My Life After a Heart Attack at 38

Trymaine Lee wrote an opinion piece for the New York Times about dealing with the trauma of a heart attack.

The rows of headstones crashed into each other like waves cresting, covering nearly every inch of the cemetery green in Queens as we zoomed past it at 60 miles an hour.

I drove. My wife sat next to me. Our 5-year-old daughter was in the back seat, her face scrunched up against the window, watching the world go by.

“When I die, don’t bury me in a place like that,” I said to my wife.

She didn’t so much as lift an eyelash.

So I said it louder, and with more bass.

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice quivering.

“I’m serious. Don’t bury me in a place like that,” I said. “Send me back home. Bury me in Jersey.”

My wife stared ahead.

“Did you hear me? You got to send me to Jersey. Don’t have me out there with all of them.”

As I fussed about where I wanted my not-yet-dead body buried, she put her face in her hands.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Just stop.”