There's no place like home, right?

Moving day.  Bill was still in the hospital.  With Bill's dad supervising, three of his best buds came and moved all of his stuff from his townhome to my house and to storage.  His friends can only be described in one word that would cover it all...AMAZING!  An assortment, to be sure, but I loved them all.  They all had the same heart.  Maybe it comes from growing up in a small town.  I'm not sure, but gosh...what an amazing group of guys!!!

Bill, eventually came here.  His parents came to visit once he was all moved in and occasionally he got out and about even going to an AA meeting.  One guy walked him out to my car and wanted desperately to be his sponsor seeing how badly he needed it.  It was very sweet. 

There were lots of medicines.  He fell several times because his liver was in critical condition and he was recuperating and weak.  We used my dad's walker from when he had cancer.

One night he fell asleep catywompus in the bed.  Because he was sleeping peacefully, I went and slept with my oldest daughter.  She woke up in the middle of the night wanting juice.  As I went downstairs to get her a drink, I stopped to see if Bill needed anything.  He looked different. 

It was the middle of the night so I thought I might be still asleep.  I rubbed my eyes and tried again.  Again, he wouldn't wake.  I touched his cheek.  He was gone.  I called my mom.  I still didn't realize the reality of the situation.  "I think Bill is dead."  She tells me to call 911.  I call 911.  My mom beats them here (not because they are lame or slow...granny must have BOOKED it over here). The paramedics show up and I am standing at the foot of my bed.  And reality sinks in.  He has been dead a while as rigor has set in.  They ask me to leave the room.  They move him down to the floor.  My mom and I are sitting in the hallway outside my room.  I have two little girls sleeping upstairs.  I had to wake my son downstairs and tell him to let the police in and up (and what was going on). 

My mom calls his parents because I can't.  There is an officer sitting in the hallway with us while police and paramedics stay in my room.  What I didn't know then, because of his age, they had us out in the hallway because I was a suspect.  Not until they found all his medicines, his medical papers, etc.  did they say anything.  That freaked me out.  I understand it, but...wow, really?  REALLY?!

They call the coroner, I guess.  Someone comes over to take the body.  All this time, they have not let me go in there.  They did not let me say good-bye.  I hear the second sickest sound I've ever heard (the first one being my mother-in-law's primortial sound of crying when her husband died). The officer tells us we may want to go into another room because we may not want to see this.  The sound of a body in a plastic bag being carried down my stairs.  If I live my whole life and NEVER hear anything similar to that sound EVER again, it would be good!!!

See, I thought I had already hit my bottom.  I would bury Bill and go through grief counseling.  For days, I would hardly go in the house.  My car was immaculate as I stayed outside as much as I could.  I could handle going into my house only as necessary and for brief periods of time.  I went to work because I couldn't stand being home.  I continued to sleep in my daughter's bed.  Eventually, one day I fell asleep on top of the covers in my bed.  I thought I had my portion of grief that I was alloted for this lifetime