ljgeoff | Denise Rochelle Geoffrion 1957-2020

My sister Denise died last night. I want to write down the events so that I don't get them confused. And, well, this is how I process stuff. Feel free to skip. Really.

On August 28, Friday, my husband Mike found Denise unresponsive on the porch. I thought that she'd had a heart attack or something. But the EMS guys were able to revive her -- I later learned that they revived her with the opioid antagonist Narcan.

She was transported to the hospital at around 6pm and discharged around 10 pm. Mike and I were already in bed because I'd expected, with her comorbidities, that she'd be kept for observation. I guess they don't keep old ladies who overdose on opiates in the hospital overnight for observation.

When Mike brought her home, I met her in the entrance-way. She looked really crappy. "What happened?" I said, but from her expression, I had a bad feeling.

"Oh, Lisa, I'm so sorry. I took some methadone. I just... I thought it would make me feel good."

"Denise, you almost died. If Mike hadn't found you, you'd be dead."

"I know." She looked down, mortified and afraid. Afraid of me, of my judgement. "I don't know why I did it," she muttered. "I thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I'll never do anything like that again."

"You need to call Garrett. He's worried sick."

She winced and nodded. We couldn't find her phone, so she borrowed Mike's phone. Mike and I went to bed and she knocked about a half hour later to return it. "Thank you so much. Good night. I'm sorry."

That's the last time I saw her alive.

We've been running shorthanded at the nursing home where I work, so I picked up some extra shifts this weekend. Mike had Sunday and Monday off, and I asked him if he would take the boys for a visit up to Manistee, to see his mom. He got covid tested, and left town with the boys around 5pm yesterday, Saturday. I'd punched in to work at 6 am and punched out at 10:30 pm.

Garrett, Denise's son, is twenty-four. He'd been texting me through the day, saying that he couldn't get a hold of Denise. I told him that her phone had got misplaced in the kerfuffle on Friday night, but I'd get Mike to let Denise use his phone again.

In the mean time, some guy named Charles dropped Denise's phone off at the house. I have no idea of how he ended up with it.

Before he left, Mike woke up Denise and gave her the phone. That would have been around 4:30 pm.

Garrett texted me again around 8 pm, saying that she hadn't called and wasn't answering, and would I check on her when I got home?

When I got home, I was tired and a little irritated. I went up to Denise's room. A small bedside lamp was on and as soon as I saw her I knew. But I gave her a small shake, I don't know why. I guess I just didn't believe it.

I called my mom and dad. I called Mike. I called 911 and told them that it was too late. I found Tone in the kitchen, and told him. He didn't want to have to deal with the police, and went to sit across the street, on Crazy Brenda's porch. The police came and took my statement. The Medical Examiner came and pronounced her and took my statement again -- and she asked if Denise might have committed suicide. I said I didn't think so. Perhaps she had died of an overdose, but not intentionally. Perhaps she'd had a heart attack from all the stuff on Friday. I figure that she spent quite a bit of time hypoxic, there on the porch the day before. Tone had said that she'd been out of it all day.

While I was talking to the police and waiting for the medical examiner, Brenda came over and gave me a hug. She loved Denise.

After they took my statement and photographed the scene, it took an hour and a half or so, they took her body to the morgue. They'll do an autopsy tomorrow, Monday. While I was sitting in my living room, between the statements and the coming and going, I talked to my sister Michelle, and to Garrett again. After the EMS and the ME and my sister's body was gone and there was no one but me, I talked with Garrett again.

I took a shower and finally fell asleep. I had dreams of Denise, could hear her voice. It was ok, not scary or sad. Maybe wistful.

Today I called a lot of people. We have to wait and see about the autopsy and I will schedule the cremation, but we have a plan cobbled together for a ceremony and internment.

I'm going to write an obit, or at least start on it. Mike's on his way home. I'm going to maybe take a nap and maybe go have a cup of coffee or something with Linda, Christopher's mom.