absolutely clear why, but I suspect a pulmonary embolism from a combination of all the indwelling hardware and sluggish blood flow from a weak heart. It’s nobody’s fault. It just happened.

Those of you who have known me a long time know that this isn’t my first time at this particular rodeo. My first husband, Steve, died in 2001 after twelve years together, of terminal pulmonary disease. Tommy and I met in late 2002, got serious in the summer 2003 and by 2004 everyone assumed we’d been together for decades because we were the right complimentary fits for each other. We had fifteen good years. A lot of gay men never find one life partner. I’ve been fortunate enough to have had two and count my blessings that I have been so privileged to be able to share my life with such wonderful, unique men. They were very different but each was the right fit for who I was at that stage of my development.

People have been asking about arrangements. There will be a small private funeral for his family in Jasper and he will be buried in his family plot in Parrish, Alabama in Gray’s Cemetery. There will be a memorial service at a later date to which all who knew and loved him will be invited. (Think our annual holiday open house…) It will be held under the auspices of our beloved Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham but I may have to find a different venue because if even half the people who have said they want to, show up to pay respects, we aren’t all going to fit. I will communicate information about that after a date and time are chosen.

How can we honor him who has touched all of our lives? Those of you who want to do it in a tangible way, I’m asking that memorials be made to either the Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham Children’s Music Fund or to Opera Birmingham – two organizations near and dear to his heart. In more intangible ways, those of you with children, teach them to sing. If you don’t feel like you can, get them involved in a kids or youth choir or get them music lessons with an instrument they enjoy. Those of you without children, go out of your way to give the young people with an interest in music and performing arts a helping hand and a step up.

Others have been asking what do I need? There’s only one of me, so I don’t need a whole lot of food at the moment. I’m one of those get stressed, don’t eat a lot types. The house isn’t falling apart and the tax refund covered his funeral expenses (not what I was planning on using it on, but such is life). I need to feel connected. I need to be included. I need to not be treated differently. I need people to talk about him and us and tell funny stories and reminisce about shows we’ve done, or places we’ve been. I need to laugh. For the most part, I’m OK but I’m apt to burst into tears at weird moments. I can’t always tell if they are tears of sadness for what is gone or tears of joy for being so loved and cared for and so part of the fabric of what I call Bohemian Birmingham.

I’m likely to be doing some traveling over the next few months as I’ve always found that an effective form of self care. I may need someone to look in on the kitties from time to time.

Don’t be afraid to call or write or message or send me the latest crazy cat meme. I may not always answer, but I am reading them and feeling the love as I try to figure out what’s next. Two Sondheim lyrics (of course), are running through my brain…

Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood.
Do not let it grieve you, no one leaves for good.
You are not alone…

And

I chose and my world was shaken, so what?
The choice may have been mistaken,
The choosing was not.
You have to move on…

And move on I shall, I just don’t yet have a map or a compass or reliable GPS. They will come with time.

As I mentioned earlier, Tommy had totaled his car at the beginning of March. The next week, we went down to the Toyota dealership where we found a decent deal on the 2017s (the 2018s were on the lot and they had to make room). He had been driving a Prius V and loved it so he decided he wanted to stick with that and, when asked about the color, he decided on red. There was no red one on the lot, but they did locate one in Florida which they would have shipped up.

Between the time we paid for the car and the time it arrived from Florida, Tommy was hospitalized. I went down and picked it up for him, drove it home and parked it behind the house so it would be waiting for him when he got better. He never saw it, only the pictures I sent from my phone.

I decided I really didn’t want the first trip I made in the car to be to his family funeral service so I called up my good friend, Melissa Bailey, to see if she would pick me up and accompany me so I would have someone there other than relatives of his. She of course said yes. When she showed up that afternoon, she was driving her new car… a red Prius V. Tommy was going to have that car at his funeral no matter what.

The viewing ended up being easier than I thought. The funeral home tried but they parted his hair on the wrong side and I was able to distance myself emotionally from the man in the casket as it just wasn’t him. We stayed, talked as family for an hour or so, went to dinner at the Jasper Mall, and then Melissa took me home and I had a single malt scotch.

As soon as the person on the other end of the phone told me that it was UAB hospital calling, I knew what they were going to tell me. I’ve been involved in medicine long enough to know that middle of the night phone calls are always bad news. Tommy had died quickly and unexpectedly that night. He had been fine, talking to the nurse, then his blood pressure bottomed out and he lost his heart rhythm. We had made the decision some time before that he would be Do Not Resuscitate if anything happened as his heart was too weak to take CPR or other aggressive measures and all it would do would be to prolong his dying process. From the available data, I suspect that he had a massive pulmonary embolism from clotting in his legs which got worse with the necessary stopping of his heparin. Sometimes you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

I roused his family, called my sister (who is always up at all hours anyway) to have someone to talk to, and went in to the hospital to start the processes and rituals of unexpected death. The family gathered. I spent some time sitting with the lifeless man who had been my partner in all things for years and we made decisions. His mother wanted a family viewing and burial in the family plot in Parrish. We had breakfast, called the Jasper funeral home and set everything in motion. I had to get the word out and wrote this.

Tommy update: A few hours after I wrote my last update, Tommy had a sudden and irreversible cardiovascular collapse and died at 2:45 this morning. Word is starting to spread but I wanted everyone to hear it from me first. I will post more later but just can’t right now.

I don’t remember much else about the day. I know I went and had breakfast at Bogue’s, the local greasy spoon, and I ran into a couple of friends there who became the first people outside of family that I had to tell. I picked out the clothes in which he was to be buried. I went with his parents and brother to the funeral home to make the arrangements for the viewing, pick out the casket, and to the cemetery to make arrangements for the grave to be dug. I finished all that and came home feeling sad, a little frightened for the future, and most of all just feeling alone.