Wednesday, June 21, 2006

My Dearest Love,

Today feels hard.

I went to the dermatologist today and had to explain that you were gone and that my cancer is on the move again. The doctor was very sympathetic, but it was hard to go over that ground again.

When I got home, I wrote thank you notes to folks that had made donations to Children's Home Society or Caring Bridge. I also paid bills. There is a lot of money flowing out right now but none coming in.

I went to the bank to deposit a couple of small checks and stopped at the F&N store for burger to make for tonight. Then I went to the postoffice to mail notes and bills and to get more stamps. The clerk didn't want to take my credit card because it was so used that the signature strip was wearing off the back. She was really snooty about it and I had to be careful not to say something bad back.

Then it was to the gas station for fuel and propane. Then on to the drugstore to pick up two prescriptions, one for Kate and one for me - had a flare up of gout yesterday. It was there that I was told that our health insurance had been canceled as of the day you died. I just about shit my pants.

I drove straight home and called the insurance company. They checked their records and said "Yup, it was canceled as of June 2, the day after she died." The phone-drone I was talking to said that wasn't supposed to happen; that we were supposed to be covered until July 1 instead. Then they said that if I wanted to extend the coverage, I would have to apply for "survivorship" coverage. They said they would fix the current problem, but that I would have to talk to a different case manager to do the survivorship bit.

I then got transferred into someone's voicemail and left a message.

You know, when you were alive, stuff like this was an annoyance, but I always found ways of making light of it. But now, it feels like heavy links of chain around my neck. I am paranoid that the insurance company will use this little lapse to cancel me down the line. I am having trouble staying rational. My strings are coming undone.

Then later in the afternoon, Joe and I went up to the NO office to meet with everyone about your memorial luncheon this Saturday. I am sure that you would spin in your grave if you had one. This deal will be one for the books. I am having a hard time believing all that will be going on and what DH is laying out for the deal. He has been so generous about everything that I cannot find words.

I have asked Tom to arrange for a time when I can sit down and talk to him about the Note. Sandra M. called today to say that they were ready to file probate papers except for the issue of the note. It needs to be rewritten if we are to go forward. I feel so unprepared for all of this. I never appreciated all that you did until now and now is too late for me to say thank you.

As I said at the beginning, this is a hard day. I feel like an onion with a very thin skin. Tears come unbidden at the slightest thing. I feel very fragile and incompetant as a parent. I worry that I will not be able to hold the family together. Kate is gone as often as she can be and Joe stays in his room so much.

Right now though, he is laying on the couch behind me with your work laptop on his lap as he works on putting together a photo slideshow for the memorial on Saturday. Joan I. says he is her new boyfriend.

I love you and miss you.

Yours,

D.