Summoned to Stand By

Dearest Rachel –

I never expected to write you twice about mail in the same week. True, I call these posts that I “send” to you “letters,” but there’s no postal service between heaven and earth that can assure that they would be delivered and read – at least, not by you. Anything that happens down here will likely escape your notice, unless, like our Father who you reside with, you are able to spot the smallest bird as it tumbles from its perch for whatever reason.

But regardless of whether or not there is a means to contact you and others on your side, there are those who – mostly unwittingly, which is what makes it worth noting – try to get in touch with you about one thing or another. Most of the time, it’s to sell something or otherwise get your money; which makes a certain sense, as you and yours no longer have need or use for it at this point. Indeed, as far as you’re concerned, gold is merely pavement, and crystal is as common as the water it hold in the fanciest dining room on this side of the veil.

But at the same time, by crossing over to where money and goods no longer have value due to scarcity, you all no longer have a means to control the things you left behind, for what it matters. Those have been passed on to others to decide what to do with them, and while it may displease you to see things disposed of in a certain way or another, there’s not much that can be done from your side to contest their decisions. Besides, who needs a service provided when you’re no longer here to appreciate it? Such advertisements are effectively meaningless, and worthy of the scorn I pour onto them, since the vendor touting them seem to be unaware of your condition and position at present.

But scorn cannot be applied to the powers that be – well, let me rephrase that; one can be as scornful of them as one wishes. It’s a free country, with free speech. That’s one of the first tenets of our society, that you can have – and express (which renders us uniquely blessed in our society) – derision of those who hold authority over you. But at the same time, when they make demands of us, in terms of time and money, we are still compelled to surrender it to them – or explain in a timely manner why we cannot.

This leads me to the present circumstances, where a letter arrived from the county with your name on it. It was a summons for you to appear as a standby juror some time next month.

Obviously, this isn’t possible for you, and I’d just as soon not have to pay the fine for you not to show up. Technically, I could ignore it, and if past history has been any indication, there’s a better-than-average chance that you wouldn’t be needed, but why run the risk? Especially since, being still relatively early in the month, they probably haven’t hit their monthly quota of jurors yet. I’d be taking my chances; the fact that it’s succeeded up until now is no guarantee that simply letting the appointed day pass without action is going to work this time.

(As a side note, this is a case where Daniel and I need to address his own summons as well; he doesn’t have your excuse to not attend to his duties, but given the neighborhood the court is in, I might escort him down there if it turns out his presence is required. If so, I can assure you that it will merit a letter of its own, but for all that I like to have interesting things to tell you about, this isn’t exactly one I’m hoping for.)

So I made a call to the number repeated throughout the notice – and I have to admit that it’s a nice touch to have the number end in J-U-R-Y so that folks could remember it better, although I still had to look for the first three digits – and made my way through the automated phone tree. One of the options had to do with there being a “hardship” in getting to the courthouse, which struck me as perhaps the best description of your situation as was likely to come up, and I went with that.

Interestingly, it was the one option that directed me to an actual human operator, so there’s a plus for you. After giving her your juror number, she confirmed your name, at which point I confirmed that I wasn’t you (which should have been obvious, but in this day and age, things have gotten weird from time to time). When I explained my exact relation to you, she expressed her sympathy – as all public servants do when it’s spelled out for them, although at this point, I rather wave it off after all this time rather than pick at the wound – but admitted that, at present, they were simply sending these summonses out based on the voter roles.

Which proves to me what I’d long suspected – as does everyone else in Cook County – you may be dead, but you’ve got every right to vote as you ever have.

In any event, she recommended sending the summons back to the main office, with a note on it along the lines of “return to sender – deceased.” I’ll probably wait on this until Monday, when I can scan a copy of your certificate as additional verification, but at least it will take you off the jury rolls going forward, if not the voter rolls.

Again, it seems silly for the world to not know that you’re gone after all these years of silence, but at least I can inform one organization that you’re not to be contacted in future, since you won’t be able to be at their beck or call. Still, if you could keep an eye on Daniel and me (regardless of whether we have to make our way to the California Ave. courthouse), that would be appreciated, and wish us well. We’re going to need it.