No Roadmaps

I am starting out by playing catch up which is rather appropriate.
At 6:12 pm CDT on March 25, 2011 my husband of 49 years died - without warning. My life changed from the quiet, somewhat orderly existence centered around him, my family and homey things such as trying new recipes and knitting and reading to one,for which I had (have) no roadmap.
My daughter Sarah and I left the driveway at exactly the same moment and she got us to Lee's Summit in 20 minutes weaving in and out of late rush hour traffic. I had received a call to come quickly, that he was in very critical condition. I grabbed my purse, took up the knitting bag (always handy) and put it back down with the only premonition I would have: Knitting won't do it this time. After all that rush we were escorted to a small room where we waited. A police officer was there and I asked him if he was there for the same reason we were. He said yes. "Will you tell me if it is an accident or if he is ill? " " I can't, m'am." I really thought he would have  noticed the difference but wasn't up to an argument, so I said "Sarah I don't like this I don't think this is good. I don't think we are going to get out of this." She, taking my hand, agreed and the officer left. A few minutes later three women and a man in jeans and a plaid cotton shirt came in. They sat around me and the lead woman introduced herself as a doctor and said "He didn't make it. We did everything we could but he just didn't make it. I'm sorry." Language critic that I am, I chill at the phraseology. He didn't make it! There has to be a better way to phrase it. It sounds like what they say on a doctor show on television. But the fact was there. My murmured "Please God. . . ." which I had repeated over and over since The Call, got the wrong answer. The man revealed himself to be a chaplain and asked if there was anything they could do for me. I asked for a "do-over from maybe about noon or so." He said he couldn't do that so I said for the first of what would be many many times "I don't know what to do. I don't have a roadmap." He or the doctor said that whatever I wanted to do was OK, there was no right or wrong thing. That was too vague for me at that time so I persisted with" what should I do? " The chaplain offered to call clergy from one of the local churches but I said I want mine. Then began the search for the right numbers when you are not expecting to have to reach someone on a Friday. I thought if they could get me a white pages I could get ahold of someone. I found Linda (a Deacon friend who would have the directory) in the book and the chaplain called her. I heard her scream. She had the numbers for Sue and Joe. This kind man called Sue first and I heard her scream. This poor dear fellow is going to think all Episcopalians are screamers. He was, name lost in the inability I had to learn any thing else new, a police chaplain who had responded to the emergency need that night ( later figured that we were waiting for his arrival) - and turned out to be a friend and fellow chaplain to Brian England who had been a Deacon at the Cathedral until his work relocated him to D.C. as well as a friend of ours.  They then took us to the room where Ben was, many of the signs of their futile efforts to save him still in place.
While was occupied with the chaplain Sarah had reached her sister by phone and hearing her sobs I took the phone and said "I love you.  I love you over and over. I didn't know how to reach through her pain. Sarah couldn't get Benj, her brother. She did get his wife Amy and again I took the phone and told her the sad news which she would have to relay. I asked Sarah to also call our adopted family, the Slocums, and let them know. J.R. said he would be right down. He and Sue came almost together. Sue's husband drove her down from Platte county for which I had the sense to be grateful. Sue gave last rites and we prayed the Lord's Prayer together. Benj called back almost unable to breathe and his boys all needed to touch base with Gams and share their love and sorrow. Sarah somewhere in this time called her home and told my other two grands- and neighbors - their Papa was gone. A nurse came back in the room and said we needed to find a funeral home. At last a question I was prepared for: "Call Hank DeVry at Park Lawn North. It is to be direct cremation with services at Grace and Holy Trinity and interment in the Memorial Garden." That was my whole knowledge base, after firing those instructions off. One more thought: Is it possible to use anything for transplant, Sarah and I wondered. Corneas were about it. Please set that happening and  since the medical staff didn't need it, no autopsy is needed. It wouldn't change anything. Then mundane things came to mind: truck keys, his coat, other possessions. We looked about the room and even in his pockets - out fell three hard candies. No M & M's, he had probably eaten them. With a final kiss we left. We left the room and  life as we knew it.