About two months after Gordie died, the investigation into how he died came
to an end. The Sergeant in charge
of the investigation called me and told me he and the Coroner were ready to
meet with the family. I asked him
for a preview of what they would tell us.
He told me that they had ruled out homicide but had no other
answers. They were unable to
figure out exactly how Gordie got into the pool on that day in March and why he
was not able to get out.
I hung up
the phone and screamed into my pillow.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Nobody knows why I lost my husband? Nobody can tell me how my young sons lost their Dad?
I grabbed my running shoes and told my
Mom I needed to run.
As I was running the tears streamed down my face. It seemed like the only thought in my
head matched the rhythmic sounds of my feet hitting the pavement.
How did he die?...How did he die?...How did he die?
I was so angry and so frustrated and
all I could do was run. I wanted
to throw myself down on the sidewalk and scream, kick, and pound like a
toddler. But I just ran. Hard.
As I was making my way back home, I realized that I would
have to spend the rest of my life wondering how my husband died. My last thought as I ran up my
parents court was Fuck You God.
