look, it’s just been a thing

So I’ve been awol again. It looks like my last post was September 21.

My mother died September 25. It was both expected and a total surprise, as these things often are. We think she got up in the night and her heart stopped either as she stood up or as she was getting back into bed. My brother found her in the morning.

So that was the last six weeks or so. Planning the funeral, the funeral, insurance paperwork, probate court, and clearing out her house to sell.

We moved her in just about 1 1/2 years ago, so you’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal to clear it now. Except we weren’t allowed to throw much away when we moved her in. Everything just went into boxes and the boxes went into the new house. So there’s been a lot of sorting and shredding and tossing. And deciding who wants what furniture. What to donate. Where to donate.

Finding the damned will. The original that was needed for probate court. I have a copy. My brother has a copy. We found mom’s copies.

Mom organized so much years ago. She had her plot picked out and fully paid for. She had her urn (which we found a few weeks after the funeral. But we had chosen to cremate her, so at least we honored the plan we didn’t know she had.) She had several life insurance policies covering different eventualities. She had a will. She just didn’t make it easy to find the will. But all in all she helped us out.

I’ve been fortunate that my brother has been helping mom with financial stuff for the last few years anyway. His name is already on a lot of the accounts. No one is squabbling over stuff. Mom had solid well built wood furniture which we’ve divvied up. Therefore plenty to go around. More than our two houses can hold, really, since we already have our own stuff.

Which means we’re both donating furniture we have to make room for stuff from her house. I should be organizing and moving things around instead of writing about it.

“Yeah yeah,” you’re saying, “that’s the drill when someone dies. But what about the emotional side? Don’t you want to talk about it?”

I cry at odd times. The weirdest most random things trigger it. I wonder what mom will say about something, then realize she won’t say anything.

So I can’t really talk about the emotions because I’m kind of numb while feeling them all while forgetting she’s dead. I just remind myself that everyone grieves in the own way and in their own time.

Mostly I just want to cram as much necessities into my car and just drive. Just escape. But that’s because of politics and work. And because there’s nothing really tying me here except inertia.