The end of the world as we know it

[rolanni]

For those who missed the news, Steve died, very suddenly, last night.  He had gone down to the basement where we're accustomed to walk every day for a figure-8 mile or two, which was our Plan for Keeping Fit through the Maine winters.  He was, he said, going to finish up his daily laps.  I told him, as I often did, to "have a good walk!"  and he answered, cheerfully, as he often did, "I will have a good walk!"

Finishing up the laps should have taken about a half-hour, but I was writing and not keeping track of time, so it was close onto an hour when it occurred to me that I hadn't heard him come upstairs, announcing to the house that he had achieved both heart-points and steps!

I walked back to his office, thinking he might've slipped past me, but he wasn't there.  I went downstairs.

Steve was face down on the floor, and he wasn't breathing.  I called 911, the operator walked me through getting him turned over and starting CPR, which I kept up until a policeman arrived, closely followed by EMTs, firefighters, and life-saving persons of all orders.  They labored for . . . I'm not quite sure, really.  A Long Time.  In the end, having hit him with everything they had, they just couldn't get his heart to beat on its own.

After the EMTs left, I waited, in the company of the policeman and the City of Waterville's chaplin.  I called my brother-in-law in Maryland to tell him the news, and asked him to call the rest of Steve's family.  The policeman called Steve's cardiologist, and got his agreement to sign off on the death certificate, which meant we didn't have to wait another Long Time for the medical examiner.  After a slightly Less Long Time, the funeral people came and took Steve away.

And here we are.

I was "with" Steve Miller for 47 years, many years past half of my lifetime.  During our time together, he saved my life several times, taught me to write, provided me with adventures -- some, to be sure, inadvertent -- with cats, with enthusiasm, and courage.  He was proud of me; he liked taking care of me; and from the first he was unabashed and generous in his love.  He was an original thinker, and bouncing ideas around with him -- whether we were trying to figure out dinner or the plot of the next novel -- was a rare intoxication.

If I said he was a perfect angel, no one will be believe that -- least of all me.  What he was, was a good person, who tried his best to be kind, who genuinely liked people, and had the gift of making lasting connections.

I want to go back to what I said up there, about Steve liking to "take care" of me.  The walking course in the basement?  Steve created that when I was recovering from cancer, and was gritting my teeth and pushing myself to walk in circles around the main floor of the house, trying to get my strength back.  The basement was cool and sheltered; I could sit down if my strength suddenly ran out -- and he could keep an eye on me.  Ahem.  It was only one of the many gifts of, "Let me make this easier for you" that he gave me -- and us -- during our time together.

And yesterday's event, as much as I wish it had never happened, was, in its way, one last gift of ease, if not comfort.  Steve had seen both of his parents go into  slow declines, ending in hospice care, and he had a horror of being in a similar situation.

As far as I can understand it, yesterday's event was one quick bolt out of the blue after a perfectly usual day of writing, correspondence, plans for bringing a new cat into the house, and more plans of what he wanted to do -- tomorrow.

I am not at all happy to have lost him, but I am happy that he was spared the decline he feared.

One more note:  People have been asking me How I'm Doing.  I'm trying to understand what happened.  I'm trying to gather up various paperworks, as one must. I have the passwords to both his computers, so that makes doing needed tasks much easier -- again.  I've been sticking pretty close to my desk in my office, because that's . . . usual.  Our days were Steve at his desk, me at mine, a chat-window open in the margin for random observation, news of interest, cat reports, and questions about what might be for supper.  So, sitting here at my desk is . . . a breathing space, when I can forget for a few minutes that he's not sitting at his.

The chat-window, though, is dark.

Thanks to everyone who sent -- who are sending! -- condolences.  I can't possible answer all of you individually.  Your love and support means a lot.

 

 

Comments

[vivdunstan]

So very sorry. {{Virtual hugs}} That is a lovely tribute you've written. Thinking of you.

Thinking of you

[estara]

Wishing you well.

[reedrover]

My heart to you.

[autopope]

I'm really sorry.

May his memory be a blessing.

[nolaviz]

I have no words. Great sadness.

My deepest condolences.

He will be remembered fondly by all FoL.

[rdm]

I am so very sorry.

Deepest Sympathies

[wiisty]

My thoughts and sympathies are with you. I appreciate the details.

Thank You for sharing this post with us.

[leecetheartist]

Thank you for telling us what occurred, James Nicoll informed his dwircle. Know that people in far away places are sad for your loss, and I am one of the many.

[ashareem]

My heart is breaking for you and your families.

[ckd]

Holding you in my thoughts and heart.

[terrio]

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Condolences

[milliecy]

Hello Sharon,

Please accept my sincere condolences. I am so sorry to hear the news of Steve's passing. Thank you for telling us what happened.

I treasure the memories of meeting both of you in person at BookCon at the Javits Center in NYC many years ago.

- Millie C-Y

[jessie_c]

I'm sitting here, crying for a man I never met, yet whose words I've loved for years. I prescribe much cat therapy for you in the coming days.

My condolences

[summerhopes]

I'm very sorry to hear of your loss.

Thank you to you both for the years of joy your writing have provided.

Sadness

[(Anonymous)]

So sorry for your loss.

Condolences

[(Anonymous)]

Thinking of you. May happy memories comfort you in days ahead. I recently heard/read that those we love are not gone, they live on in the stories they told and the stories we tell about them. Steve, therefore will live on a long time.
Dorena Montgomery, Anchorage, Alaska

[(Anonymous)]

So very, very sorry. My thought and prayers be with you
Peggy

Sorry for your loss

[(Anonymous)]

My thoughts are with you. It is not easy to be the one left behind. I wish you strength and patience in your time of need. May you find every day something - no matter how small - to enjoy and treasure, something that helps you remember the joy of living.

Thank you for those many books and stories from you and Steve – they helped me to bring back and hold onto joy again after my own loss.

Just following your blog over the last few years, I saw you sharing and enriching each other’s life, so much care, so much passion for life, cats and writing. The weakness of one seemed always to be balanced by the strength of the other. Thanks for sharing all those memories of your live with Steve.

[michaelboy]

We are all placed here so lightly. I am sorry for the loss of your partner and for all the difficulties in figuring out all that which you once did together.