Last week Gary went to Boston on business. Years ago I could have bet that if anything was going to go wrong it would happen when Gary went out of town. I’m not talking about little things like, “Oh darn, we’re out of milk, whatever will we do for breakfast?” But big things like, “Why is there a foot of standing water in the basement?” But for the last decade it seemed like that was a thing of the past. Until THIS business trip. On Tuesday night, about 8:30 or so, I got a call from the missionaries. They asked if Gary was home and I said no, he was in Boston. They said, “We’re in Commerce City, and there are some police cars at the Lxxxxx’s house. And the coroner’s wagon just left.”
I got a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was the home of our friend Dave L. Dave is the same Dave I wrote about a few months ago, who married Marti when she was on her death bed, Marti who died shortly after they were married. We’d been keeping in touch, of course, especially Gary. Gary spoke with him on the phone nearly every day, and stopped by to see him a couple times a week. Dave was struggling to get on with his life, was having occasional good days and more than his share of bad ones. He’d used some of the insurance money to get an ATV, he was looking forward to getting out and using it. We’d had him over for dinner, because other than that he mostly just ate stuff out of the freezer.
Anyway, I called Gary and told him what they’d said and he told me he’d call me back as soon as he could find someone to go over and see what had happened. About twenty minutes later, he called back and with a catch in his voice, said, “He’s gone.” I was stunned. Once the dust settled and the coroner’s report came back we learned that Dave had had a massive heart attack.
As a result, we had houseguests from Missouri for a few days (Dave’s brother John and his wife Colette, who used to be in our ward years ago) plus their daughter who drove over from Provo. They came to help clean out Dave’s home and to plan the funeral. It was surreal, sitting in the chapel of the same little building where I had sat only a few months ago for Marti’s services.
The morning after the services John and Colette left for Missouri and their daughter left for Provo. We have a few of Dave’s household items scattered here and there around the house, and when I see them I will think of Dave and the difference he made to us, the lesson he taught us about unselfish love and devotion to the woman he adored. Yes, I will always think of how much he loved his Marti. And how it’s possible to die of a broken heart. Of course there are those who will say that this was just a matter of a man who had a heart attack. Whatever.
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