The Business of Dying

Well, the attorney has my piles. My piles of files.

I have officially relinquished some of the responsibility of this "business" of dying, as my brother-in-law calls it, to someone else. The business end of dying is clearly not my forte. I'm better at the blogging.

I'm not certain I feel less overwhelmed yet. But my new directive is to be wary of any mail I receive related to Rick, and in fact, to take such mail right to the attorney.

I never imagined that grief itself would have impediments. Some days I feel like I'm part of a board game: Take 1 death certificate and follow the path to Bank. Collect more documents at Bank and move forward 2 spaces to Credit Card Company. Go back 2 spaces and call Attorney. Return to Square One. You are now able to continue grieving.

Other days, I feel like I'm part of a scavenger hunt: Get ready! Get Set! Go! Find the following items... Rick's car title. Rick's retirement account. Rick's social security card. Rick's internet passwords. Congratulations! You have found everything but Rick. Life still sucks, but you will now be rewarded with sleep.

The business of dying is a messy business. It does not care about grief. It does not care about suicide. It does not care about widows.

I want my husband back. I want my life to be the way it used to be. I want to worry less, sleep more, and go more than 4 hours without crying.

I want to yell at him for always cleaning something. I want to tell him to stop driving so fast. I want to go with him on Saturday mornings to visit his mom.

I want to watch our TV shows together. I want to go on vacation together. I want to go grocery shopping with him again.

I want to kiss him good night. I want to say good morning to him instead of waking up to horrific reality day after day. I want to make him laugh until he cries the way I always did.

I want to be loved.