The last voyage of the vessel Hugh Wiegand
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After the self-determined death of my uncle Hugh Wiegand, I requested an official copy of the Maricopa County Medical Examiner’s report. It arrived 10 days ago.
When I received it, I scanned the attachments briefly, looking for information that was new or that would challenge what I knew. Seeing neither, I determined I needed a little time to go over everything in detail. I did so this morning.
The report is the last record of uncle Hugh’s vessel.
You have a vessel, as do I. These vessels have a very special trait: almost every one will outlive the human inside it!
Even though our vessels are not the totality of who we are, they are where we live most intimately. They carry us, ever-present, translating the world outside of us to experiences inside of us.
Carrying this life-long expertise, these vessels can tell stories after their passengers are gone. In this way, no ship goes down before its captain.
And so thinking, I read on.
The report is organized, clean, and clinical – probing Hugh’s vessel in segments:
EXTERNAL EXAMINATION
EVIDENCE OF INJURY
INTERNAL EXAMINATION
BODY CAVITIES
CARDIOVASCULAR SYSTEM
RESPIRATORY SYSTEM
HEPATOBILIARY SYSTEM
GASTROINTESTINAL SYSTEM
GENITOURINARY SYSTEM
RETICULOENDOTHELIAL SYSTEM
ENDOCRINE ORGANS
NECK
HEAD
MUSCULOSKELETAL SYSTEM
Under each heading, there are between 4 and 15 lines of brief description. Patterns reveal themselves quickly.
Descriptions often contain specks of quantifiable data, some with scattered adjectives:
* 50 mL of red-brown decomposition fluid
* heart weighs 475 grams
* left and right lungs weigh 625 and 625 grams, respectively
Following each piece of quantitative data is a qualitative piece:
* No abnormal collection of fluid is within the peritoneal cavity
* The coronary arteries arise normally
* The pleural surfaces are smooth, dull, and unremarkable.
My eyes blur, attention bounding across the liminal line between my outer and inner worlds. I am transported to the time in college where I thought I would be an M.D.
I am in the human anatomy lab. The smell of mint formaldehyde hangs in my nostrils and mouth, but soon I will ignore it. My group’s cadaver is waiting on an exam table. I look at the bag over the cadaver’s face, and thank it for what it will teach me. I look to the Teaching Assistant. “Today, we will be exploring the cardiovascular system….”
My eyes refocus on the Medical Examiner’s notes. I step through my uncle’s vessel. It doesn’t take long.
Everything is orderly. Nothing is unexpected.
Everything is calm.
With this final resolution of his body, the first of the three post-death reckonings is complete.
I recognize the same feeling that I felt when I sat with my father’s vessel, soon after he died.
On the edge of my perception, I see questions attempting to congeal, flitting and floating.
I know they will come when they are whole, but for now: I let tranquility flourish.
I am thankful for this moment.
I am thankful to be alive.
Intersection 9 
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