There's Nothing - Raising Parents Prologue

 Okay, so it's been two weeks.  It has had it's moments for sure and like everyone says: it's usually not the big things that get overwhelming.

Today I approved the headstone, yesterday I got the phone call that they had been interred.  Today I got notification that Social Security is taking back it's money - as they should.  I returned his pacemaker via fedex, something I wouldn't have thought of until I opened the box I brought home to make sure I didn't forget anything.  His phone has completely disappeared from our bill, as if it never existed. I have to think that the very kind woman I spoke with months ago at the carrier just clicked a button to make that happen.

His doctor sent a condolence card.  The cardiologist sent a note via his MyChart, which went dark before I could read it.  The ombudswomen sent condolences via email.  The advocate texted us a few times.  And...nothing from the facility.  Shocking.

The "party" has been scheduled and announced.  It's on 6/7 and if you have school age children, you just groaned.  But it made me laugh in the moment.  We don't know if everyone is going to show or just a few.  The cousins all live elsewhere now and there are no aunts or uncles who can attend. (dead, in a facility, or too far to drive)  We're at that milestone of our lives now.

I learned that listening to Luke Combs was not my best idea.  He has two songs that are dead dad songs so that was super fun for me while I'm assembling a patio coffee table on the kitchen floor wishing my father-in-law was next door to help me.

I returned to work early, as did Kevin.  We both just needed normalcy.  We needed a schedule and predictability.  Then my work, which is usually not sentimental, sent a signed card and today I received a care package from the wellness group.  I'm not crying, you're crying.

So, the point of that recap is the busyness is kind of a gift when a death happens. It gives you things to do and plan and think about other than the Bad Thing That Happened.  But now, it's mostly all done.  What's left is ceremonial, if you will.  After that...there's nothing.

We're orphans.  One usually thinks of Annie or Oliver Twist when you hear orphans. Or of children, but feeling orphaned as an adult is a particular kind of sad. It's just us now. Even though they were dependent on us for the past four years, there was a comfort of having parents.  And now there's nothing.