I am in the grocery store, staring in mild horror at the wall of ibuprofen. Is there a significant difference between caplets and tablets? Do I choose the one that’s slightly cheaper or one that isn’t toxic orange? I give up and grab a random box. This is one reason I love online product reviews (“Go to Costco. They have one choice, and it will last you until you die”), although I generally employ them for larger-ticket items rather than over-the-counter medication. 

 

      I often rely on internet wisdom, social media, and especially reviews. But I rarely post, and don’t write reviews at all; I feel uncomfortable putting myself out there for evaluation by strangers. I tend to keep my guard up. Today, I am irritated and have a little free time. I wonder how many people feel the same way. So I write, for myself, for catharsis.

 

Ibuprofen Aisle

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2/28/19

 

Ludicrous. Kudos for the brilliant marketing strategy though;

wading through so many inconsequential differences is enough to

give anyone a headache. 

 

        I imagine checking back later: Thirty-two “Helpful” thumbs up, and laughing emojis in the comments. I feel vindicated. 

​

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Writing it was enough.

 

-

 

        I’m no expert in quantum physics, but I always thought the Schrodinger’s cat thing was total crap. Back in college, a housemate came back from class going on about this box with a cat in it, and a vial of poison that will kill the cat when a radioactive particle decays enough to release a hammer to break the vial. No one knows exactly when, or if, it will happen. No one can see inside. According to quantum mechanics, until someone opens the box to find out—observes the result—the cat is both alive and dead at the same time. 

 

        I doubt that. Sounds more like a zombie film than science. 

 

The Schrodinger’s Cat Thing

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03/04/2002

 

It makes no sense.

 

        As it turns out, my housemate had missed a critical point. The physicist Erwin Schrodinger doubted the idea also: his hypothetical cat-in-a-box was a thought experiment (I was relieved to hear there was no dead cat), to show that when this interpretation of quantum mechanics is applied to a larger object, it conflicts with reality as we know it. Read: it makes no sense.

 

Schrodinger’s Cat: Updated

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 03/04/2019

 

Thank you, Erwin.

 

-

 

        When my phone rang, I was pleased to see my sister’s picture on the screen. My enthusiastic “Hi!” was met with a terse reply. She said she and my brother-in-law were on the way to our parents’ house, that Mom had called in a panic, something to do with Dad, the ambulance was already there. 

 

        “She wasn’t very clear. I don’t know what’s going on. I wasn’t sure whether I should call you yet.”

 

        “No, I’m glad you did. I’ll wait to hear back.” I could hear the road noise through the phone. 

 

        “It sounds bad.”

 

-

 

The Wait Between Phone Calls

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02/17/2016

 

The longest. Long enough for me to work out the most probable

content of the second call. I had a hard time with math in school; I

wish this had been just one more time I’d miscalculated. 

 

        There is no place to publish this, no submission to be made, no change or comfort to be had by comments from strangers. 

 

-

 

        At 23 minutes, I saw I had just missed a call from my mom. I dialed back and my sister answered; I heard her asking in the background, “Do you want to talk to her?” then banging around as she handed off the phone to my mom. There were 1,387 miles between us, each one pressing in against my ear. I remember the sound of tiny fractures like cracking glass, splitting through her words. I remember the words exactly: 

 

“Your dad is dead.”

 

-

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        The Many-Worlds interpretation of quantum physics posits that at the point of any event, reality splits: in one universe Schrodinger’s cat is alive and in another it is dead. In one, I am lying on a beach in Malta before a trip to my ski chalet in the Alps. In this one, I am sitting on the couch in my pajamas, looking at pictures of Malta to avoid folding the laundry. That’s math. Anyway, the laundry isn’t going anywhere.

-

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        After arriving at my parents’ house, we started thinking about funeral services. I got online to look for recommendations, comparing preparers of the dead as if we were looking for a restaurant or a new appliance.

 

Woodlawn Funeral Home

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David J. on 5/27/2015 

 

Just like most funeral homes, Woodlawn is a business to make money.

Within a few minutes, the director had a $10,000 funeral going. He

showed up to the memorial in dirty Doc Martins and left his cell phone

ringer on. I've emailed him several times and now that they’ve been

paid in full, I don't get the simple decency of a reply. DON'T USE THIS FUNERAL HOME!!!  

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Cross that one off.

 

Funeral Alternatives of Washington

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Christina L. on 6/8/2014 

 

There are no words that can fully express my level of gratitude and

appreciation for the folks at Funeral Alternatives. They put people over

profit and made our experience as calm and comfortable as possible,

even when our hearts were breaking. 

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​

        My family could have been left with a terribly bitter taste after our experience with a compassionless funeral home at the most difficult time we’ve known. But thanks to reviewers, in this universe, at least, we remain grateful for the staff at Funeral Alternatives; they were genuine, accommodating, exemplary. My internal monologue might do well as a reviewer.

 

An Unpublished Note to David and Christina

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03/15/2019 

 

Thank you for sharing your experiences with the funeral services.

We owe you, whoever you are.

​

 

        I find value in reviews. Why don’t I write them? Maybe it’s because I see that my experience is only one of many. Maybe I feel unqualified. I took an acting class in college and everyone else was one of the cool kids, older, the ones acting in the plays people paid money to see. After performing a practice scene in class, the instructor said, “Before we run through that again, I want to say something to you.” 

 

        She looked me in the face and said, “You have just as much right to be here as anyone else.” 

 

        I never forgot it. Maybe I’m still learning what it means.

 

-

 

On Making My First Public Social Media Post

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03/15/2019 

 

After waiting for two days while contacting close friends and

family, I was feeling a growing obligation, even a desire, to make a

statement to a wider circle. For all my reluctance to put myself out

there, announcing my father’s death is a relief. It feels perfunctory

and profound. It feels like a confession, a burden shared.

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-

 

        My brain tilted back and forth on an unsteady fulcrum, accepting, ignoring, recalibrating. I would hear his voice, but when I turned, it was one of the constant crowd standing near the table piled high with cards and plates of cookies.

 

        Over and over, I was jolted by the disparity between habit of thought and new reality. I can’t find a tool in the garage. “I should just ask Dad.” Out on a run, I see a branch with bright berries down by the creek, frozen in glassy ice like a museum piece. Dad and I emailed photos back and forth all the time, and I get my phone out. Then remember. Over and over.

 

        I know what death is, the biology, the laws of chemistry. The cat might be a mystery, but my dad was dead. I knew these rules applied to him, and that they do not change with time. But these two refused reconciliation: the concept of death and the endless contexts into which I now had to fit it. I would give this zero stars, but that’s not usually an option.

 

-

 

Other reviewers don’t give star ratings. 

 

Thurston County Coroner’s Office

02/19/2016

 

External Examination

The body is that of a medium built white male appearing to be of the stated age of 59 years. The body measures 5 feet 9 ½ inches and weighs 152 pounds (after long bone and skin retrieval). The eyes have been previously removed for corneal donation and the orbits are covered with plastic caps. The deceased wears a mustache and a beard. There are no tattoos noted.

 

-

 

Autopsy Report

 

​

02/19/2016 

 

Kind of dry. Still, informative and professional. It’s clear the pathologist didn’t know him; obviously he didn’t have tattoos. When I was 18, I mentioned an interest in getting one, and my parents threatened to stop helping with college tuition.

 

His eyes were blue.

 

-

 

        We got a letter from the organ donor organization a couple of months after he died. It told us that after receiving a corneal transplant, an elderly man regained his sight. I wrote a letter to him about all the places, all the things his new eyes had seen—the South Pacific from the mast of a sailboat, the summits of Cascade peaks, a classroom of students looking back at him. At first it seemed important for him to know this; then it just seemed like something I needed to say. Would he care about the life of someone he never met, or simply be happy to see the world again? It felt presumptuous. I never sent it.

 

-

 

Customer Questions and Answers

 

Question: Is the bright white a true bright white? Trying to avoid off-white or cream.

 

Answer: I ordered pink suede so can’t answer this for you

By Bugsy on March 6, 2018

 

We don’t always know how to contribute, or simply can’t.

 

-

 

        We’re scared of being alone, and at the same time desperate to be singled out. I feel a constant pull to detach myself from the clamor, a need to look up and see a lifeline dangling down, only for me, to raise myself free of the swell, to know I am a single, solid entity in the endless wash of human existence. 

 

        And we are each alone on a barren hunk of rock in the dark, scratching at the bedrock, trying to leave a mark. Millennia of cave wall graffiti, initials in trees, black marker on bus station walls. A small sign saying, “I was here. I did my part.” We are a paradox of being: we want to be distinct, but not alone. We live in limbo until someone hears us. We share our stories because we seek answers, a witness, someone to acknowledge that we were on this earth and lived and ate and played and grew old, before we ceased to be. We meticulously document our existence to reassure ourselves it’s real.

 

-

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3,000 comments on this set of pens? Sic transit gloria mundi….

JoshK on 5/8/2015

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-

 

Comments Displaying Irony, Tongue-in-Cheek Humor, or Complete

Lack of Self-Awareness

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05/10/19

 

If public posts were a meal, these would be dessert. Are there 3,001

comments now, or had he already added himself in? 

 

We tend to want to add ourselves in. 

 

-

 

        The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum theory says multiple wave formations—probabilities of an outcome—can exist together in superposition. The cat, alive and dead. When the system is observed or measured, the waves collapse into a single reality. Some interpretations of quantum theory say there is no wave collapse, or that it is spontaneous. Some say the universe is completely random, devoid of free will, ticking away on probabilities. Einstein says “God does not play dice.” Others say “Einstein, stop telling God what to do.”

 

-

 

Internal Examination

 

Cardiopulmonary System

The usual ‘y’ shaped thoraco-abdominal incision is made; skin flaps are retracted and breast plate is removed. The heart is of normal size and shape. The coronary arteries pursue their normal courses except for superficial tunneling of the left anterior descending branch. There is almost pinpoint narrowing of the right coronary ostium and segmental arteriosclerotic changes, as well as the presence of an old-appearing thrombus completely occluding the proximal left anterior descending branch. The valves are normal in character and circumference.

 

        Malformations of the heart. Cholesterol. A previous clot. Some words are simply a record, a description, changing nothing.

-

 

The Cardiology Appointment I Kept Putting Off

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Me         4/22/2018

 

When the coroner told us clearly that heart defects contributing to my dad’s death were congenital, I don’t find it helpful to have my appointment devolve into a discussion of semantics regarding the autopsy report. I think I’m “probably just fine” too, but it doesn’t seem the sort of thing to shrug and cross your fingers over. And “unnecessary” testing is “bad juju”? It’s the Ouija-board-at-a-preteen-sleepover experience that I never had. 

 

I’ll give you credit for the 30 years’ experience and at least a perfunctory exam, but

I generally give patronization the bird, not a gold star.

 

-

 

Internal Examination

 

Head

The scalp and skull are incised and retracted; the brain is removed.

 

        The brain. The words stick. Maybe this all does belong in a zombie film. Maybe in another universe, that’s all it is.

 

-

 

Thurston County Coroner’s Office

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3/2/2016

 

The coroner’s office was considerate, professional, and patient with all

our questions. The difference in terminology between the phone calls

and the written report caused some confusion but I’m ambivalent about

taking a star off for that. Thank you for your kindness and concern. 

 

Thank you also for the skill with which you put our dad back together.

After reading the autopsy report, I would never have thought he could

look so good for the viewing. 

 

-

 

        Proponents of the Copenhagen interpretation aren’t bothered much by Schrodinger’s box. They’ve been accused of the mantra “Shut up and calculate!” Einstein wasn’t convinced.

 

“One cannot get around the assumption of reality, if only one is honest. Nobody

really doubts that the presence or absence of the cat is something independent of

the act of observation.”

 

        Yet we have to know. Like the Garden of Eden, like Pandora’s box—it might save us or destroy us, but we can’t help ourselves.

-

 

        I had no interest in the viewing. I’m with Einstein. I could look, or not look: it doesn’t change what happened, and I didn’t want to see my father for the last time in a strange room, with a sculpted expression. I don’t know why I went. It was a letting-go more than a decision.

 

The Body

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02/20/2016

 

The cloth-draped table was less intimidating than a coffin. I also

appreciate that his hands were more naturally arranged than the

crossed-over-the-chest look. Honestly, I was impressed. Despite an odd

slack in the skin, his face looked almost like him, and I have no idea how

the coroner’s office and the funeral services managed to conceal the

invasion of an autopsy. Ordinarily, I’d put that kind of work at five stars,

but under the circumstances—seems like it would be a bit callous. It’s

still my dad we’re talking about.

 

        In the dim light of the viewing room, my own body had become electrified, crackling with dread, radiating dark sparks. There was a roar, or a silence, or I couldn’t hear. Standing next to the table, I eventually reached my hand out, a single finger pointed forward. I observed it shaking in the space between me and my father’s body, then touched it to his hand. 

 

        Everything stopped. 

 

        The skin of his hand was taut, unnaturally smooth, room temperature: it wasn’t him. The body in front of me was a composition of matter. My hand was steady as I withdrew it. When I spoke, it was with the conviction of an observation of fact, as clear as the contents of an open box.

 

        “That was what I needed.” And I turned and walked out. 

 

-

 

Schrodinger’s Cat: Update 2

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05/14/2019 

 

I don’t know. I read somewhere that anyone who says quantum

mechanics makes sense, doesn’t understand it. Maybe there is no

reconciliation between what we see and what we understand, or

maybe it’s not important; the planet doesn’t stop spinning for us to

catch up.

 

-

 

        In that other universe, where I’m at the beach, maybe he’s still alive. We’ll all go to the chalet in the Alps and hike together like we used to here. There is no math for this—no equation for transport, no formula for grieving, no tidy solution to loss.

 

-

 

Opinion 

In consideration of the circumstances of death, the medical history, the investigation, as well as this examination, the cause of death on this 59-year-old male is ascribed to a heart attack. This is a natural manner of death.

 

        This is natural. Oddly, I find some solace in the thought, though not enough. I repeat it to myself for days. Years. 

 

-

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-

 

Things People Said in the Days After His Death

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2/17/2017

 

Some of your words danced gracefully, gentle and warm. Others

stumbled along, tripping, poignantly earnest; sometimes it’s better

to be clumsy than silent. Sometimes it’s not the words themselves

that matter. I had the privilege of saying “thank you” more times

than I can count. I am grateful for every syllable shared.

 

-

 

      Sometimes our words are not for ourselves. They are the names we carve into stone to honor another. The messages we return in the bottles that arrive at our feet. The lifelines we braid together to meet outstretched hands. They are gifts we give each other, and they remain when we are gone. We are compositions and composers, composing ourselves.

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   About the Author   

 

      Elizabeth DeLong is still mildly surprised to find herself on a road to writing. Thanks to the influence of the Red Rocks English department, she abandoned physiology for an independent major at CU Denver in technical writing and communication for the public sector. The glamour is sometimes overwhelming, but she’s holding up. This piece also ended up a long way from where it started. Both experiences have shown her the value of paying attention to a persistent pull in an unplanned direction.