Closure, ha!

My post on February 25, 2025 speaks of getting closure being dependent upon the funeral parlor taking possession of Burt’s body. That, in the retrospect of half a night’s sleep, is inaccurate and, well, bullshit.

It closed my day and left me able to go downstairs. I wanted to see the doorman who had not had a chance to visit his goodbyes.

I also decided it was time to dispose of my projects of activity boxes. I had wanted to enrich Burt’s diminishing interests with diversions. He wasn’t having it. I had tried hard.

The activities I thought he might undertake were related to his work. He had loved his jobs on Wall Street so ledgers seemed like they could occupy him; I also made counting boxes which might encourage dexterity and brain stimulation. As I said, he showed no intetest in games of any sort.

Burt’s main activity was talking. In the last months, it was chatting with his imagined posse. They were companions alongside me or his aides. Often, when I went to answer a question he posed, I felt as if I were intruding on his conversation. He was engaged with a hallucinatory crew in or near the light fixture.

That is not to say that he did not welcome an equally intense engagement with us. He loved to talk while we fed him. It was a charming and intimate way for us to interact.

There was connection in those moments. He would slowly chew and wrinkle his brow, then ask a question. In those last three or four months, the questions were hard to decipher. They were earnest and part of our bond with him.

When I say our, I mean a bond with me or his aide. Burt had the best care.

I define good (or best) care by the care or caring behind it. Burt was surrounded by caring.

As to the bullshit about closure, I don’t need closure.

Our relatiobship stands on its own, and needs no final ending.

Of course, his death is an ending but my love and the memories of his love need no finality.

As to the necessity that Burt be taken to the funeral home, that was an ending. As I said it was necessary and not expedited in a timely manner.

As time crept closer to four, the urgency of getting the death certificate so the funeral home could proceed struck me. Time of death had been pronounced as 11:29 a.m. Burt had done his part to be timely.

His doctor would need to sign the OME’s paperwork before cob at 5. We had had a parade of EMTs etc since the WCM-NYP crew had made the pronouncement.

We were with the third shift of cops just waiting for the go ahead  to call for the mortician’s men.

That go ahead was dependent on the ME. It was about 5:30 when he signalled to the policeman in attendance that I could make the call.

Two hours later, two men made the pick up. As the gurney they opened clattered, my young cop companion said «Don’t worry; they’re professionals.« He and I shook hands just after they carried Burt out the door of his apartment. Never to return. Except in my memories of him.

Fond memories.