Grief and Donuts: A Memoir About Death and Loss During A Global Pandemic

By Katrina Koci-Myers

In 'Grief and Donuts: A Memoir About Death and Loss During a Global Pandemic,' I take you on a deeply personal journey through the transformative year of 2021—a year that would forever alter the course of my life. At its core, this memoir is a heartfelt tribute to my cherished Uncle Mike, whose vibrant spirit, kindness, and unyielding resilience left an indelible mark on my life and the lives of those who knew him.

Within these pages, I not only recount the final months of Uncle Mike's life but also weave together the rich tapestry of his existence. From his modest beginnings and early challenges to his accomplishments and the profound love he shared with family and friends, his story serves as a testament to the beauty of ordinary lives infused with extraordinary love. Through letters, photographs, and the shared memories of those closest to him, I paint a vivid portrait of a man who found joy in life's simplest pleasures and whose laughter could brighten even the darkest days.

Beyond being a memoir of loss, 'Grief and Donuts' stands as a celebration of love and the enduring connections that bind us together, even in the face of the most formidable adversities. It serves as a poignant reminder that, even as life takes unforeseen turns, the love we hold for those we cherish remains unbreakable, transcending time and distance.

I extend an invitation to you to embark on this journey, traversing the profound and personal moments that defined the COVID-19 pandemic. Together, we'll pay homage to Uncle Mike's memory and the invaluable lessons his life and passing have imparted—lessons about love, loss, and how even a cup of grief is best served with a donut.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350926590

Book preview

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Grief and Donuts

©2023 Katrina Koci-Myers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 979-8-35092-658-3

eBook ISBN 979-8-35092-659-0

For Uncle Mike, my favorite Scorpio,

I love you and I wish you weren’t dead.

To Karen, my wife and my rock during my greatest sadness and immense grief, thank you for being my light when everyone else left me in the dark.

It is distinctly possible to remain too long at the Fair. – Joan Didion

Contents

Prologue

March 11, 2021-

March 12,2021,

Scottsdale, Arizona, Embassy Suites, 2:36am:

March 13,2021:

March 14, 2021:

March 15, 2021:

March 16, 2021:

March 20, 2021:

March 26, 2021:

March 30,2021:

April 2, 2021:

April 8, 2021:

April 9, 2021:

April 10, 2021:

April 11, 2021:

April 16, 2021:

May 6, 2021:

May 15, 2021-

May 30, 2021:

June 12, 2021:

June 13, 2021:

June 14, 2021:

July 20, 2021:

August 11, 2021:

August 15, 2021:

August 16, 2021:

August 17, 2021:

September 7, 2021:

September 8, 2021:

September 9, 2021:

September 10, 2021:

September 13, 2021:

September 28, 2021:

October 7, 2021:

October 15, 2021:

October 31, 2021:

November 1, 2021:

November 25, 2021:

December 7, 2021:

December 25, 2021:

December 26, 2021:

January 17, 2022:

February 22,2022:

February 26, 2022:

March 3, 2022:

March 4, 2022:

March 11, 2022:

March 23, 2022:

May 11, 2022:

September 14, 2022:

October 3, 2022:

October 29, 2022:

November 1, 2022:

November 19, 2022:

November 26, 2022:

December 10, 2022:

December 13, 2022:

December 17, 2022:

December 24, 2022:

Eleven Things I Learned from Uncle Mike

About The Author

Prologue

This is a story of losing an important and influential person in my life. The only father figure I ever knew. It is about loss and overwhelming sadness during a worldwide pandemic when the world was already very lost and sad. It is about our strained healthcare system in the United States and the difficulty in communicating with doctors and nurses when it felt like every person you knew had a family member or friend who was dying in some hospital somewhere. I started to wonder why my story is any different. But my story is different because I am the only niece who had an Uncle Mike who she loved very much.

I am hopeful that telling his story, the little I know of it and my own grief walk that I can help someone progress through their journey of grief. I am here to tell you that things do get better, and you will move forward with your life.

Apart from the loss and sadness, this is also a story about hope, resilience, and faith. I wrote this book to humanize my uncle because he spent the last months of his life in a sterile white room with little human interaction, apart from a caregiver, nurse or doctor coming to provide his care. He died alone and I was not able to see him because of the pandemic as they were only allowing compassionate care visits. His death was not expected. My uncle was more than his COVID-19 diagnosis. He was more than his pancreatitis. He was more than the hospital bed that he laid in for months vomiting up bile and phlegm. The pandemic caused us to forget our empathy and our compassion. Working as a nurse during the pandemic, I experienced so much loss, uncertainty, and overall feelings of being terrified. Every day I lived in fear. I’m immunocompromised and I would think at the end of my shift after pronouncing two COVID-19 deaths and taking care of a multitude of other COVID-19 positive residents, am I going to be the next statistic? It was beyond anxiety-inducing. Our patients were just another sick number in a sea of very sick people. Death was everywhere and we became desensitized to it. My uncle didn’t deserve to die the way he did. I am hoping to re-kindle his spirit in these pages and bring back the life he deserved, while healing myself in the process. I believe we all deserve the chance at a legacy.

March 11, 2021-

Today my uncle died. The celestial heavens have gained another star tonight and I am heartbroken. The world just stopped momentarily. I had just finished an almost perfect Ethiopian meal with my wife in an Embassy Suites off Scottsdale Road. For a moment life seemed okay…and then the phone call. Mike just died. He just died, said my aunt over the phone. The overwhelming feeling of loss and vomit and heartache just came over me and I was paralyzed. I had just seen him five hours ago on my phone via FaceTime. I had just told him I loved him. I made this trip to pick up his car and bring it back to Nevada. He was going to get better. He was going to live another twenty years. How is he dead? The conversations prior to his death will forever haunt me. Maybe he knew. He had just told me earlier that day somewhere outside Kingman, AZ, I’m losing it, Kat. The clocks in this place are all messed up. I asked him, in my very matter-of-fact nurse voice, Do you think you’re going to make it, Uncle Mike? he quickly replied, I really don’t know, Kat.

If you’ve ever driven between Las Vegas and Phoenix, you know there is awful reception or no reception at all. You know it’s bad when you can’t even pick up a shitty country station. The day he died I stopped by my aunt’s house to pick up his car. Most of what he had left to his name was in his backseat. Some free shirts from the M casino that my mother gave him, his only blazer he owned that he wore to my nursing school graduation, a Cabela’s winter coat, his unending collection of stocking caps, Tupperware containers filled with zip drives, some women’s shoes, women’s hose, women’s socks ( he collected women’s shoes and socks for most of his life) and lots of men’s underwear, one large handmade stuffed goose wearing glasses, a pet crate, two large red Igloo containers that he used to carry his lunch in when he worked as a plumber and so many unopened Skoal containers. My guess is by the time I got to his car in my aunt’s driveway to clean it out, he was probably almost dead. He called me shortly after I got there and said, Did you get the car? I replied, Yes, I’m here now. I love you, Uncle Mike. Thanks so much. He abruptly said, Okay, bye and hung up. I am left with that conversation for the rest of my life. The burden of inheriting his car and his life savings. Everything that he had worked for his entire life. No one can convince me that life is fair.

My uncle was born November 1, 1951, in a small town in Nebraska. He was the last-born child and grew up with three older sisters, Mari, Patti, and Therese. His birth name was John Francis Koci. He hated the name John and after his confirmation decided to take the name Mike, after St. Michael. His father, John, my grandfather owned the only bar in the little midwestern town where he grew up. His mother Melba, my grandmother was a nurse and teacher by education and helped manage the financial end of the bar after John purchased it in 1950. Melba and John were staunch Catholics and went to church almost daily. All the children, including my uncle attended Catholic school. Melba and John were well cultured and in turn, so were their children. My mother, Mari and her sisters, Patti and Therese began singing and playing piano at a young age. When my uncle was old enough,