Send in the Divers

One rainy day at the end of March, there was a message on my voicemail from the Sergeant in charge of the investigation into Gordie’s death.  Suicide had been ruled out but there was otherwise no clue on how Gordie had fallen into the pool and died.  Gordie’s sister was managing the investigation in order to lessen the burden on my plate.  I had my hands full with closing out his life, taking care of the boys, grieving, and helping my sons grieve.  Gordie’s sister was, in his own words, “a pitbull of an attorney”.  She was the perfect person to manage the investigation but the Sergeant would still occasionally call me with updates and questions.

I walked outside of my work building and listened to the message.  The message was simply “can you please call me at your convenience?”

Ugh, I thought.  I probably should not call him back while I am here at work.

I paced around the parking lot, in the rain, for a minute and then I dialed the Sergeant’s number.  I could not help myself.  What if they had figured out how Gordie died?

“Hi Sergeant, this is Staci Ball”, I said.

“Hi Staci.  I wanted to let you know that we are going to bring some divers to the pool at the Estate so that we might better undertand what happened to your husband.”

I was stunned and nearly speechless.

“OK.  When?” I asked.

“Most likely the day after tomorrow.  I am just waiting on confirmation that the diver who has a build similar to Gordie’s is available.

Build similar to Gordie???  Good god, I thought.  I was silent for a minute.

“Staci, you do not have to be there”, the Sergeant said gently. 

“I’ll be there.  Please call me back when you have the confirmed day and time”, I asked before I said good-bye and hung up the phone.

I walked back into work, sat at my desk, and stared at my computer screen.  I did not see what was actually on my computer screen though.  The only visual I could see was the pool at the Estate.    

Threre is no way I can’t be there, I thought.  I am his wife.  I have to be there. 

The date was confirmed for two days later.  That day, I decided to work from home.  I would have had to leave early anyway and I was a nervous wreck.  What in god’s name was this going to be like? 

I tried to distract myself by focusing on my work but I was agitated.  I could not sit still.  My foot was shaking back and forth as I sat with my legs up on my bed, my computer on my lap.  At the top of the lunch hour, I looked outside.  It was raining.  I looked down at my foot.  It was still moving like the tail on a dog.  I put my running clothes on, grabbed my running rain jacket, and headed out for a short run.  No matter how hard I tried to clear my mind and focus on the music coming through my headphones, all I could picture was that pool. 

After my run, I showered, dressed, and did some more work.  When it was time to go to the Estate, I grabbed one of Gordie’s baseball caps, another rain jacket and headed out the door. 

I drove to the Estate in silence.  No radio.  The only sound was the swishing back and forth of my windshield wipers.  I drove through the gates of the Estate and around back to the pool.  Everyone was already there.  The Sergeant, some other Sheriff members, the Divers and Gordie’s family including his Dad, Step-Mom, Sister, Brother, and Step-Dad.  Gordie’s Mom did not come.  It was too much for her.  I don’t blame her.  I don’t think I could watch something like this if it were one of my son’s. 

I walked up to the side of the pool.  The pool cover, which had remained almost entirely off since the day of Gordie’s death, was pulled back to cover the pool.  The Sheriff had marked the place where Gordie’s sunglasses had been found on the side of the pool.  The pool cover in that area was slightly folded back.  There were two Divers in wetsuits.  I studied both of them.  One of them did indeed have a build similar to Gordie.  I looked at the other one. 

Why are there two? I thought.

Then I figured it out.  The second one was there to rescue the first one in case he could not get out.  I felt a wave of nausea flow through my stomach. 

The rain continued to come down.  It was cold and dreary. 

The group from the Sheriff’s office was huddled around the spot where Gordie’s sunglasses had been found.  They talked very, very softly.  I moved closer to whee they were huddled.  I wanted to hear what they were saying. 

The Diver with Gordie’s build was ready to go.  He knelt down in the spot where they thought Gordie had entered the pool.  They had the pool filler thing next to him.  When Gordie had been pulled from the pool, the pool filler that connects to the garden hose had been pulled out of the pool.  It was in there the night before he died because I had seen and heard it when I was down at the pool. It did not sound like it was functioning correctly and I mentioned it to Gordie that night.  The Sheriff, and I, thought that Gordie had most likely finished his run, walked over to the pool, and started working on the pool filler thing and then somehow had fallen into the pool.  The Sheriff believed that he was kneeling down working on the pool filler when something went wrong. 

The Diver paused for a minute after kneeling down and then fell into the pool.  I watched from the side.  He allowed himself to float under the pool cover.  After several minutes, he crawled out of the pool.  The Sergeant and the other Sheriff members swarmed around him, talking quietly.  I strained to listen.

“…..really dark under there....hard to know where you are….disorientating…”  were the only words I could make out.   

Disorientating.  I felt like I was going to throw up. 

I looked up to the sky and closed my eyes. The rain hit my face like cold little needles, mixed with my tears, and slid down my face. 

How the fuck is this real? , I thought.  How did my life become a CSI episode?

After a few minutes, the diver knelt down again and purposely fell into the pool.  Again, he floated under the pool cover and then eventually came out.  He fell in again, and again, and again.  At one point he looked like he was almost trying to hit his head on the side of the pool.   

I just stood there, in the pouring rain, watching this nightmare over and over.  Gordie’s Step Mom came over and offered to share her umbrella.  I shook my head and choked out the words, “I am OK”.  She rubbed my arm and walked back to Gordie’s Dad.  I think she sensed that I wanted to stand by myself.

Then, the Diver climbed out of the water and took off some of his diving gear. They were done.  Gordie’s Sister told him that there was a bathroom in the pool house where he could change.  The Sergeant walked towards me.  Gordie’s family gathered around. 

“We are still unsure of how Gordie fell in the pool.  What we learned today is that it’s possible that it would have been difficult for Gordie to have known where he was under the pool cover, particularly if he was disoriented from hitting his head on the side of the pool which might have been how he got the bruise”, the Sergeant said. 

Gordie’s sister asked some questions.  Gordie’s Dad asked some questions.  I just stared at the pool.  The Diver came out of the pool house and walked over to us.  I looked him in the eye.

“Could you see when you were under that pool cover?” I asked him.

He looked at me for a few seconds before he answered.  “Not very well.  It’s a little dark”, he said. 

“Do you think Gordie did not know how to get out?” I asked, again looking him straight in the eye.

He paused again before he answered.  “I think that it is a possibility”. 

I bowed my head and cried.    

I drove home wet, cold, and devastated.  I could not stop thinking about what Gordie’s final moments might have been like.   Was he in a panic trying to figure out how to get out from under the cover and out of the pool?  Did he know he was dying?  Was he terrified?  Did he suffer? 

I reached my parents’ house, parked my car, ran in the door, down the hallway to the bathroom, and threw up. 

Rumors

Having your husband die in the town where both of you grew up has its upside and downside.  The upside is that if your friends and family still live there, you have the platinum level support system.  The downside is that a lot of people know you, know your husband, and know both of your families.  Another downside for me was that Gordie’s family had been in the area for a long time, including his grandparents, so a lot of people knew them or knew of them.  It quickly became widely known that the cause of Gordie’s death was a mystery.   And people started talking.  Immediately.   

A few days after his death, my sister in law told me that people were whispering “suicide”.  I was livid….for three reasons.  First, Gordie was not the type of person to ever, EVER bail on his kids.  He loved our sons and although he was not a religious man, he praised God for making him a Father.  He would never have caused them, or me, pain by taking his own life.    

Second, Gordie was not a quitter.  Gordie’s perseverance was unmatched, whether it was getting his college degree, figuring out how to do something, or fighting.   It took Gordie 12 years to get his Bachelor degree but he never, ever gave up on trying to get it.   Before Gordie died, he replaced the screen on his mobile phone by himself.  He was determined not to pay to have someone else replace it.  So, after the boys went to bed each night, he would watch You Tube videos on how to replace a screen as he attempted it on his phone.  It went on for weeks.

“Gordie, let’s just pay to get it replaced.  This is ridiculous”, I would say as I sat at the kitchen table watching him with his headlamp on, his teeny tiny screwdriver, his phone and his computer with the You Tube video next to him. 

“Fuck that.  Their price to replace it is ridiculous.  I can do this”, he would say.

He would look up at me, that silly headlamp on his head, and I would just roll my eyes at him and shake my head. 

But, he did it.  He replaced the screen. 

And even though Gordie was never the biggest or strongest guy, if you ask any of his high school and college friends, they will tell you that when it came to fighting, Gordie went to the mat.  He would fight until it was either over or he had gotten the shit kicked out of him.

The man simply did not give up. 

Finally, I was pissed because I worried that Nathan would hear the suicide rumors.  Although Nathan was not even seven and never without adult supervision, it’s unbelievable where adults will gossip:  the schoolyard, the baseball field, the frozen yogurt store.  I was terrified he was going to hear the rumors, which would have absolutely crushed him.  My fear of Nathan hearing these rumors just added fuel to the incredible rage in my body.  I actually told my friends “get the word out that if anyone talks about suicide and Nathan hears it, I will personally track down that person and kick their fucking ass.”  The scary thing is, I was not joking.

I was even worried about the news outlets.  Several days after Gordie died, the Sergeant in charge of the investigation told me that KTVU had called them inquiring if there was indeed a death at the Ball Estate.  The Sheriff’s department would not comment.  I panicked.  People were talking in the town.  What if they talked to the news outlets?  My parents were avid news watchers.  What if there was something on the nightly news when Nathan was playing in the family room?  Nathan could also read.  What if something was published in the newspaper and Nathan saw it somewhere?   The Sergeant assured me that they were handling the investigation with complete discretion.  But as I hung up the phone, I was completely freaked out.  I was already in my running clothes and shoes.  I grabbed my iPod and shot out the door. 

Oh fuck, I thought.  What am I going to do?

My breaths were coming out in short quick gasps.  I was scared.  As I jogged my normal route, I thought about packing up and taking the boys back to Colorado. 

Nobody will be talking about this in Colorado.  The news outlets won’t be sniffing out a story in Colorado, I thought.  We should go back.

That night I got my computer out and checked out houses for sale in Colorado.  But I knew that going back to Colorado and leaving California would have its challenges.  I had a job, my parents, and a fantastic support system in California.  I had a lot of friends in Colorado but not my parents and not a job. 

As the investigation dragged on and the town gossip continued, I started to hide a little bit.  I did not like that people were talking about us.  I felt like all eyes were on us as we walked through our little town.  I worried that we were just so recognizable everywhere we went:  a woman with a six year old holding one hand and a two year old with red hair in the other arm.  And apparently we were.

“Excuse me, are you Staci Ball?”

“Yes."

“I am Diane.  I was at your husband’s funeral.  I know your husband’s family.  Your eulogy was beautiful. I am just so sorry for your loss”

“Thank you”, I said as Wyatt wiggled in my arms and Nathan looked down at his feet.

Believe it or not, this was a regular occurrence for months… at the grocery store, at the toy store, at baseball games, at birthday parties, at restaurants.   I know that people meant well but it was rough on Nathan and on me.  We did not want to be the people everyone recognized because we lost our Dad and Husband.  We did not want to be reminded about his funeral when were were in the yogurt shop trying to have a fun moment away from our nightmare life.   

Fortunately after several weeks, suicide was officially ruled out by the Sheriff’s investigation.  I told my friends to get the word out.  There were also no more calls from news outlets. 

People continued to stop us as we tried to carry on our lives.  We sort of became use to it.  And thank goodness for sunglasses.  They make you feel just a little bit hidden. 

50 Shades of Frustration

“Hey Girl", Jane said as I answered my phone.

“Hi”, I replied.

“How did you sleep last night?” she asked.

“OK.  The pills are helping.  I need a book to read before I go to sleep though…something to help me escape from this nightmare”, I said.

“OK.  Let’s get you a book.  What do you feel like reading?” Jane asked.

“Nothing happy.  No happy romances.  No books about incredible dreams coming true.  None of that shit” I said.

Jane laughed.  “I think I might have the perfect book for you.  Have you heard about the 50 Shades of Grey series?” she asked.

“Nope.  What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s about a romance but it’s seriously twisted.  I think you will love it since you’ve always liked twisted stuff.  I am on the second one and I can barely put it down”, she said. 

“I don’t want to read about a happy romance”, I said.

“Trust me…you will like this and it will help you escape”, Jane said. 

“OK.  Thanks Girl.”

I downloaded the book that night while the boys were eating dinner.  After I put them to bed, I did my typical night routine which was a combination of my compulsively weird Inernet searches on proof of Heaven and the afternlife, some work for Clorox, and some work on closing out Gordie’s life.  It was 10:30pm and time for me to go to bed.  I got ready for bed, got under the covers, grabbed my iPad and started reading 50 Shades of Grey. 

I read for over an hour.  I could not put the thing down.  I had to force myself to put my iPad on my bedstand and turn out my light just before midnight.  I could have read all night.

The next night, and the next night, and the nights after that, I could not wait to get into bed and start reading again.  Jane was right.  This book was the perfect escape from my broken life.  Yes, it was about a romance but it was so fucked up that it completely stopped me from thinking about my own fucked up life.  I loved it....except for one thing.

The book got me totally turned on sexually.  Yep, I am saying it.  Reading about all that crazy sex stuff made me totally hot and the most fucked up thing was that there was nothing I could do about it.  Each night after reading 50 Shades, I would lie in my bed cursing myself for every night where I had given Gordie the brush off.  Just like so many relationships, there were nights during our marriage where I was just too tired, or did not feel good about my body, or was annoyed at him, or where I had to get up early the next morning, so I would say “Not tonight, tomorrow night.”.  And now here I was a widow and desperately in the mood and desperately wanting my husband.  It was beyond ironic.  To this day my advice to people is don’t brush off your significant other too much.  Don’t think you can always have sex tomorrow night.  Because sadly, I learned that there is not always a tomorrow.   

I finished all three 50 Shades books in record time.  To this day I am so thankful to Jane for suggesting the series to me.  I am also so thankful to the author for writing them.  She gave me hours of escape where I would get lost in Christian and Anastasia’s bat shit crazy relationship, miles away from my painful reality. 

One particular night after reading 50 Shades, turning out the light, and lying in my bed totally turned on, I am certain I heard Gordie whisper in my ear…

“Unfucking believable that you are reading these books when I am no longer here to reap the benefits.”

I actually laughed out loud.

Your Ashes Are Ready

Here’s a phone call you never think about getting…ever. 

“Hello?”

“Hi Mrs Ball, your husband’s ashes are ready for pick-up.”

This just gets more and more unbelievable, I thought.

“OK.  Thank you.  I will be there this afternoon”, I said.

I drove to the Mortuary, which ironically was the library when I was growing up, with a slightly sick feeling in my stomach.  I walked in and back to the office.  The Director had my four urns on his desk.  My beautiful cousin, Michelle, owns MemorialGallery.com and had created the most incredible urns for us.  There was one big one with a Raiders logo on it.  That was the urn with half of Gordie’s ashes and it would be placed in a niche (which is basically a wall with compartments) at the cemetery in our town.  The second urn contained the other half of his ashes and was a disposable one so that we could scatter them in a place with special meaning.  The other two urns were tiny little replicas of the big Raiders urn…one for each of my sons.  They had tiny little Raiders logos and an inscription that read:

My Dad

Daddy loves Nathan forever and ever

Each little urn contained a pinch of Gordie’s ashes.  These were for the boys’ rooms.  My Dad’s friend had recommended that we do this.  It was one of those things I would never have thought of on my own and am so glad my Dad’s friend suggested it.  The little urns were perfect.  My cousin had done a spectacular job. 

I was almost afraid of the urns. 

“Um, are the lids on the urns screwed on tight?” I embarrassingly asked.

“Yes”, the Director answered, “they will not come off.  Except on the disposable one that you will be scattering.  Let me show you how it works”. 

He showed me.  Thankfully he did not really open it.  I was not ready to see what was inside.

He put all four urns in a box for me and I carried it out to my car.  I stood next to my car in the parking lot. 

Where do you put urns in a car?  I thought.  The back?  Hmmmm, that seems weird.  The front seat?

I could not believe I was having this conversation in my head.  I finally just put the box on the floor of the front passenger seat. 

I drove like a Grandma as I headed home.  Even though the Director told me that the lids would not come off, I was totally freaked out.  I kept looking at the urns while I was driving to make sure they did not tip over.  As I was sitting at a stop light, I realized that I did not want the big urns at my parents’ house.  I was worried that they would fall off a shelf and break and there would be ashes all over the place….just like the movie “Meet the Fockers”.   I changed direction and headed to the estate where we lived until Gordie died.  Nobody was living there.  Most of our stuff was still there.  I would leave the big urns there.  Gordie loved living at the Estate so I hoped this would be OK with him.

I parked the car in the driveway, carefully lifted the box of urns out of my car and walked up the stairs like I was carrying a newborn baby.  I gently set the box down as I opened the door and turned off the security system.  I picked the box up again and walked into the living room with the giant picture windows that looked out to the beautiful backyard.  The room had a built in bookcase.  I gingerly placed the big Raiders urn and the disposable urn on the bookcase.  I angled the Raiders urn so that the Raiders logo was looking out the window at the backyard.

I am friggin’ nuts, I thought, he can’t see out of the urn.

I sat on our couch and looked at the urn for a long time.

My husband is in there.  My hot, handsome husband with the awesome body is in a jar, I thought.  How is this possible?

I sat on our couch in our old home and cried.  And then I just lost control.  I started screaming…at the top of my lungs. 

NO!  NO!  NO!!!  I hate you God!!!  I hate you God!!!

I ran upstairs and threw myself on our bed.  I buried my nose in his pillow.  It still smelled like him.  I cried ferociously.  After weeks of quietly crying in my bed at my parents’ house, or on my runs, I just let it go.   I was hysterical.  It all came out.  It was the first time that I had really been in a place where nobody could see or hear me.  I laid there for nearly an hour and cried huge, body wracking sobs.  When the crying started to subside, I sat up and noticed a moving box that some of my friends had put sheets and towels in the day after Gordie’s death.  I slowly climbed off the bed and went to the box. The pile of anger in my belly ignited once again.  I kicked the box.  Once.

That felt good, I thought.

I kicked it again.  And again.   And another time.  And then I was kicking the shit out of that box.  It felt so good.  I beat up on that box for a good 10 minutes.  It was almost as therapeutic as a run.  When I was finished, I went to the bathroom, grabbed some tissue, blew my nose and wiped my eyes.  I went downstairs, got the box with the two little urns for the boys, turned on the alarm, and locked the door. 

That night I showed the urns to the boys and placed them on the dresser in the room they were sharing at my parents’ house.  Nathan loved that there was a Raiders logo on it.  I showed him a picture of the big matching urn that I had taken before I left the estate so that he could see it was a tiny replica of the one that would be placed in the niche.  Wyatt, who was age two, had really no idea what the hell the urn was. 

Gordie did not stay long at the estate.  His Mom hated the idea of him alone at the estate so I gave him to her to keep at her house until the niche was ready.  Gordie loved his mom as much as he loved me and the kids so I know he was happy to be at her house. 

A couple of months after he died, the niche was finally ready.  My parents, his family, the boys, and a couple of my close friends met at the cemetery to place him in what I call “the double-wide”.  It was a niche that fits two urns so that the boys could place me next to Gordie someday.  Gordie, who took great pride in driving a pick up truck, wearing a White Trash baseball cap, and hated pretension probably loves that he’s in a double-wide.  The cemetery caretaker opened it up and I tried to place the urn in the compartment. 

Uh oh.  It does not fit.  It’s too tall.     

I looked at our family and friends for help.  Gordie’s brother came over to help.   He was able to wedge it in…kind of tilted.  But it was in.  We could not help but laugh. 

I would not spread the other half of Gordie’s ashes for another year.  His family had originally requested that we spread them at the estate but I realized that was not the most special place to Gordie.  I knew where he would want to be spread.  In the summer of 2013, Gordie’s best friend, Greg, helped me spread the ashes.  I will never say where we did it because it’s probably not really allowed but I know it’s what Gordie would have wanted. 

I never, ever expected human ashes to look like what I saw come out of that disposable urn.   Thank God Greg was with me because it caught me so off guard that I had to take a breath and nearly dropped the urn.  Luckily Greg grabbed it.  We spread the ashes together, said a prayer for Gordie and both shed a tear.   

The boys and I visit Gordie’s double-wide just 2-3 times a year.  The boys hate the cemetery and I totally get it.  What little boy wants to be constantly reminded that his Dad is in a wall, instead of walking next to him?  And every time we visit, I can hear Gordie whispering in my ear as we walk up the path to his double-wide:

Please don’t force them to come here Stace.  I’m not here anyway.