Jim
Days are passing so slowly.
Dad died on June 7, and everything still isn't finished. Every day it seems like the world moves faster and I can't keep up with all that I'm in charge of. I cancelled all 10 of his credit cards over the course of two days shortly after he passed away. Last Tuesday I went to his house with two of his friends and my big sister ( not the same father ) to retrieve any personal belongings, and it was... devastating. It was a wreck. It looked like a tornado had run through the house and tossed everything upside down and then dumped 10 boxes of assorted bugs on top of the mess. It was the worst thing I've ever seen.
Worse than the actual act of being in that dump was knowing that someone you love lived like that. Why didn't he just ask for help? Personally, I would have just torched the place and started over. Some things are just not worth salvaging...
Among the things that were worth saving were pictures. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Of me. Pictures of my wedding, pictures of me as a 3-year-old wearing shiny costumes and tap shoes. Pictures of a little beauty queen with a frilly dress and big blue eyes, a tiny little body and big bobble-head full of gorgeous blonde locks of hair. Pictures of me and my dad at the beach, him carrying me in one arm and a body board in the other. Pictures of him one Christmas with a silly grin after discovering a box of peanut brittle hiding beneath the wrapping paper.
And it still doesn't feel real. I made a collage frame with pictures of him and wrote his name on it and hung it in my room and I see him smiling at me from that picture at the movie theater and I want to call him and say hi.
But I can't because he's not there.
It still feels weird. I cried at the funeral, but I still haven't really cried on my own. I think it's because I just still don't think he's gone.
As it stands, I got some things from his house, which is a trailer in Whitehaven. There is NO way I could ever get that home clean and in any shape to be sold. I was hoping I could just get pictures and any personal things I might want out of it and then just light a match and throw it in the living room, but I realize that's kindof a childish fantasy.
He had two cars, one of which my aunt and I picked up from his work and is at her house now and one of which is in a body shop in Southaven waiting to be paid for and picked up. The bill is about $700, which I am not about to pay for, especially considering I don't have $700. He had two bank accounts, which could have $100 or $100,000 in them, but no one knows because his mother ( my grandmother ) is also listed on the account and so she is the only one with access to them. At 95 years old and already in poor health, the news of my dad's death caused my grandmother to get in very bad shape and she has been staying with relatives for two weeks now. I have no idea when/if the money in his accounts will ever be claimed.
I have an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow morning about becoming the Executor of dad's estate so that I can legally sell/dispose of/keep his things, but that won't give me access to his bank accounts because his mother is still on them. I keep thinking, "I know this probably sounds greedy, but..." and then I stop myself when I realize that I don't care what it "sounds like" to someone else - I'm the only one of his four children who has taken over dealing with his belongings and tying up loose ends. I quit work two weeks early to move to Memphis and deal with this; do I think I deserve to know how much money my father had and do I think I deserve to claim it? Absolutely. I have no problem dividing it amongst his children - although because of their strained relationship I'm not sure if any of the other three would even want it - but of course I'll ask because they are his children as well.
I just want it all to be finished. The trailer, the cars, the money... I just want it all to be done so I can move on properly. Every single time I have to see his name on an account just reminds me that he is gone. It's like finding out a dozen times a day that your father is dead. I can't grieve, I can't cry, I can't take a break; all I can do is stare at the endless papers and phone numbers and hope that it will be finished soon so that I can have a big, drawn-out, girly cry and move on.
Dad died on June 7, and everything still isn't finished. Every day it seems like the world moves faster and I can't keep up with all that I'm in charge of. I cancelled all 10 of his credit cards over the course of two days shortly after he passed away. Last Tuesday I went to his house with two of his friends and my big sister ( not the same father ) to retrieve any personal belongings, and it was... devastating. It was a wreck. It looked like a tornado had run through the house and tossed everything upside down and then dumped 10 boxes of assorted bugs on top of the mess. It was the worst thing I've ever seen.
Worse than the actual act of being in that dump was knowing that someone you love lived like that. Why didn't he just ask for help? Personally, I would have just torched the place and started over. Some things are just not worth salvaging...
Among the things that were worth saving were pictures. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Of me. Pictures of my wedding, pictures of me as a 3-year-old wearing shiny costumes and tap shoes. Pictures of a little beauty queen with a frilly dress and big blue eyes, a tiny little body and big bobble-head full of gorgeous blonde locks of hair. Pictures of me and my dad at the beach, him carrying me in one arm and a body board in the other. Pictures of him one Christmas with a silly grin after discovering a box of peanut brittle hiding beneath the wrapping paper.
And it still doesn't feel real. I made a collage frame with pictures of him and wrote his name on it and hung it in my room and I see him smiling at me from that picture at the movie theater and I want to call him and say hi.
But I can't because he's not there.
It still feels weird. I cried at the funeral, but I still haven't really cried on my own. I think it's because I just still don't think he's gone.
As it stands, I got some things from his house, which is a trailer in Whitehaven. There is NO way I could ever get that home clean and in any shape to be sold. I was hoping I could just get pictures and any personal things I might want out of it and then just light a match and throw it in the living room, but I realize that's kindof a childish fantasy.
He had two cars, one of which my aunt and I picked up from his work and is at her house now and one of which is in a body shop in Southaven waiting to be paid for and picked up. The bill is about $700, which I am not about to pay for, especially considering I don't have $700. He had two bank accounts, which could have $100 or $100,000 in them, but no one knows because his mother ( my grandmother ) is also listed on the account and so she is the only one with access to them. At 95 years old and already in poor health, the news of my dad's death caused my grandmother to get in very bad shape and she has been staying with relatives for two weeks now. I have no idea when/if the money in his accounts will ever be claimed.
I have an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow morning about becoming the Executor of dad's estate so that I can legally sell/dispose of/keep his things, but that won't give me access to his bank accounts because his mother is still on them. I keep thinking, "I know this probably sounds greedy, but..." and then I stop myself when I realize that I don't care what it "sounds like" to someone else - I'm the only one of his four children who has taken over dealing with his belongings and tying up loose ends. I quit work two weeks early to move to Memphis and deal with this; do I think I deserve to know how much money my father had and do I think I deserve to claim it? Absolutely. I have no problem dividing it amongst his children - although because of their strained relationship I'm not sure if any of the other three would even want it - but of course I'll ask because they are his children as well.
I just want it all to be finished. The trailer, the cars, the money... I just want it all to be done so I can move on properly. Every single time I have to see his name on an account just reminds me that he is gone. It's like finding out a dozen times a day that your father is dead. I can't grieve, I can't cry, I can't take a break; all I can do is stare at the endless papers and phone numbers and hope that it will be finished soon so that I can have a big, drawn-out, girly cry and move on.