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Sunday Closure

When I last posted about my personal life, gnomi and I were contemplating the drive to Connecticut to pay our respects to the Greenberger family.

In the end, gnomi and I decided that we ought to proceed with our previous Sunday plans after all, so we didn't go to Connecticut. As much as we wanted to, there was one item that simply had to take precedence. (More on that at the end.)

There were a few things we had planned to do on Sunday, and we managed to do most of them. We had lunch with cellio, who was passing through Boston on her way to Pittsburgh, and so if we didn't see her yesterday we have no idea when we would have a chance to see her next. (As cellio has posted, there was a nice small group at lunch.)

We drove out to Burlington and did three things. We visited Nomi's parents, we went to the Bose store, and we took a new author photo of me.

But the most important thing we did, and the main reason we stuck to the original plan, was that we took care of some final issues with Mom's estate. As previously planned, Nomi and I went over to my older brother's place to deal with the final paperwork. My brothers and I now each have one more form to fill out and mail to the estate lawyer, and once we do, Mom's estate will be closed.

I'm not sure if I'm feeling a sense of closure or not. The whole process of dealing with a parent's death from the moment you hear about it is a series of steps. I've gone through a variety of "closing steps," I suppose, both religious and secular ones, and I still find myself occasionally obsessing over the loss. As I told people years after my father died, you never fully "get over it," nor would you want to. You just eventually adjust to a new version of normality, one in which the person's absence has become a normal part of your everyday life.

And so, I guess that's where I am right now.

Meanwhile, I've got to finish off my final assignments for my publishing classes, and see the final steps that need to be taken before I Remember the Future is officially published.
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...you never fully "get over it," nor would you want to. You just eventually adjust to a new version of normality, one in which the person's absence has become a normal part of your everyday life.

That's exactly it. That's certainly been my experience. My dad died when I was 11, my mom when I was 19. I'm 46 now, and I'm here to tell you that even now, all these years later, I still have moments of missing them, of wishing they were present for one event or another, of wishing they could have met my friends (certainly friends like you and gnomi). It's just what Is, you know? Actually, you know precisely well.

I send hugs.

Edited at 2008-08-18 04:26 pm (UTC)
It sounds like you made the right decision for your Sunday. But I know how awful it is to have to make that kind of decision.
I'm glad that you were able to get those papers signed. You give me hope that someday my sister and I will have my mother's estate settled. Sometimes it seems as though we never will.

I still miss her so much sometimes, but I know that I'm more adjusted to the loss of her than I let myself know.

*hugs* Take care, my friend.
That's well put; that we don't look for closure, just to take the next step...

It would be easy to under-estimate the importance of dealing with paperwork, and you could have decided either way, to stick with your plans or to defer it and make the trip. But from the way you speak about it, it's clear that you made the right decision.
I'm sorry to hear about your mom, Michael. I remember her as a kind and generous woman.
If you follow the mom tag you can read the story all the way back to January 2007.
more hugs, if they help.

Dad died 1996, Mom in 2002. Husband and I just finished building a custom house and are in the process of moving. So I am now, finally, sifting through all those things I didn't sift through right after Mom died, and just packed to review "later." Well, "later" is now.

After my father died, Mom wanted to give me a screened-in porch for my birthday - she wanted to imagine me enjoying it. Well, with one thing and another (not least trips to care for her) Husband and I never made it happen. The new house, however, has the screened in porch, and for the last 4 mornings, I have broken my fast there.

So yeah, the gap is there. The lovely part of that gap is how much of it is simply because you love the one missing.

For me, it's been helpful to "talk" to my parents. I hold whole conversations with them at opportune (and solitary) moments. Sometimes, I can intuit the responses.

December 2016

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