Who is my emergency contact now that my husband is dead?

It’s small things that sneak up on fresh widows that cause the brain to go blank, the tears to swell and the pulse to race. 

Mindlessly we used to drop in a spouse’s name and phone number as our emergency contact. But now I pause as I contemplate that previously benign question which highlights a gaping hole in my life. How do I fill in this blank? My son is way too young to list, what does he know of an emergency? He thinks it’s an emergency if he can’t find his debit card which happens at least once a month. He is much too young to know of important emergent things. 

At the hospital, they bring you all kinds of forms to sign, stuff that was in his pockets and ask a life changing question “Where do you want the body to go?” WTF? How do I know? Is this multiple choice? Ask me, where I get my hair done, where to go to tan, obtain a dentist, find the grocery store, check, check, check, but “Where do you want a dead body to go?” I didn’t have this on the relocation checklist that we got from the realtor less than a year ago when we moved to this small rural town.

As I sit in the Emergency waiting room, the theme song of Jeopardy starts playing in my head, “What are the options for dead bodies in this town?”

There are many things a fresh widow will not remember.

Suddenly knowing the color of the paint on every wall in your house, the size of the air filters for the HVAC and where the damn trash dump is located become especially important. Why are there $100 bills hidden in your watch case, in your backpack and your sock drawer I would like to ask my deceased husband. What were you planning to do with the hidden money? Did you mean to take those nighttime sleeping aids or was it the alcohol causing you to leave all reason behind? After someone suddenly disappears, endless questions creep into every area of your life. Grief is challenging for the fresh widow to manage. It feels like learning to ride a dragon, the uncontrollable beast taking you for an endless ride. Lightly holding the reins, you fear at any time you could fall off into a dark and deep ravine unable to climb back up for air. Anger and frustration slowly become bedfellows to memories of joy and appreciation, like when he would fill my car up with gas every Sunday afternoon. In the face of questions left forever unanswered, I have learned to just whisper “thank you” I appreciate all that you did for me while you were here and move on to figure out the answer for myself.

As I sat in the doctor’s office, staring at a blank space next to emergency contact, I think “who is the oldest person I know? I think that person could be helpful.”  There are things that old people just know. Like what you do with a dead body at the hospital and what you should take to a potluck at the church. There really is only one person to list here, when possible, your mother. Your mother always knows how to do things, like what to do with a dead body and that is what I told my sister when her husband died three weeks after mine. “Call mom, she knows what to do next.”

The day I got stuck naked in the floor of my bathroom when my back went out, the day I found out what a kidney stone was, the day I brought my son home from the hospital and the first person to be at my house when my husband died suddenly; my mother was there for me. She is and has always been my emergency contact.

Your emergency contact may be the most underappreciated person in your life.

We are made for relationship and as much as you might like to think you can take care of yourself no matter what the circumstance, one day you may find yourself sitting in a sterile room, stuffing spare mints and a driver's license into your purse answering random questions. If you suddenly find yourself at a loss to fill in this incredibly important blank space, you should list someone old and wise. Like me, they should know the answer to many of life’s most important questions, like “Where do you want the body to go?” and the recipe for the Jiffy corn pudding.