Last month, six weeks after marrying Jeff to my mother, I delivered his eulogy. I have spent my time since then staying with my mom and GRIEVING his loss.
Jeff dealt with a genetic heart condition and had his first heart surgery in his 30s. He had been beating the odds for four decades. So in some ways his passing wasn’t a total shocker, but the timing was cruel.
Two years ago, Jeff had his third heart surgery at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. The procedure was a success and everything had been looking good since. In July, a week after the wedding, his doctors were reviewing the results from his latest routine check-up and spotted something that needed their immediate attention. Shortly after that, Jeff reported back to Boston for his fourth surgery.
I was wrapping up my time on Martha’s Vineyard, MA and heading to Iowa next. My route took me near Boston, so I had planned to spend Friday with my mom until the surgery was over and Jeff was out of anesthesia. The morning of, his surgery was unexpectedly postponed because of The Great Microsoft Outage of 2024. The new timing was uncertain, but the procedure was urgent enough for the doctors to commit that they’d fit him in sometime that weekend.
Instead of spending the day with my mom, I spent a few hours with her and Jeff, walking around the city. I met them in Boston Common by the frog pond. My mom suggested we ride the carousel, but I demurred. Jeff, a perpetual 10-year old, said he would only go if we all did, so I relented.
Next, we crossed the street and explored Boston Public Garden, starting with the series of bronze statues installed in 1987 to celebrate Robert McCloskey’s Caldecott Medal winning childrens’ book “Make Way for Ducklings”. The statues depict 8 ducklings following their mother as they search the Public Garden for a new home. Children were climbing over Mrs. Mallard, their parents taking their pictures. Jeff suggested I climb on Mrs. Mallard so he could take my picture, but I declined.
We walked around for a couple of hours, admiring the trees and statues, reading plaques, stopping at a cafe, and discussing anything but the surgery. With the schedule uncertain, I decided to start my 1,500 mile drive to Lake Okoboji, IA. Standing on the sidewalk at the corner of Boston Common, I wished Jeff luck, told my mom to keep me updated, and said goodbye.
I was somewhere in Illinois on Sunday when I got the news that the surgery had been a success and Jeff was in the clear. I was relieved beyond belief. I had been harboring a bad feeling about the procedure, and was happy to be proved wrong. A raucous week in Iowa followed, staying with my friend Steven and his partner Brayden.
My mom called me late one night that week, unable to sleep. I talked with her for half an hour, walking along Steven’s dirt road with corn fields on either side of me, the stalks at full height. She was relieved that Jeff was okay, but still felt rattled from the experience.
At the end of my week in Iowa, I was packing my car to leave for Nebraska when Steven pointed out how bald my tires were. I was approaching 20,000 miles so far on this trip, so of course I was wearing my tires down - it just hadn’t occurred to me to check them. Just then, my mom called me, her voice tense. “Is everything okay?” I asked. “No, it’s not” was her response. I said goodbye to Steven and Brayden and called her back from the road.
Jeff had gone into cardiac arrest suddenly at the hospital. The staff had been right there and had started CPR immediately, but he was still unconscious. He was alive but on an ECMO machine that was oxygenating and circulating his blood for him. My mom instructed me not to turn around, but to be ready to return in case I was needed. I drove the four hours to Lincoln, Nebraska with a weight on my chest.
I checked into my Airbnb and unpacked the car. I didn’t like sitting around and waiting for news, but I’d been told explicitly to stay put. The next day I spent most of the day replacing my tires and brake pads. I stayed in touch with other family members and struggled with what I should do. That evening, I decided to ignore my mom's request and left Nebraska to drive back to Boston. Jeff's prognosis was not good and I figured, regardless of the outcome, my mom could use some moral support. I would rather be in the area when I was needed than half way across the country. I could have flown, but something told me I would need my car and it would be a while before I returned to Nebraska.
Jeff’s condition remained unchanged throughout my multi-day drive. I broke the news to my mom that I was on my way and agreed to pick up a few things at her house on my way to Boston.
I arrived on a Friday, exactly 5 weeks after their wedding. I got to the hospital just as my mom and Jeff’s brother were being brought in for their daily update. They talked with the doctor for over an hour while I listened. It was sobering. The improvements they had been hoping to see were not happening. The consensus was to give him one more day to turn things around.
The next day, not only had Jeff not improved, he had declined. The ECMO machine was turned off, and Jeff slipped away within a few minutes, his heart unable to beat long on its own.
We were all shell-shocked, but there was a lot to be done. Jeff wanted a green burial back in Ithaca, which meant that he would be buried with only natural materials and no preservation other than refrigeration. We had only 7 days from death to dirt. The bureaucracy and logistics surrounding death are a double edged sword. They are frustrating and impersonal, but they also provide a welcome distraction as the reality of your loss slowly sinks in.
My brother and his wife came up from Long Island, and that night we had a family dinner at Batifol, a wonderful French restaurant. Rather than being a somber affair, it was warm. We sat outside, telling stories and laughing. We toasted Jeff and his amazing life (with water because he didn’t drink). We celebrated rather than focusing on the loss. There would be plenty of sadness in the coming weeks and months, but we allowed ourselves that night to enjoy togetherness as a family.
My mom and brother drove back to Ithaca the following day, but I stayed for one more. That night, I went for an aimless walk to ruminate and process my feelings. Without meaning to, I found myself again at Boston Common on the corner of Beacon and Congress, where I had said goodbye to Jeff just two weeks prior. Up the hill was the carousel we had ridden, sitting dark and quiet.
I walked further through the park, happening upon a Shakespeare in the park production of The Winter’s Tale. The play's start had been delayed by the day’s rain, but the show had gone on. The production seemed fun, but its comedic tone didn’t vibe with my mood.
I watched the play for a little while, then looped back through the Public Garden to the bronze ducks. No more children. No more parents. Just the ducks, their backs and wings shiny from the thousands of little hands and feet. I thought back to Jeff’s playful suggestion to take my picture atop Mrs. Mallard. I wished I’d taken him up on it. I cried.
The next few days were a blur. I drove back to Ithaca and took on the responsibility of putting on the burial service. I coordinated the logistics of the event - moving Jeff from Boston back to Ithaca, scheduling, invitations. I worked with my mom, his family, and former colleagues to write the obituary and eulogy. When Thursday came, I read the eulogy at his burial service. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. The heart breaking parallel to the wedding ceremony six weeks before was hard to stomach and impossible to ignore, but it felt right that I do it.
The day was foggy and damp. A fine drizzle fell on us periodically. His grave had been dug in a beautiful meadow covered with chest-high grasses and native wildflowers. Jeff was carried to the site on a pine board, wrapped in a shroud. I delivered the eulogy. A song was sung. His brother and good friend gave their remembrances. Then Jeff was lowered by the pallbearers into the grave. Each attendee took their turn throwing a shovel of dirt, a pine bow, or a fresh cut flower on top of him.
Jeff and I didn't spend a ton of time together. I knew him mostly as the sweet and humble guy who made my mom feel safe and happy. I learned so much about him writing his eulogy and now regret not getting to know him better while he was around.
Jeff was from Gary, Indiana, the oldest of four boys. He had a midwestern work ethic and understated charm. He didn’t like being the center of attention, preferring instead to sink into the background and observe. He was one of the kindest people I have ever met and he had an unshakable moral compass. The only time he got upset was in reaction to perceived injustice. Jeff was one of the few truly good souls.
Professionally, Jeff was a trailblazer in his field. He was one of the first people to look at food and nutrition from a sociological perspective. He researched and wrote about the influence on food choice and nutrition of gender, socio-economic status, marital status, family history, and more. He was at the forefront of the body positivity movement. Over the course of his career he wrote or co-wrote 238 publications which have been cited over 23,000 times. He taught at Cornell for three decades and left his mark on countless collaborators and students. I doubt there’s a single person he met who would have a bad word to say about him.
For decades he had been pursuing his goal of visiting every one of the 63 National Parks. Earlier this year, he completed his list with the newest park, New River Gorge. When I visited Beckley, WV for State 14, he shared his detailed itinerary with me and recommended I do the Bridge Walk, which was an incredible experience.
Now, a month after his burial, the weight of the loss is finally settling in. He and my mom only had 6 years together, but they made the absolute most of the time. Being retired and living together through COVID, they were inseparable. She is devastated and will have to reshape her life again now that he is gone. I am truly upset for her. She deserved more time with him.
I am trying to “Yes, and…” this situation but it’s been hard. I am trying to see my time here as an opportunity to revitalize my relationships with my mom, my dad, and some old friends. For better or worse, being here will also give me the chance to face some of the lingering demons I ran from nearly 30 years ago.
I’ll be here in Ithaca for a while, staying with my mom. My life has never been more flexible, so there is no better time for me to step up for her. I’ve put the trip on hold for a while and will pick it back up sometime in the fall. Until then, I will make the best of being in Ithaca, finally get back to the blog, and spend time GRIEVING the loss of Jeff.
Yes, and...
Matt
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