Formaldehyde

I still woke up today. The sun still rose, flirting with the edges of the blinds, peeking in to let me know that despite the darkness in my heart, it was still casting red to pink to iridescent white light over the tops of the mountains. I got up, and made our bed again. I washed my hair for the first time in 4 days. What's the point? You can't run your fingers through it. The shower is so lonely without you.

We would bathe together nearly daily, each under our own shower head, admiring one another naked and taunting each other with our unique soaps. "Have I ever told you that you have the BEST breasts in the world?" You'd repeat daily, always the boob guy, despite my barely-Bs... making me blush and smile. "Nope! Never," I'd say. I'd reach over and swat you gently with my lavender Dr. Bronner'ed puff. Then you'd rear out of the way and bonk my head with your eucalyptus scented one. We'd comment on how long it takes the hot water to make it up to our bedroom from the well. You'd remind me that the new hot water heater would fix that problem. You were very relieved we wouldn't have to waste 4 minutes of water while we waited to shower each day.

You would noticing me washing my hair with my purple shampoo. Always so cautious, you'd ask to see the ingredients. I'd made a promise to you when we moved in together that I would switch to all natural products – and makeup and body products were the big contenders for you. "You put that on your skin everyday," you'd say. Citing the latest article you'd received from one of your many health newsletters, you'd say, "Do you know how terrible parabens are for you? They cause breast cancer." "Yes, love," I'd smile, "I know." You'd told me before. "Look!" I'd show you the bottle, "Paraben-free. Sulfate-free. Not tested on animals. And even VEGAN!" We cringed. "No bacon?!" You'd joke, horrified. "No, we should probably add some though. I bet it's very moisturizing," I'd quip. "Well anyway, I'm glad you're being smart about it. This is the mother of my future children we're talking about," you'd say. I'd reach over to you to make a pass, with devilish eyes, the ones you always immediately recognized my ulterior motives through, "Well, we better get to it!" You'd giggle and rub me dry with a towel, "But seriously, some of that stuff even has formaldehyde in it!" Always the teacher. Do you know when I kissed your lips when you laid lifeless in the casket, you tasted like formaldehyde?

As I came downstairs today to make my coffee this morning my phone buzzed with a Facebook message, one of many people inquiring about the details of your death. I thought of myself pulling up to a terrible wreck a few weeks ago, rubbernecking. "I wonder what happened," horrified, alarmed... excited. "I hope everyone's OK," I muttered, not really thinking about it too deeply, more just wanting to know the details. One thing you always told me Ted was that 'what other people think is none of my business'. It's a really freeing realization, it certainly lightens the load. But as I've been in conversation about your death nearly constantly over the past 10 days, I've realized the rumor mill is churning out stories about what happened, and I want to protect you. But what would YOU want?

Before your death I was the only coffee drinker in the house. You and our roommate Kevin drink tea. You were intensely affected by caffeine. You would drink half a yerba mate before going on stage for a show for a zing. "I hope I'll be able to sleep tonight," you'd say. I'd roll my eyes, and laugh. So many other rockstars would dive into a variety of other perilous stimulants, but you generally kept it in check.

My dad, now living here, drinks coffee all day. I make the coffee, one breath at a time. Scoop: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Grind: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Fill basin. Pour water. Press "On". I look at the clock: 6:59 am. I hear your voice, "You are taking a drug before 7 am, Sami! You are putting a stimulant into your body." You'd say it as a very gentle warning, but not condescending, because you were never pushy. I'd hear you doling out your vitamins. Magnesium for your bones. Vitamin D for your skin. Vitamin B for stress. Sam-E and St. John's Wart for your mood. Ashwaganda and triphala to balance your doshas. A multivitamin in case you hadn't gotten enough of everything else. What about something for your heart, my love?

We don't know the details of Ted's death. The autopsy will take 6-8 weeks. Ted had not had any alcohol for 6 days prior to his death. Ted was not a big drinker at all, especially considering his career as a musician. Ted's death was absolutely not a suicide, he was the happiest he had ever been. Ted was not taking a recreational drug or 'getting high'. Ted had not taken prescription pills of any kind, in fact even Aleve was a last resort for Ted when he was in pain. Ted had taken a natural plant medicine that he'd purchased from the internet, something that wasn't FDA-approved. I don't feel comfortable giving out any more information because Ted would never want to incriminate anyone and the privacy beyond this point belongs to his family. It appears as though Ted may have had a heart condition that reacted with the medicine causing cardiac arrest. But I do not know this. All I know is what I witnessed, which was death - which is more than I ever needed to see.