I had no idea how many little details are involved in the ending of someone's life. I don't mean the actual death, the trips to the hospital, the phone calls we made (and forgot to make) letting everyone know. I mean the small, stupid stuff. Like what to do with the person's things. Did they have a preference for how they may be disposed of? That dress that you always thought was so hideous, was that the one that she wanted so and so to have, or thought too good to stuff in the bag for the Salvation Army?
And in the end, no pun intended, we just throw up our hands and hope for the best, And as I left my former mother-in-law's former apartment for the last time this afternoon, I apologized to her for anything that we might have done with her earthly belongings that was not in accordance to her wishes, but telling her that we did the best we could, having no direction whatsoever.
But I also mean the really stupid things. For instance, I took on the task of canceling her utilities and accounts and taking care of her taxes. The different ways in which utilities, credit cards, health insurance plans have for putting that period on the end of the sentence vary greatly and are sometimes amusing, although they probably did not intend this to be so.
For instance, after I canceled her Netscape account, I got a very polite letter from customer service, addressed to her name, which invited her, should her circumstances change in the future, to reinstate her account. Although I think that where she is now, she can do lot better than communicating through Netscape. Now that would make seances much more definitive. "I'm getting something..." the astrologer would say. "I'm getting something and...YOU'VE GOT MAIL!"
I also made a polite suggestion to the telephone company to change the name of the department which handles such things from "terminations" to something a little less dramatic, and, well, horrific, like "disconnections." Yes I know it's just semantics, but when you are dealing with a recently bereaved family member, sometimes the little things matter.
Apparently, our county legislator believes so, too. Shortly after Social Security was notified of her passing, we got a very polite letter with his condolences on our recent loss.
Just when you want to really hate politicians, they go and do something all warm and fuzzy.
But now we go forward. Having gotten all her things out of her abode, they are now mostly in ours. If you're into romance novels, have we got a bodice-ripping bonanaza here for you! Seriously, I mean it. Take a book. Please.
As I look forward to the sorting, the giving away, the throwing out (mostly looking forward to this so we can return our home to its normal state of messiness and not this mother-in-law-of-all-garage-sales that it has become), I think about the things themselves. Things have energy. And these things, they're buzzing with it. I wonder, if someone is really intuitive, if they can chart a kind of map as to where they've been. Who has touched them. The story behind that knife, that vase, that framed print that no one seemed to particularly like but kept passing from person to person because of some sentimental value.
Seems as though I have a lot of stories to write. I've been dithering about starting to write again, but maybe it starts with this. A dog-eared romance novel. A scarf. A plate.
I can't wait to begin.
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3 comments:
I sorry for your (and husband's) loss, but excited a novel may come from it.
When my father died, I had to make one of those quick who-should-get-it decisions. My father was a very generous man, gave to every body and every organization. He also wore glasses since he was in the 6th grade. When he died, he had them on. So when he was waked, he was wearing them. (Odd, I know, but he looked more familiar that way.) After everybody left to head to the church, I lingered by myself to say my last goodbyes, just the two of us (plus I remembered my grandmother warning somebody, "Someone should be there when they close the casket. Those undertakers will steal everything, even the underwear if you're not watching.") As I was getting ready to leave, the funeral director asked me if I wanted to take the glasses. I thought, no, he's worn glasses all his life. "We could donate them to charity," he said. But I'd made my decision and was on the way out to meet the others. "No, thanks," I said. But by the time I reached the door, I realized it wasn't what my father would have wanted. Oh well.
Hey,
Sorry I haven't been around. Just been all wrapped up in my own little world, like most everyone else.
My sincerest possible condolences on your loss. Try to take something positive away from it all if possible.
Nate
Thank you, Nate and anon for your good wishes.
I'm searching for other positive things, but what is coming at me most strongly is to live my life and get out and do things, as she was kind of "stuck," with her illnesses and negative thinking. I'm sure there will be others as time passes.
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