Selling Your House

I did not imagine it would be this hard.
After every thing else this month.
It has been a headache and at times a body ache.
It has been stressful and work.
And a money suck.
But I am in the process of selling the rental.

It was always the plan to sell it.
Sooner than later actually.
It was actually not the plan to rent it.
But the market crashed and we had no choice.
And now the market is on its way back up.
Your neighborhood is hot right now.
People want to live there.

The sell process has been going to so smooth.
Thanks so much to our friend's help.
It will all be done in almost a month timespan.
It is going to a young couple.
Who I know will love the house as you did.

But alas I am a bit emotional at it not being mine.
Maybe its normal to be a bit sad at selling a house.
Maybe it's not just a grief thing.

I keep thinking of the first time I was in the house.
Getting stuck at the gate.
The way I wouldn't let you hold my hand closest to you.
There was a scab on my hand so I made you hold my other hand.

I think about the time you gave me a key to your house.
I was waking up from a nap and instead of leaving I had a key to leave when I wanted.

The silly fights I started because I was scared of getting close to you.

I remember when I proposed.
Watching you from the patio move from room to room.
Flipping on all the lights.
And then your face when you saw me on the patio.

I think about our parties.
Halloween.
July 4th.

Watching TV together.
Your big pile of clothes in the guest room.
Our bright yellow, thankfully temporary, bedroom wall.
Your attempt to match the color of the front door.
Putting up the new light fixture in the dining room six times till you got it right.
So many memories.

I hope to find some time in the next few weeks to just be there.
Maybe you'll join me.
For one last time.

It's the Small Things

At this point in my grief, it is the small, seemingly meaningless things that get me.

After Roger and I got married, with a little bit of hesitation on my part, we combined checking accounts.
Now we did the system of ours, yours, and mine.
Ours was to be the household stuff and the majority of our money.
But each of us would have our own small checking account that we would deposit a smaller amount from each paycheck.
That way neither could complain about a shiny new purse or a new martial arts toy.
And added bonus, if we bought a gift for one another, the evidence was not readily available.
It took me till about June 2008, four months after the wedding, to get up the courage to have most of my paycheck and all the small details taken care of to have "our" checking account.
It was one of Roger's old accounts that had great benefits.
The account was originally from the days when First Union was around.
This was hard for me.  I had been on my own since I was 17.
Almost ten years at this point.
Now my money was our money.

After Roger died, I took his name off the account (due to the fact his death was after a car accident). Slowly over the last three years, Wachovia and now Wells Fargo changed the terms so much that even old accounts, like Roger's, are not as efficient.
So I need to close it.  And I am trying.

It is a small thing.
A meaningless thing.
It is just a checking account.
Come. On.
But it was ours.
And way before that, it was his.
And now, its another thing that is disappearing that was part of him.
That belonged to him.
So I have been dragging my feet.
I have not been very aggressive in getting this done.
I opened a new account before Christmas.
And yet it is March almost April.
Now, I have been busy but there is part of me that is dreading pulling the plug, again.

Sigh...
It is the small things.

Sweet Relief

On Wednesday I got my will signed.
And it feels strange to have it done at thirty when most people are enjoying married life and kids and trips with their husbands and wives.
But at the same time I feel a bit relieved.

Roger died interstate.
Meaning he did not have a will.
I had to figure out where things went.
Who got what.
What to do with his motorcycle.
What to do with his gym equipment.
What to do with his prized possessions.

For the last two years, I was always afraid of my death.
Not for the normal reasons.
But for all the things that would happen afterwards.
Scared of who would be in control by default since I did not have children or a husband.
It was a constant thought.

But now I feel like I can die in peace of sorts.
At least who I want will be in control.
They can make the decisions.
And since sometimes it feels like we share a brain, I know things will be okay.
They will be able to figure it out.

For everyone who reads my blog:

• Get a will especially if you have kids.
• Get life insurance especially if you have a spouse and/or kids.  
• Make sure someone knows what to do with your organs.
• Make sure someone knows what to do with your body.

So Jaded

Most people live life like their are immortal.

They ignore the fact we are mortal beings.

At least while they are young.

Because only old people die, right? 

Yeah right...

I finally took myself to my lawyer's office this afternoon.

I finally started the will/trust process.  

Why?

Because I am constantly thinking I might die.

Maybe next week.

Maybe in a year.

But I need to be prepared.  

I have had this worry in the last (almost) two years of what will happened if I die tomorrow.

As I spoke to the lawyer, most of my questions were "If I die next week..."

"If I die next year..."

"What happens to _______  if I die before next month?"

My lawyer finally says "You know, more than likely, you are going to live for years and years."

"You are not going to die soon statistically speaking."  

"Most of my clients I have to remind them of their mortality but you are living like you are going to die any day now."

I am just jaded.

So jaded.

My life as I knew it ended abruptly.  

Roger was full of life.  Healthy and just beginning a new chapter.

And it ended in an instant.

No warning.

No blinking lights.

No years of waiting for the moment.

What makes me so immortal?

What makes me so special that I will live till I am ninety?

Why will I not end the same?

Why will my life be different?

My life could end just as quickly.

I could die young too.

I guess I am jaded that it is not impossible.  

So jaded.  

MySpace Fail

I decided about a month ago I finally wanted to delete Roger's MySpace account.
I was getting strange comments and messages.
Plus, it was just starting to bug me that his profile was out there.
With pictures and his words floating in cyberspace.

In the two years I have had to deal with estate issues, deleting a MySpace account is up there in the top ten annoying and frustrating things I had to do.
I had access to his profile.
I could log in so of course I had access.
So you would think I could easily delete his profile.
Nope. Not at all.
I do not have access to his old AOL email account.
So I cannot complete the confirmation process of deleting it.

I emailed their helpdesk.
I needed to make a copy of his death certificate and prove my relationship with him.
Great...
I found a few moments yesterday (the joyous things I get to do in my spare time) and I scanned in a copy of his death certificate into a PDF.
Finally, I thought, I can get this done.

Nope.
The email address I was asked to send it to does not accept this type of attachments per the automatic response.
So I turned my husband's death certificate into a JPEG.
Same damn response.
The actual person kept replying they had not received any attachment.
Ugh!
I replied their firewall was blocking the attachments, dimwits.

The attachment must be smaller than 4MB.
Fine.
I edited my husband's death certificate in Photoshop to make it smaller.
Now that's not an odd sentence.
Sent again.
Same fucking response!

Real person replied.
Just fax it over.
Or put "Remove Profile" in his "About me" section.
No fax access. Just the "Remove Profile".
"We will submit the profile for removal consideration."
Consideration? CONSIDERATION!?!

Of all the crappy things I have been charged to do in this whole process.
I swear, fighting with MySpace has once again confirmed my dislike for the site.
Where is that dislike button?

My own MySpace is now gone gone gone.

Ding Dong

Yesterday I had to go to the rental house- Roger's first house.
I have not been there in a long time.
My renters are fantastic and I rarely have to go to the property.

But starting at the exit off the highway.
Yes, the same highway the accident happened on.
The memories starting flying into my head.

The hundreds of times I drove this exact path to Roger's house.
The hundreds of times we drove this path together.

Driving into the neighborhood, it was strange.
Most things are the same but things are also different.
Trees are a bit taller and fuller.
More ducks are lining the street near the front.
The pavement has been redone recently.

As I drove down the street the house is on I wondered if anyone recognized my car.
I wondered if they recognized me.
I seriously doubt it but I still thought it.

I had the house painted last year so at least that looks different.
The big oak tree in the front though and the palm tree I could see from the master bath.
They are the same. Bigger, but the same.

Then when I rang the doorbell.
I almost for half a second expected Roger to come to the door.
I felt this sort of anticipation of seeing him.
I looked in the side window hoping to see him walking toward the door.

I remembered the times I would ring the doorbell even way after Roger gave me a key.
I did it as a joke.
Knowing he was probably under dressed.
I would see his feet first as he got close to the side window.
Then his skinny legs.
And his smile.
I would smile as he answered the door in his boxers and making sure no one else could see him.
"Why did you ring the doorbell?"
"No reason" as I just smiled.

I half expected him yesterday.
Except then I remembered this is not his house anymore.
And he does not live there anymore.

I Can Feel That Now

Many people describe loss as numbness that encapsulates them for the first few months.

And I totally felt that.

I could not feel anything except grief.

Nothing penetrated the fog of grief.

Everything is fuzzy in my memory.

When I started back to school last year, my period got completely messed up.

My period was sort of backwards.

Bleeding for twenty days at a time and then not for ten days.

It went on for three or four months.

And I could not figure out why.

I remember sitting in my counselor's office.

And in my gynecologist's office.

I kept telling them I did not understand why.

It was not right after Roger death.

It was about four or five months out.

My gynecologist asked me: "Are you stressed?"

I looked reflectively at myself.

Was I stressed?

I was back in "real" life with school.

I was dealing with the estate stuff still.

My husband did die.

Maybe I was.

But I did not feel it.

Stress was on the list of things that did not penetrate the grief fog.

This week I feel stressed.

My muscles in my back are tight.

I feel overwhelmed.

I am easily agitated.

And the good thing is, I feel it.

At least I think it is good.

Good that I can feel it.

Feel something besides grief.

I am feeling.

Over $225,000

I am one of the lucky ones.

Roger was smart.

He was a planner.

He had a job.

Thus he had health insurance.

I was lucky.

I did not have to think about health insurance after the accident.

I did not have to worry how much the daily CT scan was costing us.

Costing me.

I did not have to worry about how much the respiratory therapist who came in every few hours to check the ventilator was costing.

Or about the nurse giving him his bath and a shave.

Or worry if Roger really needed the mannitol.

Or the Ensure supplement to make sure he was nourished.

I did not have to worry.

I had to worry about a lot of things.

But the last thing I had to worry about was insurance.

It is the last thing any wife or husband should have to worry about.

Roger was cut out of the car.

He was rushed to the hospial.

Roger broke his femur.

He broke his humerus into a billion pieces.

He broke his radius and elbow.

He broke some facial bones.

He broke the back of his head.

He broke some ribs.

He broke his spleen.

I knew it was costing about $50,000 a day.

I knew from my past life how much critical care cost.

But what if.

What if Roger was out of a job.

What if Roger elected not to have health insurance coverage.

What if I was not so lucky...

Yeah, he would have still died.

Yeah, I would have still survived.

And yeah, I would have eventually started to heal.

But... I might have not had a home.

I might have had to evict my renters.

I might have not been in counseling like I needed.

I would be back at my horrid job.

I would not be finishing school.

I would have a roommate or two.

I would be wrestling with creditors.

I would be dealing with even more stress on top of grief.

I would owe over $225,000.

Just for Roger.

Instead I paid about $2500.

A small price for my wonderful husband's care.

No one deserves to have to think about health insurance as their spouse lays dying.

No one.

No one deserves to make the choice between money and their spouse's health.

No one.

Everyone deserves health insurance.

Catch 22

Today I finished my associates degree in education.

This was not my original plan when Roger was still alive.

My original plan went out the window when he died like most plans I had.

Like every single plan I had.

I was not even going into teaching when he was here.

I was just getting a piece of paper to have a piece of paper.

A piece of paper in health care administration.

Something to shove into the faces of those that doubted my abilities.

Something to further my career and perhaps help me really find a job I loved.

And I am happy that it is done.

I really am.

And I am proud of myself.

I really am.

But I want to call him.

I want to hug him.

I want to hear him say "I am proud of you" in front of me not inside my head.

I know he would be.

I truly know that if there is an after life and all that he is rooting for me.

But that is not satisfying my craving for his pride.

His love.

His hug.

His looking at me with a big cheesy smile.

If he was still here, I would not be here.

I would be somewhere else.

I would not be finished today.

I would not be finishing with education.

I still had a while to go with my part time school status.

I would still be plugging away at that.

But yet with his death, I got a new opportunity.

Yes, it is great that I am making a positive out of a negative.

Blah blah blah.

But there is still this feeling in my stomach that wishes I still had him instead.

Instead of having my AA in education, I would rather have him.

Knowing that without him gone, I am accomplishing goals.

Knowing that he died, so now I can do these things.

Then there is the whole thing of it is just an AA.

Who cares.

It is not that big of a deal.

And this nagging voice that says "It took you long enough."

But then I think about the day when Ms. Pat Duncan standing in her office at the Governor's School in Dublin, Virginia on a fall day back in 1997 told the sixteen year old me I would never become anything.

Maybe it is her voice that is nagging me.

And I say to her "Look at me now."

Look at everything I have overcome.

Look at everything I have become.

Maybe not in the traditional way.

Maybe not going the same route as most people.

But I have done a lot.

I am a lot.

And I will be a lot.

So to my dear husband.

So to my best friend.

So to the man who helped me in so many ways that I have discovered and that I will discover.

Thank you! Thank you for keeping your promise of providing for me even in your death.

Thank you for not making me cash in that new savings bond.

I still love you.

I will always love you.

I will try to be happy in this catch 22.

I will try not to focus on the pain.

Thank you.

Inheritance

Yes, I inherited some normal things.

A house. Life insurance. A little money from checking account.

Normal things that most beneficiaries get.

But then people forget about the other stuff.

The everyday stuff.

And the little stuff.

All the little stuff people accumulate during a lifetime.

Furniture.

Towels.

Clothing.

Books.

When Mr. X was asking me if I had a certain tool in the garage, I said "I do not know but..."

I started listed things I did know I had.

Things I had seen when I have to go out there for a screwdriver or as I am leaving the house.

He said it sounded like I was reading an inventory list.

A weed whacker, an orbital sander, some plywood, various size nails, paint, a leaf blower, safety goggles, some hammers, a car wash bucket, disposable gloves.

Sometimes people will comment on something they see at my house.

A piece of furniture. A throw. A painting. A magnet on the fridge.

They will ask where I got that cool book or ugly painting.

"I inherited it."

And I discover new things all the time.

Office supplies. DVDs. Toiletries.

Some things I love.

Some things are okay.

And some things I hate and I will eventually get rid of.

Eventually.

One of my favorite things is an eraser.

Yes, an eraser in the shape of a CK one cologne bottle.

It is very silly to love this very simple thing.

It used to sit on his desk in the office.

I never remember seeing him use it.

But I do.

It is now it my backpack.

I use it during tests.

When I take notes.

I use it during my science labs.

And every time I feel it in my palm, I think of Roger.

Even when I just see it.

I will keep this.

I will use it as long as I can.

And I will probably cry when I cannot use it any longer.

Roger's silly eraser.

This is Suppose to Feel Good

About a month ago, I was complaining about all the estate stuff.

How I was sick of it.

How I wished it would just go away.

How I wished it would just leave me alone.

Well, it did.

I got my wish.

Today I received the final bill for the probate lawyer and their nice-to-work-with-you letter.

So I should be happy.

I should be jumping for joy.

I should be glad to end that part of this process.

The legal part.

The business end of death.

But... guess what...

I just love the way grief works its "magic".

I am not that happy about it.

I feel a little bummed actually.

Not because I will not get the joy of writing those checks each month.

Not because I want probate to go on forever.

I guess it is just that its over.

Another official closing.

Another reminder that yes this really happened.

Yes, Roger actually died.

He actually is not here.

He is not coming back.

He is gone.

Forever.

It is a hard pill for me to swallow.

It was almost like a break up letter to me from the probate lawyer.

"This letter ceases our representation of the estate."

Wow...

So today, I just wanted to go back to bed.

Crawl up and just pull up the covers over my head.

To tell the world to go away.

Let me just lay in my pity.

I just cannot believe it is over.

It is all over.

I have to remind myself of this over and over again.

It is all over.

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...   

Decision Making

I am not indecisive. 

Quite the opposite actually.

But to the person sitting across from me at a restaurant or waiting for me to reply to the dreaded question "What do you want to do today?", it can seem like that is the case.

I, however, think I have issues deciding between an infinite number of possibilities.

If I have a list of choices, I can do it. 

"Do you want Thai, Indian, or Italian for dinner?"

I can make a choice.

But if the question is "What do you want for dinner?"

I have a hard time deciding.    

Well, at least that is how I used to be.

Now, and I know I am not alone, I have a hard time making decisions.

I just get so exhausted by it.

I get to/have to make all the decisions about my life now, about Roger's life, about this house, about the rental house, about what project to do, about what project not to do....

And not that I am not an independent person, but I get tired.

Decision making has improved over the last few months but I still find myself staring at things not knowing which thing to buy, which way to turn, or which direction I want to go.  

I miss having that second opinion.

I miss having shared responsibility.

Or just someone to discuss things with.

Even if I did not take his advice.  

I remember when Roger first died, I could not even decide what to eat.

I was not really hungry.

I did not want anything.

I did not crave anything.

A dear friend of mine would decide for me.

It was nice.

"What am I having for lunch today?"

"You are having a peanut butter and honey sandwich today. You like those."

I was finally accepting that I had a team mate.

A partner.

A person I could depend on 100% of the time.

But now, I am back to just me.

Standing up for myself.

Fighting for what I want.

But I am tired.

I am exhausted.

And some days, I just want someone to tell me what to do.

Even if I know I will rebel.

Most people would be excited...

... about officially owning a new house.

But it is not quite that feeling for me.

It is quite odd for me actually.

Today I received the paperwork officially declaring me the owner of Roger's other house.

I keep thinking how ironic this is.

How I always called it "Roger's house" and now it is mine.

Another one of Roger's jokes on me.

How I wanted "our house" and did not accept his house as ours. 

Yet now I have inherited Roger's house I rejected two years ago.  

It does not feel good to own another house.

It does not even feel okay.

It feels unfair.

It feels unsatisfying.  

I will be thirty years old next year.

And I will own two houses.

But single.

I always had a couple of sayings about being thirty.

First, I wanted to own a house.  

Goal done, two fold.

Second, not to be divorced.

Goal done as well yet still single against my will.

But meeting these goals does not feel good.

They do not make me feel better about myself like most goals do.

I would rather have my husband than another house.  

Sigh...  I do love that palm tree in the front yard.

Maybe I can be happy about owning that.  

So yay, I own a beautiful palm tree.  

The tree I would look at while showering.  

Life is unfair.  

Ugh, Melt Down #705

I know there will be a point very soon where I will not be able to walk into any establishment without the employees running and hiding.
"Oh no, it's that widow. Run! Hide! Here she comes! She will cry or throw a fit. Give her whatever she wants and no one gets hurt."

And I thought I was having a good day.
I thought I was having a good week for that matter even though it is only Tuesday.
But that was only temporary.
I guess it could not last.

As I have mentioned, a lot of people have thought I did nothing during the day before Monday. I just had someone comment to me on that fact yesterday even.
Yeah, I just sat around watching TV and eating candy all day before Monday. Maybe a cry here or there but I was doing nothing, right?
I wish.
My days were filled with phone calls to insurance companies, filling out forms, making copies of marriage licenses, meeting with lawyers, getting quotes for painters, figuring out which things to pay and which go to the estate, finding health insurance, making sure my renters are okay, making sure my house is not falling apart, filling out some more forms, and figuring out what to do with stuff.
Well now that I have school to focus on, I also have to fit in these other fun activities.
Today was getting a signature guarantee on a form because I was Roger's beneficiary in my maiden name and not in my married name. Roger and I just had not got that far yet in turning everything over. (Changing your name is such a tedious process.) This is the third trip to get these signature guarantees for the same IRA accounts. So hence, I'm already irritated that I am still working on these accounts when I thought I was finished with them last month. I was also irritated that it was raining. Yes, just because it was raining and that meant I had to be walking around and driving in rain (The accident happened when it was raining).

I walk into the bank with my forms in my hand.
The bank manager, Linda, I normally work with is not there.
No big deal.
I walk up to the counter.
"You can have a seat, I'm busy working on something."
Hmm, okay. No biggie. Normally I just stand and wait at the counter while Linda finishes whatever she is working on but okay, I will take a seat.
"Okay, you can come forward."
Okay. I was literally sitting there for two seconds. I could not have just stood and waited?
I am still composed. I did have to go to class after this so my time is limited but okay.
"How can I help you?"
I explain how I need a signature guarantee for this form because my married name was not listed as the beneficiary so I need to use this form to make sure I am the same person as before and I need them to stamp it.
"Hmm, we do not do that. We only do that for checks."
"Yes you do. Linda has done this for me before." Irritation is starting.
"Let me check with someone else. Linda is on lunch."
He wonders off to the office just over. And that lady is just chatting with her friend (I overheard part of their conversation and she was introducing him as her friend to other people in the bank so I am sure she could care less either way since she is busy with her friend.)
Harry returns. Yes I remember his name because I will never use him again. He is off the Christmas list for sure.
"Sorry, we can't do that."
Breakdown starts.
I do not think I was yelling but I do think I may have raised my voice a little and tears were starting to form thus my voice was starting to crack.
"I have a lot of money here (not true but I meant to say 'I have a lot of accounts here'). I lost my husband and I am going through a very difficult time. I just need your help and Linda has done it before."
"Linda will be back in forty-five minutes if you want to come back."
"I have another appointment now and I do not have time to come back."
Tears formed. Grabbed my papers and stormed out of the bank. I yanked the door so hard that it bounced against its hinge.
Geez... what is happening to me.

I called my widow friend to vent because I know she will understand.
We chatted for a little while.
I calmed down.
I went to class.
I kind of forgot about the bank incident.

As I was leaving, I noticed I had a missed call from a number I did not recognize and a voicemail.
I listen to the voicemail.
It was Linda.
"Hi, this is Linda from Wachovia. I heard you were here (Yes, I'm sure she did hear about some irrational woman who stormed out of the bank) and I wanted to see if I could help you."
I love Linda. She has been absolutely wonderful with everything. And I make regular appearances at the bank for one reason or the other. Most of the time for several reasons at once and she is always so sweet and helpful.
I called her back.
I told her what I needed and she said she would have it ready tomorrow at 3:30pm.
Like I said, I love Linda. She is fabulous.

I just hate this part of grieving.
It is one of the ugliest parts.
Hopefully there will be a massive turn over at the bank before tomorrow afternoon leaving only Linda and I will not have to be embarrassed at my actions...