I Wasn’t Ready to Get Off the Merry-Go-Round

We had a whole lot of fun.

If I had to sum up my marriage in one sentence, that would be it.

But the fun ended abruptly and forever on Jan. 11.

Kim and I were out of town on business. After spending the night, I went to the lobby and brought her up breakfast, like I always did.

We left the hotel and did our business obligation. Then we went shopping, ate lunch and went back to the hotel.

 She was so excited about a couple of Mediterranean diet cookbooks she had bought. I left her looking at them to run down in the lobby.

When I returned in 5 minutes, I unlocked the door. For a split second, I thought she was asleep. 

But before I could even walk past her, I knew.

I would never subject you to the pandemonium of the next half hour.

I did everything I could to revive her until the fire department and EMTs got there. Then they did all they could, as did the doctors at the hospital.

While she died suddenly and unexpectedly, I saw signs that day.

She was affectionate while we were shopping. She held my hand. She clasped her hand inside my arm as if I were escorting her.

Her doing things like that were not unusual. So, the fact that I took note of them at the time lets me know subconsciously she knew the end was near; and she was reassuring me how she felt about me.

The odds of her passing away during that sliver of time I was gone are simply incalculable. She had just joyfully finished reading me a recipe when I left.

Again, I think her subconscious flipped the switch to spare me the pain of seeing it happen (even though she passed peacefully).

On New Years Day, I woke up with a terribly sore knee. It hurt to walk. It hurt when my pants touched it. Similarly, I developed what felt like an arthritic pain in a finger.

Neither had improved by Jan. 11.

The morning after she passed, both pains were gone.

That was her telling me she was in a place where she would never feel pain again.

In her obituary, I mentioned that she had a penchant for donkeys.

After we had started receiving friends for about 5 minutes, I looked back and saw a little stuffed donkey sitting on a pedestal next to the coffin.

It wasn’t there when we started, and no one brought it through the line.

I asked on Facebook for the person who sent it to let me know so I could thank them.

I didn’t get a reply.

Please don’t call the men in the little white coats. Somebody’s got to feed these cats she loved so dearly.

This is where the story ends. This is where the merry-go-round stops.

And I was not ready to get off. Not even close.

***

A few notes…

* Grant flew back to New York today, where he lives. I could not have survived the aftermath without his help. We became so much closer over the past few days. I told him all of our stories I could think of. She would’ve killed me for some of them.

• Thank you to everyone for the condolences. I’ve been overwhelmed. Everyone loved Kim, and that is apparent now more than ever.

• If you’re the praying type, please keep Kim’s mother in your prayers. She is justifiably destroyed by this.

• The Cleveland/Bradley Chamber of Commerce established the Kim Currin Art Grant in her memory. If you would like to donate, please make checks payable to the Cleveland/Bradley Chamber Foundation and note Kim’s name in the memo line. Mail to the chamber at P.O. Box 2275, Cleveland, Tenn., 37320.

• Sorry I went long. It’s hard to sum up 40 years in 600 words. This is the last you’ll hear from me for a while. I’m taking a break for an undetermined amount of time.

• Thank you so much for your support since the first time you saw my picture and thought, “Who is this yahoo?” And thanks to the editors at the papers who thought the same thing.

• Since Kim would’ve wanted me to leave you with one of my famous zingers, here goes:

Don’t wait until you stop bawling to hug your person.

Don’t wait even 5 minutes.