These Past Two Weeks
…offered by Lancaster Rotarian Dave Foulk, April 2020
Last weekend one of our local police officers, out of protocol and courtesy I expect, came to our house to confirm that Kevin’s uncle Steve in northern New Jersey had died. His death was unexpected, though at the age of 85, he was pretty able…and excited to launch the next phase of his life.
He had lost his wife of nearly 60 years last year. No children. And no remaining friends or close family except his nephew Kevin. They had stayed close, and were working on Steve’s upcoming move in June to a great retirement community in southern NJ. Phone calls religiously every Sunday afternoon to talk through and complete arrangements. All a go.
And then two Sunday’s ago Steve didn’t answer the phone. A call to a neighbor confirmed that the car was still there, but no one answered a knock at the door. So, we phoned the local police there for a “wellness check.” Not the first time; once Steve was not answering his home phone because of bombardment by “these damned telemarketers.” When it was really us just calling to check in. We had a laugh over it at the time, and worked out a special hang-up-then-dial-up-then dial-up-again code. He was all Army.
So after gaining access to the house (through a bedroom window), the first responders found him there, slumped at his kitchen table after 2 or 3 days they said. It took almost a week for the coroner’s report, given the extreme burden of activity up there: heart failure.
The following day we drove to literal “ground-zero” of the pandemic in nearby Elizabeth to secure the house and retrieve necessary papers. Absolutely frightening. I will never forget the knot in my stomach. Or what I witnessed. If you’re familiar with the NJ Turnpike to NYC-six full traffic lanes, both north and south each, always clogged with traffic, I counted on one hand the number of other cars we saw the whole way. Mile after mile after mile of uninterrupted, vacant asphalt ribbon. Like an episode of the Twilight Zone.
Of course, on arrival after a 3-hour drive, the spare house key did not work. At first, we were angry that the police had literally left the bedroom window hanging wide open. But it ultimately proved helpful. With the help of a kind neighbor (dressed head-to-toe in mask and gloves, and provided us with same) and his step ladder…well…you haven’t lived fully until you’ve foisted your husband through a window.
Mission accomplished with the help of strangers.
Steve had been cleaning out the house in preparation for his upcoming move. We found new luggage, packed with clothes. And three huge bags of cat food by the kitchen door. Steve and his late wife loved cats and fed them every day from the back stoop of their modest home of 50 years. By the dozen. They will miss him no doubt.
And try to arrange for a funeral in the midst of a pandemic. Uncle Steve finally was interred Tuesday morning at St. Gertrude Cemetery up there. No funeral. No memorial service. No one permitted to attend the burial. The undertaker was kind enough to e-mail a photo of the casket being lowered into the grave.
Fair well Uncle Steve. A devoted husband. A veteran. A public servant in profession. And an all-around great, modest guy…who was ready to start a-fresh as his 86th birthday approached. He deserved the world. And I am thankful to have known him. The cats already miss him too…
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