That Day

Foreword:
I am not the only person who lost Eddie James four years ago.  He was loved by so many people in so many places.  Friends who he loved as family and family he was finally able to love miss him as much as I do.  This blog has been about my journey and I am fully aware their journey has been more private but just as deeply felt.  This entry may be difficult for any of you who loved Eddie to read.  I don't want to extend your grief but this story is important for me to tell as part of mine.

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Nothing about that day felt right.  I knew it wasn’t right.  But I kept thinking, “Quit worrying.   Everything is fine.  This is how we live now.  In the same house.  In the same city.”

But it felt strange.  It felt wrong.

When we woke up that morning all the logistics of the day were discussed.  He would take the Canyonero and go to Cartersville to either get something or put something in the storage units.  When he got back, I would take the Canyonero to go meet my best, high school girlfriends for our annual Christmas get-together.  Then he would ride the recently re-acquired Green Monster to a pizza place to meet up with the ADV Riders group.  We both would be back home between 7 & 7:30 in the evening.

Why did I have so much anxiety about it?

After he returned from Cartersville, we stood at the landing outside our bedroom.  I grabbed his hand and playfully said, “Do you love me?”  He looked at me with complete seriousness and said, “More than you can ever know.”

We said those lines to each other from time to time.  They were inter-changeable.  Whenever one of us was feeling a bit unsure about something this was the exchange.  Whenever he said, “More than you can ever know” there was no doubt of his meaning.  

It was never in doubt.  It is still never in doubt.

I went to meet my friends and throughout the afternoon and then during dinner I felt ….. fretful - the word he always used when my intuition was in full blown, ESP-like mode.  I almost called him a couple of times but thought, “Stop it.  You are being ridiculous.  Everything is fine. You will see him in a couple of hours.”

At 6:50 pm I made the transition from I-85 South to I-75 North –the Brookwood Interchange.  I thought I might actually see him, riding the beautiful, green BMW GS on that short stretch of I-75 heading back to our home.  We would have to travel the same road and we were planning to get there at the same time.

I noticed the traffic was heavy for a Sunday night.  And I felt extremely uneasy.  But nothing was out of the ordinary as I passed the familiar Northside Drive/Howell Mill exit.

I arrived home and was disappointed to see he wasn’t there yet.  My uneasiness increased.  I went upstairs and changed into my sweats.  I turned on the Christmas lights and stood in the den by the door to the deck and looked out to see if his bike was coming down the alley.  I wanted to go sit and watch TV until he came in but I couldn’t relax.  I went to the front of the house and paced to the back several times.

Where was he?

Around 7:40 my phone rang.  I was in the kitchen in front of the stove.  I didn’t recognize the number – a 404 area code – Atlanta.

“This is Lisa.”

“Is this Lisa Erbes?”  The woman on the other end actually pronounced my name correctly.  I always notice this because it rarely happens.

“Yes.”  Oh, God.  It is happening.

“This is xxxxx from Grady Hospital.  Do you know Edmund James?”

“Yes.  He’s my fiancé.”

“He has been in an accident.  We found your name and number in his wallet.”

My heart stopped beating.

“Is he ok?” I think I was barely whispering.

“We need you to come here as quickly as possible.  Do you have someone who can come with you?”

“Yes.  Is he ok?  What happened?  Where was the accident?”  Hysteria was starting to creep into my voice even though I was desperate to be calm.  I couldn’t fall apart yet.  He was hurt but he was alive.  I just kept repeating this thought over and over and over.

“We need you to get here as soon as possible.  How far away are you?”

“We live in Vinings.  I can be there in 15 minutes.  Where do I need to go?”

“Come to the ER and tell the person at the desk your name.  I will come get you.  Lisa?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have someone to come with you?”

“Yes.  I’ll be right there.” 

I hung up and as I ran upstairs to put my clothes back on, I called my sister, Barb.

“Wait for us, we’ll pick you up.”

“No!  I’m not waiting.  I have to go now!  Call Andi.”  I hung up.

I got in the Canyonero, put it in reverse and floored it.  And crashed into the closed garage door.

“God Damn It!!!”  It took forever for the door to open.  I peeled out of the garage and have no idea if I ever closed the door.

I always drive fast but this was speed I had never attempted through Atlanta traffic.  Every muscle in my body was flexed.  I could have pulled the steering wheel right off.

I accelerated as I got on to I-75 South at Mount Paran Road.  I got over to the left and looked down for a quick instant.  90.  I accelerated and didn’t look at the speedometer again.

Within a minute, as I came up on the Northside Drive/Howell Mill exit, I saw the most horrible sight I have ever seen.  It haunts me to this day.

The northbound lanes of I-75 were lit up so brightly you couldn’t focus because of the lights.  Blue and red flashing from what seemed like a hundred emergency vehicles.  And the line of white headlights of the stopped traffic stretched all the way down to The Varsity.

“NO! NO! This is NOT his accident!”  I screamed it out over and over again as I sped up.

I had never been to Grady Hospital before.  If you live in Atlanta, Georgia for any length of time you know what Grady is.

It is a huge, inner-city, medical complex where they take everyone who is has either been in a horrible accident or shot.  It is the city’s trauma center.

Traffic accident and shooting victims.  That is who ends up at Grady.

I found the Emergency Room but didn’t know where to park.  I saw a police woman sitting in her patrol car near the entrance.

“Can you help me?   My husband has been in an accident and I don’t know where to park!”   There was no doubting my hysteria was mounting.  She had to have heard this several times a day.  Calling Eddie my husband was something I had done of late.  It was just easier than trying to explain our domestic-partner arrangement that stemmed from my stupid hang ups about getting married again.

“Honey, you just pull over there by the curb.  Don’t worry about your car.  I won’t let anything happen to it.”

Oh My God.  A wonderfully, sweet, African-American, mother.  The angel I needed at that exact moment.

I parked and ran into the ER.  It was bedlam.  And yet, people just seemed to part as I made my way up to the information desk.  I could not have been more out of place here.  They looked at me as if I were a unicorn that had suddenly appeared out of thin air.

“Edmund James.  My name is Lisa Erbes.  I’m here for Edmund James.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Just one minute.”

Instantly a woman appeared at my left side.

“Ms. Erbes?  I am xxxxx, the social worker who called you.  Come with me.”

She took my arm and led me down what seemed to be the longest hall ever created.  All the doors on either side were closed.  We didn’t talk.  Finally, she opened a door and led me in.

It was like a doctor’s waiting room.  A couple of lamps, a sofa, a few uncomfortable chairs.  But it didn’t seem to lead anywhere.  It was just a room.

Out of nowhere she had a clipboard and she started asking me questions.

For some reason, I didn’t ask her any questions.  My brain was shutting down.  I knew what was coming but my brain wasn’t about to process it.  So, I did the only thing I could do.  I answered her questions.

Next of kin?

Insurance?

Was anyone else coming to be with me?  Why the FUCK did she keep asking me that?

Finally, I managed to ask a question.

“Where did it happen?”

“The police will come in shortly to tell you what happened.  It was on 75, I think.”

Oh, God.  No.

Then a man who looked every bit like a hospital chaplain walked in followed by the doctor.

The chaplain sat on my left.  The social worker was on my right.  The doctor pulled a chair up in front of me.  They seemed to be very close to me.

Just as the doctor opened his mouth to speak Barb burst into the room.

I remember being annoyed by her timing.  But all of my focus was on the doctor.  I refused to take my eyes off of him.  I will never forget him.  If I saw him this minute in a grocery store, I would know him.  Everything about him is tattooed within my brain.

But I don’t remember all of his words.  Except for these –

“The paramedics did everything they could.  They worked on him the whole way here.  But we were unable to resuscitate him.”

And then I lost my mind.

And I know why I was in a secluded room, down a very long hallway.  Hopefully, no one will hear you there.

Instant denial.  This did not happen.  They had the wrong person.  Eddie was not dead.  He was injured and probably seriously, but he was not dead.  I made sure every person in that room knew they were wrong.

The chaplain wanted to pray with me and I am certain I was rude to him.  I wanted to talk to the police.  I wanted to know what happened.  The police would confirm that they had all made a horrible mistake.

At some point I must have calmed down or simply worn myself out.  I remember feeling like a caged animal, pacing back and forth, making the most inhuman, insane sounds.  I only had two thoughts running through my head.

I needed to see him.

And I needed to call Jonathan, his brother.

At this point time became non-existent.  Various people came and went.  At some point I realized my other sister, Andi, was there.  I remember seeing my two brother-in-laws.  The Atlanta police officers who had been on the scene were there.  I am sure they must have told me some details of the accident but nothing was being processed.  

I needed to talk to Jon.  I became obsessed with talking to him.  We were so far in the bowels of Grady that I had no phone signal.  My brother-in-law, Norman, offered to walk outside with me to see if I could get a signal to call Jon.

I finally reached him and I have no idea how I managed to tell him that his brother was dead.  They had just found each other after nearly 20 years apart.  They had just shared their first Thanksgiving since childhood together at our house.  And now, the older brother, who he worshiped, was dead.

I was sobbing and finally, Norman took the phone from me.  Jon was coming.  He would be here in a few hours.  That was all I cared about.  I just needed to be with Jon.

Finally, they were ready for us to go see him.  This is the only part of the whole night that I remember in vivid detail.  It plays in my head like a movie – as if I were completely detached and walking to one side, holding the camera.

I remember following a nurse down the hall and into the real emergency room of Grady.  There were people everywhere and it struck me how much it was like “ER” on TV.  People laying on gurneys in the hallway.  Nurses and doctors moving quickly from room to room.  Organized chaos.

My family followed as the nurse led me to a room.  And there he was.

Sleeping.

He was covered in sheets up to his shoulders.  He was perfectly clean.  There was a tiny scratch on his right cheek at about the spot where his glasses would have been.

He looked perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  He was sleeping.  Just as I had seen him sleeping hundreds of times.

I stood at his left side and stroked his hair.  I whispered in his ear over and over again that I loved him.  And then I looked up and asked for scissors.

“I need scissors!!”

My family looked shocked - but of course they did.  They were in as much shock as I was with the added fear that I was going to lose my mind and stab myself or someone else with the scissors I was so insistent on getting.

The nurse was professional and calm.  “I’ll get them.”

She was gone for only an instant.  She walked over to me and said, “I have to do it.  You want his hair, right?”

“Yes.”

She cut several locks of his amazingly, beautiful, white, hair.  “I’ll put this in a bag for you.”

I went back to stroking his hair and telling him I loved him.  I kissed him as gently as I could on his forehead, eyes and cheeks.

Again, time did not exist.  I have no idea how long we were there.  I heard a conversation at some point about a funeral home and an autopsy and his clothes, boots, jacket.  I think I must have answered some questions about these details but I have no recollection about any of it.

I just needed to keep telling him that I loved him.  Over and over and over - "I love you".

I don’t remember leaving that room or how I got home.  Jon arrived from Montgomery.  Once I finally saw him, I switched everything off.  I know I called Adam, Eddie’s partner and best friend.  I may have called others or maybe I just told someone who to call. 

At some point I was in our bed clutching his silver bracelet that had been broken off his wrist by the paramedics and the t-shirt he had slept in the night before.  I held both of those items well into the next day.  Finally Barb convinced me to let her take the bracelet to the jeweler to get it fixed so I could wear it.  Otherwise I might lose it.  I remember not wanting to trust anyone with it.  What if I never got it back?

Hours later it appeared on my right wrist entwined with its exact twin.  The identical bracelet he had given me.  They have only been off my wrist twice in four years.

Eventually I started acting like a living person.  I made decisions and discussed plans with Jon and others.  Sometimes I would talk on the phone – which never seemed to stop ringing and saw people who came to the house but I have no idea who I spoke to.  Even though I was going through the process of handling the logistics of death, my brain was stuck in one place.

I just kept thinking about that day.  And how it had all felt wrong.

And about the last words we said to each other.

“Do you love me?”

“More than you will ever know.”

I do know, Eddie.

I do know.

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Prologue:
It seems fitting that with this post "Living Lurleen" will be retired.  I began this blog as a means to cope with the loss of my soul mate and best friend.  It has served its purpose perfectly.  Using this venue to express the multitude of emotions over the last four years has been more productive than any type of psychotherapy - and a lot cheaper.

It amazes me daily how this blog has seemed to touch so many people - some quite close and others whom I have never met - all over the globe.

At this point, continuing "Living Lurleen" only serves to keep me and Lurleen in one place.  And while we are quite comfortable here sharing this journey, I know it is necessary to look in other directions for inspiration and knowledge.

Eddie is as much a part of me now as he ever was.  That will never change.  My love for this great man truly is eternal.

For all who have followed as I've navigated through the grief, I want to thank you for all the comments, emails, phone calls and feedback.  It truly means so much to me that you have cared enough to take the time to read.

I will continue to blog as I have finally found the perfect form of expression for me.  I've been writing all my life and always will.  This site will remain active and a new one created.  Stay tuned for the rest of the story.

Love,
Lurleen