Dearest Rachel –
Things are slowly starting to get back to something approximating normal; yesterday saw Daniel and myself over at Mom’s place (okay, that took a moment – I still almost wrote down “the folks’ place”) for Thursday dinner. Granted, in the chaos of the past couple of weeks – yes, it’s only been two weeks since Dad’s departure – she has been a little too busy to cook for herself much, let alone for us, so I offered to bring in dinner. Besides, I hadn’t had gyros in over a month.
I’d actually made a similar such offer last week – although admittedly without a specificity like gyros for dinner – but in the midst of the chaos of making funeral arrangements and cleaning up this and that part of the house, she admitted at the time that she just wasn’t up to having us over. As it was, she was getting visitors on a regular basis – people wanting to drop by and express their condolences to her about Dad’s passing – so at that point, she just wanted to have her evenings free to recover from the onslaught of well-wishers. Besides, many of them had brought meals over for her already; we would have been adding to her overstock of prepared dining options at that point.
However, at this point, her freezer is slowly starting to empty out, as is her refrigerator, as the number and frequency of visitors begin to decline. It’s not stopping completely, by any means – when I showed up to the ‘office’ this morning, she was outside talking with some neighbors of theirs that had come over to pay their respects – but it’s dropping off, and it seems to her to be about time to get back to the normal routine of shopping and cooking for herself now and again. But if we wanted to come over and bring something on the ‘usual’ Thursday night, she was ready to deal with it. And so we did.
While we were there, the two of us took it upon ourselves to lug several of the comfortable chairs that had been a part of the family room – and had been moved out to make room for Dad’s hospital bed – back into the room from elsewhere throughout the house. One rocker had been placed in the living room, where it was reasonably inconspicuous among the other chairs arranged throughout it; but the other, somewhat more overstuffed, couldn’t make it down the front hall to get to the living room, and wound up situated at what would have been Dad’s spot at the head of the table in the family room. Not that he ever would have gotten to use that seat; by the time he came home from the rehab center, he would mostly be confined to his bed in the family room (although it would still be better for all concerned than his staying at the center any longer, as pleasant and attentive as the staff there was to him).
At this point, the house is starting to look like it has for years, apart from one obvious presence. But honestly, I dare say you’d recognize the place if you came back at this point.
But there were a few other things that Mom needed help with as well last night, some of which caught me by surprise. I’d mentioned the other day about trying to deal with Dad’s credit cards, and having to get a replacement card for Mom as a result (since he was the primary cardholder, hers was canceled with his demise – or rather, the notification to the card company of his demise), and I’d spent a couple of hours earlier this week reconciling their checking account (and they hadn’t recorded a credit card payment from a couple of months ago, as it happened. Fortunately, they had enough in their account that it didn’t make a whole lot of difference). These were issues I never bothered with after your departure, honey; partly because, I suppose, you weren’t the primary cardholder. If I just put your card out into storage, it didn’t make any difference, and I already reconcile our checking account, so that’s not an issue, either.
But I’ve never taken the trouble to inform the Social Security Administration of your death, either. And it isn’t as if I have had to like my Mom would have; you didn’t work much during your lifetime, so you wouldn’t be receiving benefits for another ten years, even if you were still alive (I won’t be getting any for another seven or eight years, myself, and that’s assuming it doesn’t go bankrupt by then, which I assume it will, since that’s what I’ve been told will happen for decades, now). Dad, on the other hand, had been getting a check (or at least a payment) from them every month for years; while it would be nice for Mom to keep getting that payment, I understand that the government insists on turning off the tap once a recipient passes away, and anything sent out after decease would of necessity have to be paid back, with interest. We don’t want to have to deal with the wrath of a defrauded – however unintentionally – government.
Now, I’m told that the funeral home is supposed to inform them of Dad’s passing, but I didn’t discover that until after Mom had made several attempts to reach the SSA with the news of his demise. Even then, it was only through talking to Copilot (which by its very nature can’t be taken as some sort of divine oracle), and it still recommended that we call them and confirm that they were aware that he was no longer to be receiving benefits.
However, Mom had been on the phone with them for some time, and was losing patience with the automated voice tree when we got over with dinner. She decided to set the matter aside until the following day… unless we were willing to help out. Well, after moving the furniture as Daniel insisted we do (and working off a few of the evening’s calories – although not much, as I discovered to my shock this morning; I’m not quite up to two-forty, but I was too close for comfort. At least I had time to hit the gym), I went downstairs to see if I couldn’t contact them online, rather than have to make an appointment to visit them in person.
That’s when I learned about how the funeral home should have contacted the administration directly (which may have been in tandem with getting the death certificate drawn up, for all I know), but also how to call and confirm that the SSA knew about the situation. After a couple of mistaken calls – where I screwed up a number and got an offer for a medical alert product that we wanted no part of – I got in touch with the phone tree. It did take a few tries to get down to the category we needed, but eventually, they confirmed that Dad’s Social Security number would be retired due to his departure, and no further benefit payments would be sent out.
There was some mention of a survivor’s benefit – and I relayed the information to Mom – but given the amount was a one-time payout amounting to barely one-twelfth of what used to be his monthly payout, we both agreed it wasn’t worth the hassle of going back through all that bureaucracy a second time. Meanwhile, while I was down there, I also activated her replacement credit card – yes, it arrived in less than the seven, let alone ten, days they said it would take – and set her up to be able to check her balances online going forward, just like myself. We’ll get her finances streamlined going forward yet.
For now, though, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me well for the day ahead. We may have the weekend to look forward to, but I’m still going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 