Grief is fascinating to me.
I had a hard time with grief for Mom in the late fall - probably, if I want to sit and stare at my navel for a bit, I can deduce it was because things with my sister were getting harder. And in the throes of it, I thought, "Ohmygosh this is awful. Why isn't it any easier?!"
And now, with new grief, I realize that oh, no no, that was easier.
That resurgence of grief was nothing compared to the fresh, open wound of new grief.
It's a step forward, then another back. Maybe another back after that. Then a creep forward.
And you get the idea.
Today, I was doing well (after being an absolute basketcase yesterday) and managed to clean two bathrooms and was heading up to embark on a third, when the attorney called.
For whatever reason, my sister didn't have a beneficiary on her money market account. The one that holds the money for the debt she owes Dad. So we have no choice but to probate the will so we can get said money.
Anyway, there I was, whistling a happy tune (or as much as one does when scrubbing a toilet) and the next minute? Ready to just give up on it all.
I made the calls I needed to make to the bank (fun fact: the estate services people actually answer the phone and are very nice and you don't have any robotic operators to fuss with. I guess it's nice that they realize how well that would not go over) to get exact(ish) amounts so the lawyer can put it on the request for a probate appointment - or whatever it's called that he's doing so we can get that legal ball rolling. Called him back, reviewed the document he sent over, pointed out that he left off my first name in one place.
And now, I'm exhausted and overwhelmed thinking of the things I had been excited to do just moments ago, that now feel like monumental tasks.
*spot the quote
(It's okay. It's obscure. It's from Real Genius.)
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