This is How I Picture My Death

*****

10:03 PM

Dan slowed down in front the 2-level patio home, braking to a quiet stop, the tires hugging the curb immediately in front of the house. He dutifully hauled the empty, rolling garbage cans up to the garage door, and unlocked the front door. The downstairs lights were on, visible through the curtains.

He entered quietly, the late hour and sleeping children demanding muffled voices, footsteps, and closing doors.

The living room lights were on, the television volume low. The Discovery Channel was on, broadcasting a rerun of Pig Bomb. His eyes quickly searched the room, seeking Trish out amid the piles upon piles upon mountainous piles of laundered clothing heaped into hampers.

He breathed in sharply as his eyes fell upon a twisted form slumped behind a hamper full of towels. He lunged towards it, spanning the distance in two steps. He instantly recognized his wife behind the waxy skin, bluish, swollen eyes and purple lips.

“Trish?...Trish?...Trish!” He shook her arm violently, his urgency increasing with each iteration. He frantically patted his pockets, searching for his phone. His fingers jittered across the phone's screen, botching the unlock pattern.

*****

10:47 PM

An ambulance and a fire and rescue vehicle, both flashing red and white lights, blocked the street in front of the house. A few neighbors had timidly ventured out, huddled in whispering clutches in the sidewalk.

The door was ajar, uniformed first responders filtering in and out. The drone of the dispatcher's voice was persistently audible, emanating from the ubiquitous radios. A county patrol car joined the parade of vehicles at the curb.

The officer who made his way through the open door glanced to the left and recognized the familiar scene of EMTs crouching over and attending to a body. He paused and stared intently at the EMT holding the woman's wrist. The tech turned his head, locked eyes with the officer, and slowly shook his head.

The officer stepped outside and reclaimed his position behind the steering wheel of his patrol car. He breathed deeply before radioing the dispatcher to request the coroner.

****

11:52 PM

Dan stood at the foot of the stairs, his shoulders slumped and arms crossed. Though he was only two feet from the bespectacled and agiline young woman from the medical examiner’s office, her voice seemed as if it were coming from miles away. The sounds of his heartbeat and breathing muffled her words. He had already embarked on a dissociative episode as she calmly, firmly stated, “I am so sorry for your loss...it’s quite obvious...she died of laundry.”