When patrons hear that Jeff died of a heart attack just 7 weeks after his wife died, they often comment that “He died of a broken heart.”
No, he died because he didn’t take care of himself. He died because he spent his time taking care of everybody else and not himself.
He ate meat-laden breakfast sandwiches every morning. He got fast food for lunch. Sometimes he didn’t eat supper at all. He ate cookies and drank tea all day long. Everything had sugar or caffeine or both, and lots of it.
He knew his blood pressure was high, but he didn’t do anything about it. He had unusual pains and didn’t feel well, but didn’t go to the doctor.
I suspect he thought that if he took time off to go to the doctor, then he would be taking time away from us, his coworkers. He didn’t want to inconvenience us and make us even more short-handed.
You can’t make us more short-handed than being dead.
He had OCD. Constantly trying to fix things, to control things. The one thing he could control, his health, he didn’t.
Maybe if he had taken the time to take care of what he could take care of, he’d still be here.
He had a lot of stress, what with having two kids to deal with – children that weren’t even his legally. His wife had two children from a previous marriage, and they’d never gotten around to having him adopt them. They were worried about dealing with the kids’ deadbeat dad.
He drove an hour one way every day to go to work. His wife liked where they lived, but he couldn’t find work there. He put his needs aside. That was a long drive, and a lot of stress.
It was always about other people. He just liked to make people happy, he said. His dad was the same way, and he died young too.
What would make us happy would be for him to still be here, and well, and balanced, and happy.