I feel dead. He is at peace now, or at least I choose to think so.

One never knows of the after life until he himself has expired.

Superst.i.tion and blind hope forced me to pray that he would live and be normal. To be comatose or paralyzed would be worse than death. It's funny; he felt so strongly that his purpose in living had not yet been fulfilled, and he had a zest for life to one day find that which would (in his mind) fill that commitment to life. I once again found that my beliefs were true; prayer does not help those things over which we have no control. It is a formal way of hoping.

Strange as it may sound to individuals who cling so desperately to life that they will torture themselves for one more breath, I wish I could have died before anyone else in my family. That, you see, is a coward's way out of mental duress. This is by far the worst blow ever driven into me; if one was to sum up the worst possible occurrence to give to me, fate couldn't have picked a riper apple. It's not that I don't care for others. . . but Norm was special to me.

I also hate to see Mom and Dad so terribly wracked with pain. Not one child has been left unscathed by bad luck, while some families live a storybook life or screw up their lives out of their own stupidity.

There is no such thing as justice in life. There is no equality or fairness. It is a fragile world, and so many seem bent on self-destruction while Norm simply wanted to live in harmony.

Only yesterday I was lamenting my inability to do things alone. I'm scared to go on walks, etc. . . especially now that I feel at a rather low ebb physically. Now I must do things on my own or not do them at all. And it's not the doing, but the mutuality of sharing a joke, a glance, or idle conversation. He won't be there, and he will be so horribly missed. I hope you have found your ultimate peace, Norm.

I woke up this morning to the sound of harsh, uneven gasps of breath.

I thought Norm was having a bad dream, so I hurried to his room, only to find him on the floor; his chest and waist were along his bed and his legs were tangled in the bedsheets. I shook him and yelled his name, but no response was made. After several sputtered expirations of air, he seemed to attain an unearthly calm. I suddenly thought, "this may not be just a bad dream.". . . he wouldn't wake up. I ran downstairs at 6:20 A.M. and told Mom... she woke Dad and they went upstairs. He still was the same and I dashed for the phone and dialed 911 . . . they were here in five minutes. I kept flicking the yard light as they approached our house. . . a crew of two paramedics and later two policemen. All the while before they arrived, Mom and Dad were administering CPR... they took him out on a stretcher, still in the same state. I believe that I witnessed his last breath.

I lost my touchstone.

Dad kept saying, "can you believe this?" I was shaking violently, still in my nightgown. I felt as if my bowels wouldn't hold. Mom was so worried about covering him up as they left the house; he wore only his bottom half of his sweats. His arms were dangling over the side of the stretcher as he was carried through the doorway... the paramedic told Mom not to worry, that the main thing was to get him to the hospital.

As I was dressing I felt disgust within myself at my concern to put on my make-up. Why should I care what I look like? We were taken to a small room to wait, it was cooler. I had to use the bathroom. A woman was there with us most of the time. . . to console us or help in case we "went off the deep end."

I still hoped that with the technically high developments, they would revive him. They worked and worked; Dr. Murrell said it was very bad.

Later he came in again and said that he was gone. I was thinking that I'd be asking him how it felt to be gone and then revived. What pa.s.sed through his mind? I never got the chance. I wonder if Norm knew I was trying to wake him. Perhaps that which comes after earthly existence was so sweet that he chose not living. Maybe it's that good.

I hope so. For Norm.

I felt as if I had been reduced to a pulp after a calamitous beating, yet I could walk, talk and seemed to answer in a relatively normal fashion. My insides felt like so much lead; I felt dead, bereft of all poignant senses. Weak-kneed, we headed toward the parking lot, leaving Norm's body on the operating table. There would be an autopsy. . .

none of us wished to see him again before they removed his corneas.

I didn't want a blue-lipped memory of Norm, color had drained from his lips while he was at home.

Mom and Dad had to begin making arrangements for his cremation and his memorial service. I chose to remain at home and alone in the house.

I promptly sat down and wrote page after page of my feelings, needing to express myself with a certain degree of permanence afforded by written words. It was as if I felt panic stricken that I might forget a facet of Norm if I didn't capture everything now. Finally, exhausted, I decided to go upstairs. Hesitant to relive the mornings events, I climbed the stairs and looked about. It seemed so empty, so utterly lifeless. . . the sun was obscured by gray clouds which multiplied the lonely effect. Had Norm been alive, the place would have simply been a room. Now it took on a character of its own, as if a bloodless ghost sought to haunt my mind with idiotic schemes. Reality hits hardest when loneliness sets in. I didn't a.s.sociate G.o.d with loneliness; the two were separate, and to bond them would have been inconceivable.

G.o.d did not forsake me. I am part of Nature... this is natural, as is my grief.

I began to straighten the furniture which had been hurriedly displaced to facilitate a wider exit with the stretcher. Looking at the tangled ma.s.s of bedsheets sprawling about the floor, I determined to change the bedding, and thus save Mom some of the stress. I felt like a mechanical man, functioning precisely as I'd done countless times before; doing menial tasks brought no comfort. . .

it only helped to pa.s.s the day.

My thoughts raced... I began to fantasize... would they think I was guilty... would I be suspect as in a murder case... when they said he was gone, I had felt relief, for I knew he had been without oxygen far too long. I thought about his corneas given to Iowa City... how would he see... how ridiculous to think that...I thought about how safe I had always been with Norm as my "guard" . . . now he was gone . . .

the daily excursions, the trips to Amana, Wild Cat Den, Loud Thunder, Davenport, Credit Island, the boat races, sailing on the Mississippi, even the winter picnics... all over now.

Norm was an ultra-sensitive person, not only self-sensitive, but caring for others. He had an acute awareness with regard to feelings, and seemed to know when to simply let be. It was a quality that few possess. . . a quality that few understand. It was this quality that made Norm so easy to be around. He didn't demand the full capacity of one's attention; he was personable and low-key; he allowed one to relax.

Every facet of his life mirrored his goal of inner serenity. He often spent time alone, walking for miles to attain physical and mental calm.

Meditation was also becoming a valued discipline in his daily routine.

I am glad that I was given the opportunity to develop such a close relationship with Norm through the pa.s.sage of time in which I was growing into the person I am now. He played an integral part in my life, and I feel somehow linked to him in an undefinable bond. Our sharing and understanding for one another spanned the seemingly trivial nature of a common joke to the mind-searching questions for which there are no answers. To say that he could be replaced is mere folly. Only once in a lifetime can one share so much. I am fortunate to possess the memories; I only regret having to end the making of memories so soon. We were two loners with a common bond.

Now I am one loner, alone.

Jan. 24, 1984... I am fatigued... it took two hours to fall asleep. I was thinking, and I was scared that I'd have awful nightmares. I kept seeing him lying on the floor, and I was at first so certain that he was only having a nightmare. We could've had a stroke of luck like that...I woke at 6:20 A.M., the time that yesterday morning I awoke so lightening fast to the sound of uneven breathing. I went to the bathroom, then lay in bed until 8:00. I didn't seem to have much use for sleep.

So many people have come today with food and the plants are also numerable. Janet sent me a red rose, shortly afterward she appeared in person. Kristi even called from Cedar Rapids. So many care.

Todd, Debbie and Sharon arrived near noon, before that time, I'd tried on Norm's shirts and discovered they looked better than many of my own.

I will be keeping the newer or nicer ones. It's a comfort to have his things near me. I changed the sheets on my bed because Sharon will be in my room throughout the duration of the week.

The radio-tape player that Norm ordered arrived today (UPS). I felt so sorry for the delivery man. He knew Norm. Todd called the doctor who performed the autopsy on Norm. He said death was caused by a left coronary occlusion, which is a heart attack via a blood clot. Because of the location. . . the upper left side of the heart. . . death occurs suddenly. Even if he had had a check-up it was not felt that the problem would have been readily identifiable. It was also something that would have been fatal if he'd been in the hospital at the time it occurred. Death is final within one or two minutes of the initial attack. This was most likely a gradual situation which would not be apparent to the afflicted individual. Every indication is masked, so gradual is the effect. Norm's organs were said to be over the normal weight due to ama.s.sed blood; the heart was not pumping efficiently enough to flush out the blood and therefore it clung to the tissues of the various organs.

I felt so relieved that an actual cause was found. I kept thinking rather accusingly of the Agoraphobia tapes. I also wondered if he'd had a dream in which he died, and then as a reaction to subconscious thought, the body began the death process. It's always been horrid for me to remain without the facts. I derive a sense of satisfaction from knowing the truth, or at least the truth as best one knows it to be.

I feel, at last, that I have attained a certain degree of peacefulness.

Norm was and always will be a part of me, so great was our degree of sharing and mutuality. His companionship is gone forever, and yet the feeling of oneness shall endure through time and into the furthest reaches of eternity. Our being of opposing s.e.xes enhanced the relationship. I lived for Norm and to be with him. In myself, I see him. My actions. . . my thoughts. . . are not manifestations of togetherness, but rather a singular uniqueness shared by us/we two.

Jan. 25, 1984... I carried the inner peace with me for the entirety of the day. After breakfast I fed the bird, and then shut myself up in my old bedroom to write Norm's eulogy. I had written approximately half of it when Rev. Hess came. He's a good guy, and easy to talk to. He's the first minister I've ever encountered who admitted that religion is a personal thing with some people, and that one can accept other's viewpoints without compromising his own beliefs or criticizing conflicting views. I read aloud the parts of my writing which I had completed. He will read my final copy on Sat.u.r.day. I elected not to do so for dual reasons: I am nervous in front of crowds, under the circ.u.mstances, the nervousness would be worse.

After lunch, Steve and I went to Wild Cat Den. There was a fresh cool breeze blowing. I missed Norm, yet memories were sweet. It was good to get out of the house and into the wind. We dropped off my film and mailed my photo entry.

Jan. 26, 1984... I think that too little time spent alone is taking its toll. I went upstairs and I listened to my tape and another alb.u.m; then I dug out the note which Norm wrote me when I was in Greece.

Jan. 27, 1984... So well do I recall the day in which we rode in black limousines to the cemetery. It seemed to me a ghastly promenade in the midst of such grand January weather; I felt myself to be an actor in some morbid sideshow in which I was to don my most lamentable countenance so as to better give casual onlookers the expected performance. Instead, I chose to focus my eyes upon my knees, where they remained riveted until we motored into the graveyard in our stately, yet somber vehicle.

Everything within me screamed and rebelled when we once again were instructed to issue into our allotted seat for the return trip. The entire essence of the black limousines seemed to me a gruesome ritual of bygone ages. My sorrow was not an emotion which I desired to splash among the city streets with an air of pomp and circ.u.mstance; it was grief as personal and private as those thoughts I shared exclusively with Norm and my ever-true notebook. To ride thus seemed to make a mockery of that which was actually taking place, becoming an event rather than the tribute to a deceased and beloved individual.

"G.o.d needed Norm in heaven with him," was a phrase spoken to attempt to comfort us. Some try to see a purpose in all things. . . a way to make them less hurtful. Others view death as the ultimate "bad thing" yet need to justify G.o.d's love by saying that "it was all for the best."

Then there are those who say, "G.o.d gives you pain because He knows you will grow stronger." Boy, that makes me want to run to a church and shout "Praise the Lord!"

It is difficult to know what to say to someone who has suffered a loss.

It is painful enough to visit, to witness the anguish. It is more difficult to bring comforting and meaningful words to the grief-stricken. Can one praise G.o.d for His kindness and love when the situation is nothing but grim and senseless? Statements must also be chosen that do not somehow suggest the mourner is to blame, that had he done something differently, the outcome would have been altogether reversed. Awareness of ones self and others helps immeasurably during a confrontation with adversity, for among the numerous reactions to a given situation, mutual respect is of foremost importance. Everyone reacts differently.

I hope Norm has found peace. He certainly deserves a sojourn of tranquility. His tapes of Meditation and ESP came today in the mail.

Mom and Dad have received 120 cards so far! It's unbelievable how many are concerned and respond.

Jan. 28, 1984... It was rather a madhouse today, as a carload of relatives popped in unexpectedly near lunch time. I escaped to my upstairs room before it was time to go to the Memorial Service. I couldn't bear the commotion on the main floor. The limousine once again brought us to the church. It was hard to remain composed as I walked into the church and found my way to the parlor. I brushed my hair in a nearby restroom and then returned to wait for the service to begin. I was scared for what the service might be, my only knowledge of memorials being the bleak hopelessness so common to funerals.

Rev. Hess delivered the formalities in a manner far from depressing.

He read several scriptures including the congregation in one; there were three hymns also sung with the congregation. He read, also, the poem "Birches" by Robert Frost, and then my contribution to the service. After the service we filed out, utilizing the center aisle just as we had entered the sanctuary.

We formed a receiving line to greet those who were at the service. It was unbelievable to see the mult.i.tude of people who came to pay their respects to Norm and the family. It seemed as if the line would never end. Mrs. Griffin (Kathy) brought me two gla.s.ses of water during the reception to keep me fairly cool. Nevertheless, I sweated profusely; by the end of the line, my hairline was soaked and I was thoroughly fatigued. It seemed that many found my writings meaningful; moreover, doing so was quite beneficial to me. Many desired a copy of it, so Rev. Hess said he would make some copies and put them in the office.

I hope no one will use any part of the homily for another service; I wrote that for Norm.

Steve was good to return to the church after taking Kim Segura home.

I rode to his house after the service, electing to forego the trip home in the black limousine. Once home, I went to my "old" bedroom to lay down. I couldn't actually sleep, but the rest itself did some good.

The house was crawling with relatives until after supper. Little by little the crowd gradually dispersed, leaving the comparatively small group of the Johnson's, Todd, Debbie, and Mom and Dad. I once again stayed up rather late. We needed to talk.