Dazed and confused

Once I was back being by myself after everyone had left on Sunday, the feelings of being dazed and confused surfaced. I still couldn't believe he was gone. I knew that I had many tasks to accomplish—deal with the mortuary, deal with Social Security, deal with his credit card company, try to write an obituary. I decided I needed to do one thing at a time, one day at a time until the tasks were complete.

I phoned the mortuary Monday morning and arranged to come down and complete the paperwork for his cremation. My friend, Florence, had come to my aid as I found it impossible to deal with the mortuary while he was still alive, even though I knew it was something that had to be done. Florence was a godsend—she downloaded all the paperwork from the mortuary's web site, filled out all the forms, then emailed them to me. All I had to do was print them, sign them and take them to the mortuary. I printed them on December 23rd, but because he had started really fading, I didn't contact them that day, and of course, as we all now know, he passed away the next day.

I phoned Carl, told him about the appointment at noon. He said he'd take me and stay with me during the whole time. I had used this same mortuary when our friend Victor died, but this time it felt different. It wasn't just a friend this time; it was Dennis. Surprisingly, I got through the ordeal without breaking down, though I did have a few sniffles. Afterwards, Carl and I went to lunch. I suggested BJs, a family-owned restaurant that I used to frequent when the office was only two blocks away. I had gotten to know the owners, Nasser and Reem, a young couple just starting out. I wanted to go there so I could pass along the news about Dennis, but unfortunately, they were closed between Christmas and New Year's, so we found another restaurant nearby and ate. One task down.

Tuesday morning I phoned Social Security, using all his numbers as if he were the person calling. When the lady finally answered (after I had gone through voice mail hell), she said, "Is this Mr. Healy?"

"No, my name is Rick Bradford. I am calling to report that Mr. Healy passed away last week. I was his domestic partner for the past 30 years. I'm hoping you can tell me whether this phone call is all that I have to do."

"First, let me express my condolences, Mr. Bradford. Once I take the information from you, that will be all that you have to do."

I gave her the details; I could hear her keyboard through the earpiece. This went on for about ten minutes, she expressed her condolences again and that was it. Not as bad as I thought it would be. Two tasks down.

I then went and broke my own rule—one task per day. Since the call with Social Security went so well, I decided I'd call his credit card company and ask for the paperwork for the insurance to pay off his balance. The call went about the same way it had before—they expressed condolences and told me I'd have the paperwork within ten business day. All I had to do was follow the instruction in the cover letter that would accompany the forms. I know this will sound a bit devious, but when Dennis had been diagnosed with ALS, I knew in the back of my head that I didn't really care what he did with his credit card, I'd use the insurance that you're required to carry and pay for on the card. I had filed a claim when Victor died, as he had no money to pay off his card. That's what insurance is for, why not use it? Three tasks down.

Wednesday morning and it's time to call about his life insurance. Once again, I was pleasantly surprised at how compassionate the people were on the other end of the phone. I guess the fact that it's just two people talking instead of a total corporate environment that makes the difference. They also told me that I'd receive the paperwork within ten business days. Four tasks down.

Thursday morning turned into the most difficult of the tasks—writing his obituary. At first, I sat in my chair in the living room with a pad of paper and a pen. It practically flowed out of me onto the paper. I emailed it along with a photo to the San Francisco Chronicle (the Bay Area's largest newspaper) and to the Bay Area Reporter (BAR), a weekly paper aimed at the gay community. Even though it was the same obituary, the Chronicle charges for it, it's free in the BAR. It follows:

Dennis J. Healy – February 2, 1951 to December 24, 2010

"Dennis Healy, one of the gentlest and sweetest men you could ever hope to meet, lost his battle to ALS and left this earthly plane on Christmas Eve. It was a peaceful passing, in his home with his partner of 30 years, Rick, holding his hand. The last words he heard were “I love you.” He took his last breath seconds later. He is survived by his partner Rick Bradford, two sisters – Sandie Bohnenstiehl and Eileen Pulker of Franklin, MI, one brother – John Healy of Apache Junction, AZ, his son Aragorn Healy of San Francisco, and his grandson Calvin. He also leaves behind many relatives and extended family from the San Francisco Pool Association, of which he was a member for 26 years, holding numerous 8-ball tournament wins. His ready smile and gentle nature will be missed by everyone who knew him."

Needless to say, to this day, I still do not know how I wrote it, because it took me more than a month before I could read it without weeping and not making it through the entire text. It appeared in the December 31, 2010 issue of the Chronicle and in the January 6, 2011 issue of the BAR.

"His ready smile and gentle nature" is really missed by me.