On my way to work this afternoon, I kept thinking about Clayton. Laying cold as ice in his casket. Looking so fake yet so real. I remember standing at the side, staring at him. I would blink back tears trying to soak him in. I kept thinking what his final moments were like, what his last thoughts were.
I get to work and force it out of my thoughts, focus on learning the residents.
I have two and a half hours left when I’m told a resident has died. Instantly, I’m back to my own nightmare. I don’t want to see her but I do. I follow a co-worker into the room, around the curtain- and there she is. My heart stutters. I stare at her, furiously blinking away forming tears. I’m telling myself to get a grip.
I see Clayton. I reach out to touch her- she is cool to the touch but nothing like he was.
I almost ask to go home, I became such a emotional wreck. Now, with that said you would think I was crying my eyes out. Somehow I managed to remain in control, outwardly. Inside I was dying.
I cried on the drive home. Why did he die at 32 years old? He wasn’t an alcoholic for years and years- best I figure, since 2012. How did his liver get so bad it failed in such a short timespan?
I wish I knew if he was awake when he died. I wish I knew where he died. I want to request the autopsy report, but I doubt they’d release it to me. I requested a copy of the police report (figured it would say where they found his body) but I never heard back.
All it takes to be informed of such thing is a piece of paper stating you’re married. That paper didn’t exist for us, so I can’t find my answers. I should just ask his mom to request both but I feel bad…
Today was just a hard day. One of those days were I’m transported back to November 13th learning of his death, and again to November 16th when I first viewed his body.