I had a weekend of work, mostly taking care of last minute details on the other condo, going through the storage bin (and more to do there). Stay busy, everyone says. Don't sit around a brood about your loss, everyone says. Busy is good, everyone says.
There is some truth to this suggestion. Busy prevents that endless pity party I'm prone to hosting. I don't worry as much about my future or my finances or whether I'll ever find someone I can truly care about.
But there's a downside. I don't think much about us, what we had, what we did and enjoyed and endured. I need to remember some of that, if not all of that. I need to think about him every day. I need to try to remember the early days and forget about those last, long, horrible days when he looked like someone else, someone less than alive and not yet gone. I need to forget that last image of that last night and remember when he could smile, when he smiled at me and I just wanted to melt. He could not smile in the end. I want to replace those memories by thinking of places and dinners and movies we shared. I want to remember the giddy joy of the first week together. When I'm busy, that doesn't happen.
There's a middle ground to pursue. Moderation in everything, as Franklin said. I need to get things done, but not be so busy that life becomes the empty blur it was before I met him, before he made me slow down, notice details, notice the small pleasures, enjoy life in small bites.
When we came together he did things he'd never of had time to do because I was there to plan and push and get him to the airport or into the car more or less on time. And I enjoyed it more once we got there because he made me look, and smell, and savor it all. We were good together in that way and now I have to seek balance on my own. He was a good teacher and I'm about to find out whether or not I was a decent student.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Friday Nights
Every Friday night for nearly 25 years we went out together, my partner and I. Unlike a lot of people today (or a lot of people before the economy crashed), eating out was not something we did often, but celebrating the end of the week was a wonderful tradition that I so miss.
This started when we first met. I asked him about going to dinner after work one Friday night--one very special night. After we decided to make our relationship more permanent, Fridays were the best option for getting together because while we both might work late many nights, we both agreed to get out of the office as quickly as possible on Fridays.
Sometimes we'd go for Salvadorian, sometimes for Thai or Vietnamese (pho in the winter--often). But the location was less important that the date. And that's how we treated it. I'd usually get off first, get home and change, then wait outside the office building where he worked. We have our favorites, but he was often very glad to have me choose a place and just go. If the weather was bad we could always jump on the subway and stay in town. He and I both loved walking through snow showers.
We almost never encouraged or invited anyone to go with us, save for those few occasions when there was out of town company. It was our special night and I didn't want to share him with anyone, at least not on that night.
Now Friday's are different--not just any other day, but not something I look forward to. I'm trying to schedule dinners out with friends on either Friday or Saturday, but there are so many things to do with his estate that I sometimes just need to come home and get some work done.
This was one of those nights. The paperwork is starting to pile up, and most of it involves government agencies or life insurance companies only available during the week and during working hours. But I need to pull together documents and get ready before I pick up the phone or the number of hours I'm spending on this seemingly endless list of issues will be even higher.
I am having dinner with a friend tomorrow night, and that sort of thing is very important. I need something to look forward to, especially something that will get me out of the house, especially on weekends. This is how I'm surviving. Get out of the house, eat well, enjoy the company of friends who are capable of good conversation. And eat with someone who will let me talk for a little while about the good times my partner and I enjoyed.
This started when we first met. I asked him about going to dinner after work one Friday night--one very special night. After we decided to make our relationship more permanent, Fridays were the best option for getting together because while we both might work late many nights, we both agreed to get out of the office as quickly as possible on Fridays.
Sometimes we'd go for Salvadorian, sometimes for Thai or Vietnamese (pho in the winter--often). But the location was less important that the date. And that's how we treated it. I'd usually get off first, get home and change, then wait outside the office building where he worked. We have our favorites, but he was often very glad to have me choose a place and just go. If the weather was bad we could always jump on the subway and stay in town. He and I both loved walking through snow showers.
We almost never encouraged or invited anyone to go with us, save for those few occasions when there was out of town company. It was our special night and I didn't want to share him with anyone, at least not on that night.
Now Friday's are different--not just any other day, but not something I look forward to. I'm trying to schedule dinners out with friends on either Friday or Saturday, but there are so many things to do with his estate that I sometimes just need to come home and get some work done.
This was one of those nights. The paperwork is starting to pile up, and most of it involves government agencies or life insurance companies only available during the week and during working hours. But I need to pull together documents and get ready before I pick up the phone or the number of hours I'm spending on this seemingly endless list of issues will be even higher.
I am having dinner with a friend tomorrow night, and that sort of thing is very important. I need something to look forward to, especially something that will get me out of the house, especially on weekends. This is how I'm surviving. Get out of the house, eat well, enjoy the company of friends who are capable of good conversation. And eat with someone who will let me talk for a little while about the good times my partner and I enjoyed.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Grieving and Parents
I went out on a business dinner tonight. I drove myself there and then, when I drove myself back home, it was after dark. I went to an event where I did not know many people. If this does not sound difficult then you didn't know Mama. I made myself go because I need to get out and need to be busy (and I always enjoy a good meal--especially one I don't have to cook). And I need to avoid becoming her.
On the way home tonight I realized that when my father died my mother was only four years older than I am now. You would have thought she was so much older because from the day he died until her own death 17 years later, it was as if she never stopped wearing black or acting like a very, very old woman. She acted as if life was over because he was gone. Her life would never be the same and would probably be much worse.
My siblings and I and many of her friends and relatives spent a lot of time encouraging her to get out, meet people, take a part-time job, volunteer--anything to make her life more enjoyable. It was all in vain because she always had an answer. She couldn't drive at night. She couldn't go to that neighborhood. She couldn't go if the weather was bad and they'd never understand that. Taxi? Do you know what they cost and the kind of people who drive them? I once suggested she go out on a date and I thought she was going to slap me. How could I suggest anything so disloyal to my father?
She was determined to stay miserable, and never missed an opportunity to talk about how lonely she was, how she missed going out at night. There were problems and her night vision really was lousy, but mostly she just couldn't stop being the grieving widow. She was also angry about being left alone, forgetting that her husband, who was ten years older than her, would most certainly die before her even if he had not had cancer. And she maintained that attitude for 17 years.
Today I am much more sympathetic with Mama's loss because I now understand what it's like to lose someone who has been such an integral part of your life and identity and everyday existence. Today, I also, much more than I did back then, appreciate the fear she must of felt about living alone--and especially about surviving financially. My father left almost nothing to her except a paid for house and a decent, but high-mileage, used car, having borrowed to the limit on almost every life insurance policy he had so he could raise five children and put them through Catholic schools. (Why she ever thought five children would let her go poor is beyond my comprehension.)
I am determined that I will not allow myself to be as consumed with grief as she was, no matter what problems I may face. My outlook this week is lousy. I feel more emotionally vulnerable than I did three months ago. But I will not allow myself to become what she was. Right now I am probably as afraid of the future as she was, which concerns me more than I can express, but it won't be a life like hers.
On the way home tonight I realized that when my father died my mother was only four years older than I am now. You would have thought she was so much older because from the day he died until her own death 17 years later, it was as if she never stopped wearing black or acting like a very, very old woman. She acted as if life was over because he was gone. Her life would never be the same and would probably be much worse.
My siblings and I and many of her friends and relatives spent a lot of time encouraging her to get out, meet people, take a part-time job, volunteer--anything to make her life more enjoyable. It was all in vain because she always had an answer. She couldn't drive at night. She couldn't go to that neighborhood. She couldn't go if the weather was bad and they'd never understand that. Taxi? Do you know what they cost and the kind of people who drive them? I once suggested she go out on a date and I thought she was going to slap me. How could I suggest anything so disloyal to my father?
She was determined to stay miserable, and never missed an opportunity to talk about how lonely she was, how she missed going out at night. There were problems and her night vision really was lousy, but mostly she just couldn't stop being the grieving widow. She was also angry about being left alone, forgetting that her husband, who was ten years older than her, would most certainly die before her even if he had not had cancer. And she maintained that attitude for 17 years.
Today I am much more sympathetic with Mama's loss because I now understand what it's like to lose someone who has been such an integral part of your life and identity and everyday existence. Today, I also, much more than I did back then, appreciate the fear she must of felt about living alone--and especially about surviving financially. My father left almost nothing to her except a paid for house and a decent, but high-mileage, used car, having borrowed to the limit on almost every life insurance policy he had so he could raise five children and put them through Catholic schools. (Why she ever thought five children would let her go poor is beyond my comprehension.)
I am determined that I will not allow myself to be as consumed with grief as she was, no matter what problems I may face. My outlook this week is lousy. I feel more emotionally vulnerable than I did three months ago. But I will not allow myself to become what she was. Right now I am probably as afraid of the future as she was, which concerns me more than I can express, but it won't be a life like hers.
Monday, August 24, 2009
More Tax Fun and What Do I Keep
First the IRS, now the state has a question about last year's tax return.
"And who are you," the man asks. "Oh, so you’re not family?" That’s one I have yet to get used to hearing. I’m not dealing with people who are trying to be unkind. I have spoken with two people with the IRS who were very helpful. But I have no status, according to their rules. (The next person who says we should settle for anything less than marriage is going to probably get bitch slapped by me. And I’m only half kidding.)
So, I had to send a letter yesterday, make a call today, they need more papers, and yes, I can send it by fax. Now wait a week or so for the fax to get into their system and then probably have several more phone calls. And that’s just the state tax return. (Do you know how much I hate the fact that I whine like this all the time?)
I have procrastinated on the federal life insurance and final benefits situation for a few weeks and some paperwork came in today. I am preparing to do battle on an issue I’m almost certain to lose. I know that at some point I will just have to give in and recognize that fighting for rights I do not legally have is fruitless and a fast trip to an ulcer. Survival is my nature, but some of this is just more painful than it should be and I am half Irish and yes, we really all all stubborn.
I was good and tired all day Saturday and when I get tired I get emotional so much more easily. And then, while going through the last personal items in the other condo we own, I found the card. It was the first birthday card I gave him after we were together. My inscription was long and romantic and so, of course, I just went to pieces. One of my sisters called, and let me vent for a good bit, which was so helpful. This weekend I heard from three of the four siblings; they are still keeping a close watch on me—-thank goodness.
There are dozens of personal items like that card I have found and I go through this huge decision-making process with each one. How many do I keep? How many do I throw away? Am I being disloyal if I toss them? How much do I even have room for (the storage bin is bursting, the closets nearly all full). What do I do with what I keep, any way? And when you’re sleep deprived your brain just isn’t worth a damn, making it that much harder.
It's the kind of day when I think I should be ready to just scream, but I don't. I'm unsure if that's a good or bad sign. I think I'm still just numb and worn down. It has been four months, technically, but so much longer since he was his real self--before the cancer, the chemo. So, after more than two years, should I be used to this by now?
"And who are you," the man asks. "Oh, so you’re not family?" That’s one I have yet to get used to hearing. I’m not dealing with people who are trying to be unkind. I have spoken with two people with the IRS who were very helpful. But I have no status, according to their rules. (The next person who says we should settle for anything less than marriage is going to probably get bitch slapped by me. And I’m only half kidding.)
So, I had to send a letter yesterday, make a call today, they need more papers, and yes, I can send it by fax. Now wait a week or so for the fax to get into their system and then probably have several more phone calls. And that’s just the state tax return. (Do you know how much I hate the fact that I whine like this all the time?)
I have procrastinated on the federal life insurance and final benefits situation for a few weeks and some paperwork came in today. I am preparing to do battle on an issue I’m almost certain to lose. I know that at some point I will just have to give in and recognize that fighting for rights I do not legally have is fruitless and a fast trip to an ulcer. Survival is my nature, but some of this is just more painful than it should be and I am half Irish and yes, we really all all stubborn.
I was good and tired all day Saturday and when I get tired I get emotional so much more easily. And then, while going through the last personal items in the other condo we own, I found the card. It was the first birthday card I gave him after we were together. My inscription was long and romantic and so, of course, I just went to pieces. One of my sisters called, and let me vent for a good bit, which was so helpful. This weekend I heard from three of the four siblings; they are still keeping a close watch on me—-thank goodness.
There are dozens of personal items like that card I have found and I go through this huge decision-making process with each one. How many do I keep? How many do I throw away? Am I being disloyal if I toss them? How much do I even have room for (the storage bin is bursting, the closets nearly all full). What do I do with what I keep, any way? And when you’re sleep deprived your brain just isn’t worth a damn, making it that much harder.
It's the kind of day when I think I should be ready to just scream, but I don't. I'm unsure if that's a good or bad sign. I think I'm still just numb and worn down. It has been four months, technically, but so much longer since he was his real self--before the cancer, the chemo. So, after more than two years, should I be used to this by now?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Shared Experiences I Miss
One of the things I miss most with my partner gone are the many shared experiences we so often enjoyed. In our 25 years together I came to appreciate that unlike so many couples we knew, gay and straight, we wanted to spend most of day together--and usually did if I wasn't traveling. Sometimes the experience was a first for me, sometimes for him, often for us both.
I'm spending a fair amount of time at home now, and far too much time watching tv--mostly movies--while going through paperwork or his things. When a movie comes on that we both watched and enjoined, I really miss watching that big, climactic scene or big musical production number with him. It might be any Fred and Ginger musical, Katherine Hepburn in "The Philadelphia Story" (or anything she was in), the ending church scene from "The Color Purple" (where they sing "God Is Trying to Tell You Something"), Judy Garland in "Meet Me in St. Louis." So many more I won't list here, but so many more.
I realize now most of the movies I enjoyed watching with him were musicals. He had a wonderful, wonderful tenor voice and a strong education in music. He sang in many state competitions in grade school and high school and studied music in college. He enjoyed watching most of these movies with me in part because he had rarely done that before we met. More of his childhood was spent outside than mine, which is understandable when you learn that they only got one channel in the little town where he grew up.
I'd mention something that would be on TCM and I'd get this quizzical look in return. "You mean you never seen . . . ?" I'd ask. Never. He had been my teacher in so many aspects of gay life that I was glad I could introduce him to something new and enjoyable.
I have been to only a couple of movies since he died, and it's not something I enjoy doing. You want to turn to someone after a special scene, talk about it after the credits roll. It's the same thing with dinner. Cooking for one and eating alone is as lonely as I remember it being before he came into my life. We have plenty of friends, but who wants to be a fifth wheel? And not everyone wants to see the same movies. I'll have to start planning these events with those who I hope share the same interests in entertainment and food.
Tonight there will probably be some good movie on some channel, probably in black and white, perhaps a musical. I may watch, but it won't be the same without him, just like so much of my life these days.
I'm spending a fair amount of time at home now, and far too much time watching tv--mostly movies--while going through paperwork or his things. When a movie comes on that we both watched and enjoined, I really miss watching that big, climactic scene or big musical production number with him. It might be any Fred and Ginger musical, Katherine Hepburn in "The Philadelphia Story" (or anything she was in), the ending church scene from "The Color Purple" (where they sing "God Is Trying to Tell You Something"), Judy Garland in "Meet Me in St. Louis." So many more I won't list here, but so many more.
I realize now most of the movies I enjoyed watching with him were musicals. He had a wonderful, wonderful tenor voice and a strong education in music. He sang in many state competitions in grade school and high school and studied music in college. He enjoyed watching most of these movies with me in part because he had rarely done that before we met. More of his childhood was spent outside than mine, which is understandable when you learn that they only got one channel in the little town where he grew up.
I'd mention something that would be on TCM and I'd get this quizzical look in return. "You mean you never seen . . . ?" I'd ask. Never. He had been my teacher in so many aspects of gay life that I was glad I could introduce him to something new and enjoyable.
I have been to only a couple of movies since he died, and it's not something I enjoy doing. You want to turn to someone after a special scene, talk about it after the credits roll. It's the same thing with dinner. Cooking for one and eating alone is as lonely as I remember it being before he came into my life. We have plenty of friends, but who wants to be a fifth wheel? And not everyone wants to see the same movies. I'll have to start planning these events with those who I hope share the same interests in entertainment and food.
Tonight there will probably be some good movie on some channel, probably in black and white, perhaps a musical. I may watch, but it won't be the same without him, just like so much of my life these days.
Old cards and letters
Today I hope to list the condo unit my partner bought, and that was our spare bedroom when company came, for rent. The new carpeting was installed while I was out of town, giving the place an entirely different look.
I have now gone through the last of his personal items that were in that unit and gave away much of what was left to a porter in the building. I have two pieces of furniture left to sell and some odds and ends that I will either bring to my unit or take to the Goodwill.
Among the items I found yesterday were some very old cards and letters, including the first birthday card I gave my partner after we'd met. I did not expect to find any such cards, much less one as significant as this one. My note in the card, written 25 years ago, spoke about us being together forever--never expecting that he would not live much beyond his sixtieth birthday. It was a very emotional moment, something that is more likely to occur when I'm tired. (And I was tired yesterday. My flight the night before was very delayed because of weather and I didn't get to sleep until 1:30 a.m.)
With new carpeting installed and most of his furniture gone, the apartment no longer looks as much like his place. That's become important because it was so hard for me to walk in the door and see all of his old things. How can you move on when you are surrounded by memories? I sometimes fee disloyal, finding it difficult to get on with my life while not erasing every memory of our time together. It's a balancing act I have yet to learn.
I have now gone through the last of his personal items that were in that unit and gave away much of what was left to a porter in the building. I have two pieces of furniture left to sell and some odds and ends that I will either bring to my unit or take to the Goodwill.
Among the items I found yesterday were some very old cards and letters, including the first birthday card I gave my partner after we'd met. I did not expect to find any such cards, much less one as significant as this one. My note in the card, written 25 years ago, spoke about us being together forever--never expecting that he would not live much beyond his sixtieth birthday. It was a very emotional moment, something that is more likely to occur when I'm tired. (And I was tired yesterday. My flight the night before was very delayed because of weather and I didn't get to sleep until 1:30 a.m.)
With new carpeting installed and most of his furniture gone, the apartment no longer looks as much like his place. That's become important because it was so hard for me to walk in the door and see all of his old things. How can you move on when you are surrounded by memories? I sometimes fee disloyal, finding it difficult to get on with my life while not erasing every memory of our time together. It's a balancing act I have yet to learn.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Work is Piling Up
The realtor has looked at the unit I'm about to rent and from his overly polite comments it seems I have my work cut out for me when I end the business trip I am now on and fly home on Friday night. This weekend I'll have to spend most of my time taking the last few items in the kitchen and closets either to my condo or to the Goodwill or the trash. I still have a few pieces of furniture to sell and I get to learn how to post something on Craig's list. At least I don't have to paint the unit, saving dollars and the time it would take to find and supervise a painter.
I so badly want this issue to be over and done that I believe I've just procrastinated on these last details. This may be normal, but knowing that doesn't alleviate the dread I'm feeling about going home to a mess, including the still mostly full storage bin. Where am I going to put the shelves? How do I divide up the items I don't want and will, eventually, send to my partner's family?
I have a free night tonight and some friends have encouraged me to go visit one of the bars here. The thought of that, even with a smokeless bar, does not excite me in the least. It's just too soon. I'm still wearing my ring. For how long?
I so badly want this issue to be over and done that I believe I've just procrastinated on these last details. This may be normal, but knowing that doesn't alleviate the dread I'm feeling about going home to a mess, including the still mostly full storage bin. Where am I going to put the shelves? How do I divide up the items I don't want and will, eventually, send to my partner's family?
I have a free night tonight and some friends have encouraged me to go visit one of the bars here. The thought of that, even with a smokeless bar, does not excite me in the least. It's just too soon. I'm still wearing my ring. For how long?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Travelling Alone
Today I leave for an eight-day business trip (two association conferences I'm attending) and have mixed emotions about going. This is the very kind of trip that my partner would have made with me. When we opened the business, one of the benefits was that we could travel to fun, interesting places like this, inexpensively. Because he was retired, he could be a tourist in the day while I was at the conference.
The two conference I'll attend have a lot of interesting sessions and I will know a lot of people at both events. Just the same, I’m not all that excited about it (and I'm not talking about the problems with airlines and airports and all the delays). There are lots of single people and many married people whose spouses never come to these events, so I won’t be a fifth wheel. But not having someone to share it with takes much of the joy out of these long trips. I don’t mean to whine (and hope it doesn’t sounds like that). This is just all new, uncomfortable, and at times, exhausting. I am pushing myself for good reason, but not enjoying the ride. I just hate feeling like this.
Last night I was so close to not going, for no particular reason. I didn't sleep well, or enough (a problem lately). but I'm up, almost packed and going. Will I ever get used to this?
The two conference I'll attend have a lot of interesting sessions and I will know a lot of people at both events. Just the same, I’m not all that excited about it (and I'm not talking about the problems with airlines and airports and all the delays). There are lots of single people and many married people whose spouses never come to these events, so I won’t be a fifth wheel. But not having someone to share it with takes much of the joy out of these long trips. I don’t mean to whine (and hope it doesn’t sounds like that). This is just all new, uncomfortable, and at times, exhausting. I am pushing myself for good reason, but not enjoying the ride. I just hate feeling like this.
Last night I was so close to not going, for no particular reason. I didn't sleep well, or enough (a problem lately). but I'm up, almost packed and going. Will I ever get used to this?
The IRS and Gay Couples
Here is another example of why the grieving process takes so long, and why resolving someone's estate when you cannot get married is so damn complicated.
The IRS called today. They need another form.
A line on my partner's 2008 tax return is begin questioned (not a big issue, I don't believe). I followed the instructions in the letter and called the IRS last week; however, they cannot even talk to me about it, the clerk said, without getting a copy of the death certificate and the Certificate of Authority (the form you get after the will goes through probate court). I sent them both, by fax, last week, which prompted today's call.
At first the person I spoke with insisted that the IRS must have on file a Power of Attorney form (POAs are supposedly invalid after someone dies, but why question the IRS?). So, I went to the website while she was still on the phone and began filling it out. But we had to stop on page two where it asks what your relationship is with the tax payer. There is no choice for "partner," and despite spending 25 years together, I am not considered "family." Technically speaking, I was told "you have no standing." So, here's reason #437 why we need federally-recognized gay marriage.
The clerk, who was, I'm happy to say, very nice, told me I would instead need to fill out a Form 8821. She waited on the line to help me complete it, after which I faxed it to the IRS. Now, hopefully, I have standing.
Just one more form, another hour of time, and all so I can answer their questions about my partner's tax return. Now I can write the letter about the 2008 return and they will talk to me. And why am I sure that this will prompt another call or another letter or another form or all of that?
The IRS called today. They need another form.
A line on my partner's 2008 tax return is begin questioned (not a big issue, I don't believe). I followed the instructions in the letter and called the IRS last week; however, they cannot even talk to me about it, the clerk said, without getting a copy of the death certificate and the Certificate of Authority (the form you get after the will goes through probate court). I sent them both, by fax, last week, which prompted today's call.
At first the person I spoke with insisted that the IRS must have on file a Power of Attorney form (POAs are supposedly invalid after someone dies, but why question the IRS?). So, I went to the website while she was still on the phone and began filling it out. But we had to stop on page two where it asks what your relationship is with the tax payer. There is no choice for "partner," and despite spending 25 years together, I am not considered "family." Technically speaking, I was told "you have no standing." So, here's reason #437 why we need federally-recognized gay marriage.
The clerk, who was, I'm happy to say, very nice, told me I would instead need to fill out a Form 8821. She waited on the line to help me complete it, after which I faxed it to the IRS. Now, hopefully, I have standing.
Just one more form, another hour of time, and all so I can answer their questions about my partner's tax return. Now I can write the letter about the 2008 return and they will talk to me. And why am I sure that this will prompt another call or another letter or another form or all of that?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
There's a problem with a life insurance policy and for 10 days I've left a message asking the employee assigned to the case to call me. Ten days when the message has said, "I'm in the office, but not at my desk . . . ." Right.
Most of the furniture from our second condo, the one my partner bought in 1985, is now gone and I'm trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of among the remaining items. Some choices are easy, but others are more difficult. They were his--maybe not all that important to him, but his. They don't have either sentimental or monetary value, but it's so hard to get rid of them. I wish he'd done some of this because the guilt I'm feeling could have been made easier.
We've set the price for renting "his" unit, and someone could move in as early as the next month. Seeing someone else living there is going to be hard, but in the long run, financially necessary.
I found a vase, a very red glass vase that's about seven inches tall. He liked strong colors. There's nothing terribly fancy about it, but I'm sure it was the color that caught his eye. I'll keep it, but I've already run out of room to keep the things I want to keep. More decisions.
Most of the furniture from our second condo, the one my partner bought in 1985, is now gone and I'm trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of among the remaining items. Some choices are easy, but others are more difficult. They were his--maybe not all that important to him, but his. They don't have either sentimental or monetary value, but it's so hard to get rid of them. I wish he'd done some of this because the guilt I'm feeling could have been made easier.
We've set the price for renting "his" unit, and someone could move in as early as the next month. Seeing someone else living there is going to be hard, but in the long run, financially necessary.
I found a vase, a very red glass vase that's about seven inches tall. He liked strong colors. There's nothing terribly fancy about it, but I'm sure it was the color that caught his eye. I'll keep it, but I've already run out of room to keep the things I want to keep. More decisions.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Boxes, boxes, more boxes
I managed to empty five boxes today from the storage bin. Four contain mostly things to toss and one has a tablecloth I'll give to one of my late partner's nieces or nephews. Why these things were even in the storage bin is a mystery to me. Like so many people, he probably intended to go through these boxes, but didn't ever find the time. Now it's my job.
There's more work to do with the IRS because there's a problem with his last tax return. And whom am I, the IRS asks. So, I must fax them the death certificate and certificate of authority received when the will was probated. It's not difficult work, but it's time and there don't seem to be enough hours for work, pleasure, and the estate.
As of today I'm caught up reconciling all bank and investment account statements and I've paid all bills--a rare feeling of being caught up at least in this area. This becomes important during weeks like this one when I have to get on a plane. If something happens to me at least the family will find most things done that could be done before I left.
There's one find in the boxes that's put a smile on my face: the yearbook from his freshman year in high school. Cute even then.
There's more work to do with the IRS because there's a problem with his last tax return. And whom am I, the IRS asks. So, I must fax them the death certificate and certificate of authority received when the will was probated. It's not difficult work, but it's time and there don't seem to be enough hours for work, pleasure, and the estate.
As of today I'm caught up reconciling all bank and investment account statements and I've paid all bills--a rare feeling of being caught up at least in this area. This becomes important during weeks like this one when I have to get on a plane. If something happens to me at least the family will find most things done that could be done before I left.
There's one find in the boxes that's put a smile on my face: the yearbook from his freshman year in high school. Cute even then.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Catching Up
As I begin this blog it has been just over three months since my partner died, which was 18 months after he was diagnosed with incurable cancer. We had 18 months to prepare for this situation and I'm lucky in that, during those months, I had many to call on for help. But just how can you prepare for a life without the most important person you know, the person you cherish above all else, and whom you've loved since the first day you get?
During those 18 months we visited many doctors, hospitals, clinics, and more. We went into it prepared with all the legal paperwork any gay couple would need (a will, power of attorney, advanced directive). Happily, there was hardly ever a need to show any of them, other than at the time of a first visit. Doctors, physician assistants, nurses, techs, and others treated us just as they would any heterosexual couple. Was I crazy to expect less? Perhaps I was just unaware of how much the world had changed and how accepting many people, at least where I live, had become.
Acceptance of gays and gay couples and the law, however, are two different things, as I'll explain in other posts.
As of today I've made some progress in settling my late partners estate, but there is so much left to be done. And while juggling all of these things I'm also trying to manage the business we started in 1996. I find myself wondering if I want to continue running a business and whether I can run it, without him.
We thought we were very prepared for his death, but when you are dealing with a federal pension and life insurance companies and family members he wasn't close to, the contents of a will often just do not matter. I'm learning that the hard way, and why I hope other couples will recognize that they, too, may be less prepared than they could and should be.
But there are other reasons for feeling overwhelmed, and they are mostly personal. After the memorial service and the initial flood of call, emails, letters, and flowers, your friends and family members have to resume their own lives. I've gone from having more than a dozen messages on the machine to none most days. Except for the closest of family and friends, there are few emails. This is not a complaint. It's normal, to be expected, and perfectly understandable. They've got lives and they've got to get back to them just as I've got to. But still, it sucks.
Silence is unbearable to me. The TV, which my partner disliked and wanted so often for me to turn off, is necessary background noise. Music usually doesn't do it, but I'm trying to listen more to the many CDs he bought. Trying and often failing.
Coming home is the worst for me. You open the door to a dark, silent, empty home. Any mess you left is right there in your face (I meant to leave the place clean but I just don't get as much done in a day as I used to). It's summer here now, so the apartment is also hot because I've turned up the thermostat. I'm terribly afraid I won't have enough money in my old age, now that I must survive off of my own income, rather than my salary and his pension. He was only 60. You don't expect to do without that second salary when your partner or spouse is only 60.
We owned two condos, but I cannot afford to leave the other vacant. The condo fees, taxes, and utilities wold add up, so I've got to rent it. There is furniture to sell, carpeting to replace, cleaning that must be done. I've got to transfer the title and condo documents into my name and change the bank account from which I'll pay the condo fee. These and other details are not done with just one phone call or letter or email. You get voice mail, play phone tag, learn more about county government than you want to, but it's all required stuff.
I've also got to go through the storage bin for the second condo, which means going through several boxes of papers and stuff he brought here when his mother died--and never did anything with them (and that is a complaint). It's now up to me to decide whether to keep them, send them to his family members, or make another trip to Goodwill. (Speaking of Goodwill, the best advice I've had, and will pass along, is to get rid of the clothes quickly, because waiting only makes it harder. But I had to keep a couple of shirts. I just couldn't get rid of everything.)
With every decision I am erasing part of his memory, and that's painful, if sometimes necessary. I'm trying to find some middle ground in this process.
So far I've muddled through my partner's illness and the months since his death without seeing a therapist (despite the urging of several friends and relatives). Being lucky enough to be able to talk about him, and us, with so many people, I haven't found it necessary. But it's not been enough, and that's why I'm starting this blog. I want a journal about the process, a place to vent on those days when no one calls or emails, an opportunity to help others who may find themselves in the same situation.
I'm off to the storage bin. Maybe I can get through at least one or two boxes this weekend.
During those 18 months we visited many doctors, hospitals, clinics, and more. We went into it prepared with all the legal paperwork any gay couple would need (a will, power of attorney, advanced directive). Happily, there was hardly ever a need to show any of them, other than at the time of a first visit. Doctors, physician assistants, nurses, techs, and others treated us just as they would any heterosexual couple. Was I crazy to expect less? Perhaps I was just unaware of how much the world had changed and how accepting many people, at least where I live, had become.
Acceptance of gays and gay couples and the law, however, are two different things, as I'll explain in other posts.
As of today I've made some progress in settling my late partners estate, but there is so much left to be done. And while juggling all of these things I'm also trying to manage the business we started in 1996. I find myself wondering if I want to continue running a business and whether I can run it, without him.
We thought we were very prepared for his death, but when you are dealing with a federal pension and life insurance companies and family members he wasn't close to, the contents of a will often just do not matter. I'm learning that the hard way, and why I hope other couples will recognize that they, too, may be less prepared than they could and should be.
But there are other reasons for feeling overwhelmed, and they are mostly personal. After the memorial service and the initial flood of call, emails, letters, and flowers, your friends and family members have to resume their own lives. I've gone from having more than a dozen messages on the machine to none most days. Except for the closest of family and friends, there are few emails. This is not a complaint. It's normal, to be expected, and perfectly understandable. They've got lives and they've got to get back to them just as I've got to. But still, it sucks.
Silence is unbearable to me. The TV, which my partner disliked and wanted so often for me to turn off, is necessary background noise. Music usually doesn't do it, but I'm trying to listen more to the many CDs he bought. Trying and often failing.
Coming home is the worst for me. You open the door to a dark, silent, empty home. Any mess you left is right there in your face (I meant to leave the place clean but I just don't get as much done in a day as I used to). It's summer here now, so the apartment is also hot because I've turned up the thermostat. I'm terribly afraid I won't have enough money in my old age, now that I must survive off of my own income, rather than my salary and his pension. He was only 60. You don't expect to do without that second salary when your partner or spouse is only 60.
We owned two condos, but I cannot afford to leave the other vacant. The condo fees, taxes, and utilities wold add up, so I've got to rent it. There is furniture to sell, carpeting to replace, cleaning that must be done. I've got to transfer the title and condo documents into my name and change the bank account from which I'll pay the condo fee. These and other details are not done with just one phone call or letter or email. You get voice mail, play phone tag, learn more about county government than you want to, but it's all required stuff.
I've also got to go through the storage bin for the second condo, which means going through several boxes of papers and stuff he brought here when his mother died--and never did anything with them (and that is a complaint). It's now up to me to decide whether to keep them, send them to his family members, or make another trip to Goodwill. (Speaking of Goodwill, the best advice I've had, and will pass along, is to get rid of the clothes quickly, because waiting only makes it harder. But I had to keep a couple of shirts. I just couldn't get rid of everything.)
With every decision I am erasing part of his memory, and that's painful, if sometimes necessary. I'm trying to find some middle ground in this process.
So far I've muddled through my partner's illness and the months since his death without seeing a therapist (despite the urging of several friends and relatives). Being lucky enough to be able to talk about him, and us, with so many people, I haven't found it necessary. But it's not been enough, and that's why I'm starting this blog. I want a journal about the process, a place to vent on those days when no one calls or emails, an opportunity to help others who may find themselves in the same situation.
I'm off to the storage bin. Maybe I can get through at least one or two boxes this weekend.
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