ISN’T THIS A HELLUVA THING?!

The Lavalovely was recently asking me to post, saying it’s been months. She isn’t lying, and so last Sunday, I finished writing my NFL column and put a post together. It was very downcast and pessimistic. Sorry, it’s just my current state of mind. When the Mrs. saw it, she told me that it didn’t pass muster, and she wasn’t going to put it on the Blog.

No worries, I figured, things will change, and I’ll be inspired to write something that works in the next few days. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly happy about the inspiration for this post.

I went into the newsroom the next morning and was exchanging hellos with Anne, the woman who shares my “pod.” I was just mentioning what we did over the weekend, what I ate (food’s usually the most important part of any discussion I have), and then I dialed in my e-mail.

The first message was spam.

The second was from the theater critic: “Lisa (our business editor) called me last night and said Susan (our star business reporter) suffered a heart attack around 10 p.m. last night.”

I paused as my mind drank this in.

Susan’s husband, Ken, and I have only known each other for about 16 months (how long I’ve been in Florida, working at the paper), but we’ve grown relatively close. We would always talk sports at the office. Ken retired at the end of last year (at the young age of 56), but he and I kept in touch. He took me to Vero Beach to catch a Dodgers game during spring training (this is a big deal if you’re a baseball fan—Vero is mecca during March).

A couple of months later, the Lavalovely and the crumb crunchers were in India, and I was Mr. Lonely Guy. Ken and Susan had me over for dinner, stuffing me with steak and regaling me with funny stories at their beautiful home. I remember giving Susan a hearty hug, grabbing a biography of Lou Gehrig that Ken had loaned me, and walking off to my car to drive home fat and happy.

I kept saying I’d bring the Gehrig book to work to hand to Susan so she could give it to Ken. I did so a few weeks ago, figuring I didn’t need to track her down because I always bump into her at the microwaves as I did last month.

Susan hadn’t met my wife, and I sat there, heating up an Amy’s vegetarian entrée, telling Susan that the four of us had to get together and go out for dinner and drinks. Susan said, “You know Ken and I would love that!” She was always smiling, and her eyes were so bright. You talked to her for 10 minutes, and you felt you’d been friends with her for years. The only reason I knew who she was was because she introduced herself at these very same microwaves the previous August. Ken had told her about me, and she just called me over as I walked by, saying, “We’ll have to have you over for dinner sometime!”

Now anyone who knows my wife knows that she is from the school of “I believe it when I see it.” She’s used to hearing me talk about a coworker threatening to invite us over, then it never happening. Ken and Susan are definitely not in the idle-threat camp.

Hey, every week’s like the last one, right? I’ll see Susan any time, and I can give her the Gehrig book, right?

The reverie ended, the Gehrig book was sitting on my desk, and I was staring at its title: “Luckiest Man.”

I read the next sentence of the e-mail.

“Susan’s at the hospital right now and isn’t expected to make it. Ken, and Susan’s best friends are at her side.”

I reread the words “ISN’T EXPECTED TO MAKE IT.”

“My God,” I uttered.

“I was wondering when you were going to read that,” Anne said. A simple question: Why didn’t Anne tell me about Susan’s heart attack before I read it online? That question is still bouncing around in my head.

Four hours later, at 2 p.m., our executive editor called our staff together and told us that Susan was dead. Ken and Susan’s four best friends decided to pull the plugs on four machines that were keeping her alive. She was gone moments later.

I figured Susan was around my age (40), but I later found out she was 47. Her husband is similarly deceptive. He could pass for late 40s, 10 years younger than he actually is. Both were trim, athletic, and Susan was a workout fiend. Apparently, however, she had a slightly weaker heart than that of a typical woman her age. And last Sunday night, she called Ken for help from across the house, and Ken had no idea that Susan’s heart was going to fatally betray her without leaving a mark on her exterior.

After work, I went to Ken’s house. My heart was in my mouth, I was terrified of going, but there was a crowd of about 40 others there. People who have known Ken for decades (the paper I work at is very insular—people come here and retire here).

I gave him a hug, and he hugged back with one arm and said, “Glad to see you, David. Isn’t this a helluva thing?!”

Ken acted as if nothing was wrong, and he was as charming, assured and full of grace as ever.

“Ken, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say,” I said, and I stepped into the background. He chatted up everyone there, and several times told the gruesome details of finding his wife basically dead in their office.
Ken and Susan are quite a bit older than the Lavalovely and myself, but they only had each other for seven years. The Mrs. and I have been together for 13 years. That made me feel sadder, because that pair were obviously made for each other in clichéd and noncliché ways. I didn’t tear up, but felt like it as I got ready to leave.

“Give your wife an extra hug,” Ken said as I headed out. “All spouses get extra hugs today!”

The Mrs. has gotten probably five or six extra hugs since Monday. Every day is a gift. A gift, I say. It’s something I don’t want to forget. Last Sunday, Ken was a happily married man. Tomorrow I’m attending the funeral for his wife.