Friday, June 12, 2009

Junky Junk

I used to love checking the mail.
Probably ever since I was small.
It was always fun to see what I would get.
One summer I even (way before I was green), I decided to call every 800 number I could find and have them send me their catalog, coupon, or anything else they wanted to mail me.  
I got junk mail for a good two years from that.

Roger and I checked the mail nightly together.
Our mailbox is about a block away from our house so it would be a few minutes to walk together, recount our day a bit, and see what goodies awaited us in the mail.
Yes there was always bills but it was still fun the one in a million chance it was not.    
If I did not go, Roger knew I was upset for one reason or another.
It was a great signaling system.
Except when we were receiving the RSVPs (those we did receive!), I could not stand to wait for him to get home.  I was way too excited.

Now...
I do not check the mail daily.
I hate the process.
I hate all the junk mail Roger still gets.  
I write in big letters "Return to sender!"  
I then mark through his name and write "Deceased."
I figure if they keep having to pay for having it returned, they will take him off their mailing lists.  
At least this is my theory.
It is less than it was.
Although it makes me sound psychotic.
I am sure the mail person hates me.
But I do not want it.
I do not want to be reminded he is not here.  
I do not want to be reminded he is not coming home.
I do not want to be reminded of the zillion things he belonged to and supported.  

Then there is all the estate stuff. 
Still.
Ten months out.
Even after the estate has officially legally closed.
I am still dealing with crap.
Bills.
People wanting to get some piece of money.

And my least favorite - the vultures.  
I have received several letters from people trying to buy the house from me.
They are very sorry for my loss.
They want to help me.
They want to take my house off my hands.
And there is no need for a real estate agent or lawyer to be involved.  
They will even give me a fair price.  
Fuck them!!  

And I rarely walk to the mailbox.
I get it on my way home.
When I am driving.
Walking there reminds me how lonely I truly am.  
It is the longest walk alone ever.
I feel like neighbors are staring at me if I do.
"Wow, what happened to the guy who used to walk with her?"
[Because they have yet to ever talk to me.]
"They must be divorced now."
Even though, I know I am imagining this part.  
I know they probably do not notice at all.
Or care.  
But I do not want to be thought of as divorced.

Ugh...   

2 comments:

Sean said...

People actually actively hunt for recent widows to buy their house?...more dynamics I never imagined...

Roads said...

Yeah, that's really awful.

Sick bastards -- I agree, fuck 'em!