Woe, woe, woe, Mr. Postman
In Friday’s mail came a reminder card, filled out in my own hand, that said “It’s Time for CPR Re-certification.” It tells me that I took CPR training on 10/16/06, exactly 3 months after A had passed. When my boss sent out the e-mail asking for volunteers, I signed right up. I couldn’t help A, but perhaps I would some day be in a position to help someone else, and I didn’t want to be helpless. Again.
It was a tough training to get through, with grief so fresh. I had to work very hard to keep my composure at some points, and at others, tears glistened in my eyes nonetheless. I was glad the lights were low, as I took the training with two of my coworkers and a bunch of strangers.
What I learned there is that unless I’d been standing next to him when he collapsed, there was probably nothing I could’ve done, and had I been, positive results were by no means guaranteed; CPR is a last-ditch effort, and if defibrillation is needed, CPR is largely useless. Even if I’d been at his apartment, the chances of my standing next to him were certainly variable, but I was a state away. Given that I believe that A died of sudden cardiac death, based on the circumstantial evidence that’s been shared with me, he would’ve needed to be shocked, and he didn’t have a defibrillator at his house. He might’ve died as we waited for the ambulance. I remind myself of these horrible facts to keep me from beating myself up with horrible thoughts about how I failed him.
The reminder card took me back, and aback. I don’t really want to think about heart attacks, people dying from heart attacks, or how I was feeling last October. I’m not sure I need to be recertified, although I guess I’ll go if the office offers to send me. Anything to be out of my cubicle for half a day. Then again, maybe not. I’ve been feeling fragile and out of sorts again, and had what was probably a very overdue meltdown Saturday night. I find I can cope for longer and longer periods, but even the less intense grief is cumulative, and eventually must come out. I felt calmer Sunday, but not really “okay.”
This all really is harder on the ones left behind. I know he’s fine. I bet he’s blissful, and that is all I ever wanted for him. I don’t worry about him; I worry about me.