This weekend was move-in for the twins at college. We had another event happen last week, that has it’s roots go back to another college move-in, albeit 30 years ago. Part of this story is EB’s, and although it involves me, I’m just an observer. I’ll try to differentiate between the two of us in the thoughts although it’s hard since we’ve collaborated so closely on this post.
A week ago Tuesday, I got a telephone call. “Do you know of a way to find out about deaths in the state?” The short answer is I didn’t. State vital records lag significantly behind the actual event, so they don’t show up there for weeks sometimes.
Several phone calls and texts later, the story started to fill in.
EB got several telephone calls at work from a woman who at first wouldn’t leave her name. Eventually she said she was “Julie from Asheboro”, which started to trigger brain cells – Julie was, in fact, our friend Jennifer’s younger sister. She was calling to tell him that Jennifer had been killed in an accident.
To fully understand all this, you have to go back 30 years, to the first day of the first class at Lenoir-Rhyne, where both EB and Jennifer were nursing students. They sat next to each other and immediately bonded as life-long friends. He relates how he still remembers that first day -- She was wearing a deep green sweater and had long straight “Marcia Brady” hair that was so popular in the early 80’s, which framed her face and her huge brown “Bambi eyes”.
With some friends, you don’t have to be in daily contact. You can go without seeing each other or even talking at length for weeks or months at a time, and then instantly reconnect when the opportunity presents itself. They were like that as they first graduated nursing school together, started jobs at different hospitals, then coincidentally were students together again at UNC-Greensboro when they worked on their Masters degrees. She then went to Raleigh to continue her education and become a Nurse Anesthetist and he ended up in Hickory
She was one of the first visitors when the twins were born just over 18 years ago. He was present when her son was born, going to Durham
It was a special bond between them, and one that I was glad that I got to share although there was never any illusion that I was a part of that “inner circle” – friendships that develop that early and continue across decades are special and reserved for a few. They are a joy to behold, though, even from the outside.
Julie eventually connected with EB and shared the details of Jennifer’s death as they were known.
Jennifer had gone to her vacation home at Hound’s Ear, a gated community between Blowing Rock and Boone, to check on the property. It’d been on the market for a while and she wanted to do a bit of maintenance to try to improve the chances of a sale.
She got there on Friday night and found that the water valve at the curb was off because they’d not been there in several months. The house was still winterized. About 11 a.m. on Saturday, she sent a text to a friend
No surprise to those who knew her, she made the decision that she would simply take a wrench and fix it herself. She was that kind of person, who would simply face a problem straight on, to look at the resources available and work toward whatever she was trying to accomplish.
Around 7:00 p.m. she was found head down in the plastic well where the water valve is located. She apparently stretched to try and reach the bottom of the pipe – between 5 and 6 feet down, because it has to be below the frost level in the mountains – and overbalanced, tumbling headfirst to the bottom of the pipe.
Her cell phone and a flashlight were lying beside her on the ground; there’s absolutely no evidence that her death was anything other than a tragic accident. The area around the pipe showed no signs of struggle, or even that she tried to extract herself.
The cause of death is listed as “mechanical asphyxiation,” meaning something kept her from taking oxygen into her lungs.
One of the things that are hard on survivors, of course, is trying to make sense of an event like this. Tragic accidents happen. We accept when someone dies in an automobile accident or a drowning – it’s easier to accept certain types of accidents over others, and we routinely accept those risks. In the 21st Century US, though, people don’t die in freak accidents like this very often. We have safety measures built in to minimize risk whenever possible.
Stairwells have handrails. Electrical systems have circuit breakers. Safeguards are in place to address many risks, both obvious and hidden. And yet, silent risks still face us every day.
A plumber would have realized instantly that her plan was extremely risky, and yet Jennifer had no idea that she was undertaking in any significant danger when she went to the curb with the intent of turning on the water so she could take a shower.
Most likely, she was royally pissed that the guy hadn’t shown up to turn on the water, that she couldn’t take a shower or flush the toilet, and that she didn’t need anyone to help her. She could, by gosh, take care of it herself.
But she couldn’t. We’ll never know if her judgment was impaired because she was angry, or if she simply didn’t recognize the potential for disaster. It’s also a wake-up call to those of us who are prone to take risky actions, either knowingly or unknowingly, because, “I had to do it.” Some of us are blind to various risks that we take every day.
We climb ladders that need to be retired. We string extension cords across wet pavement. We use a chair to change a light bulb instead of getting a step ladder, and we don’t wait for someone else to be around when we do it.
She built in a few safety steps – she sent a text to someone saying what she was going to do. Her safety system was inadequate, though. She wasn’t sending the message for the purpose of saying “check on me”; it was merely informative as to what was happening, and an expression of her frustration. There was no signal for the recipient to check back shortly, and no one did.
She then made the decision in that split second to try and navigate a 12 to 14 inch pipe straight down to turn the water valve back on. What she didn’t recognize were the other design components that made the decision a huge risk
The valves are designed to be turned with a special tool and from the surface.
The average person wouldn’t have the strength to turn these valves – which are notoriously sticky and difficult to turn – with a regular wrench. It’s almost impossible to maneuver around and get sufficient leverage to turn the valve.
Maybe she slipped as she was trying to reach for the valve, or trying to exert enough force to turn it, throwing her balance off and causing her to slip into the tightest part of the pipe.
She probably didn’t know how slick PVC pipe is under the best of conditions, and especially if she were sweating and it was wet from the humidity, or there was nothing she could grip to push herself out.
We don’t know some of the details yet. Were both arms down in the pipe, or was one behind her? If she slipped into the hole with both arms down, there would have been no ability to walk herself out. The official report talks abut her shoulders being “compressed”, leading to the asphyxiation.
Did she miss the risk that the force of her own dead weight, squeezed into a confined area that narrows, makes it impossible but for the most exceptional athlete to work their way out, especially without any way to leverage your waist or legs.
The more you struggle, the tighter you get.
Did she miss the risk of acting as a human cork in the hole, and the limited supply of oxygen that was available?
Had she surveyed her surroundings and understood how populated (or unpopulated) her street was that weekend in that vacation community in case she got into trouble?
Then there are the questions that go through our minds when trying to comfort ourselves, to try and make sense of such a senseless tragedy.
How did she get far enough into the hole that she could not extract herself?
How long was she trapped there alive and conscious, aware of what was happening before she finally died?
Did she hit her head? Was she unconscious?
Most pervasively, why didn’t she call us to come help her before she started? We could have been there in less than an hour and had lunch afterwards. She would still be here, and her children would still have their mother.
It’s horrifying to think that she could have hung there in that hole, for who knows how many hours, before she succumbed. She was an excellent diagnostician. She would have quickly realized her predicament if she were conscious.
Maybe it was fast. But it could have taken several hours. Those things we’ll never know. Our hope, though, is that it was mercifully quick, or that she hit her head as she fell in and simply never regained consciousness.
So we try to rationalize it and go on. This is what survivors must do. We cannot change that which has happened, nor can we go back and encourage different decisions. But we can use Jennifer’s death to deepen our own self-awareness and understanding.
About our own mortality.
About lasting impressions.
About investment in friends.
Inevitably, the dial tone of life overtakes the hurt, numbing it so that we continue with our day to day activities. Occasionally, though, there is the sharp hurt that leaks through the hum – the realization that it’s no longer possible to send a text or break up a long drive by calling, or to forward some silly thing from the internet.
It’s then that the lessons from Jennifer’s death come back, with their silent warnings to assess, have a safety backup, and always remember that there are no guarantees in life.
