Folder

When the toddler stumbled and split his chin this afternoon, I decided it was time to write about the rain. You know, the one that only pours.

My cousins’ kids were to have spent last week at Camp Me, with my family. What could be more fun than Camp Me, right?! But instead, my cousins have flown to California to be with their parents. Both my uncle and my aunt are in hospital. Separate hospitals. So my cousins are having a gajillion conversations with nurses, doctors, family members. Being sad. Being angry. All of it. I just wish I were there to employ my favorite coping mechanism: Funny curse word usage. I’d also do some impressions of my uncle to help cut the tension.

Illness, pain, and the unknown is…

I have no idea what to say.

I lived with a man whose father was extremely prepared for illness or death at all times. We once had the following message on our answering machine:

I’ve made some changes to my will. They are small. But I won’t be able to mail you an updated copy until Monday. And I’m out of town this weekend. So should anything happen in the next few days, our lawyer has the new version.

This was typical. We had a folder in our file cabinet marked “Dad’s Death.” No joke. Although we obviously joked about it. The thing is? Soon after this guy and I had parted ways, his dad passed away unexpectedly in his sleep. That folder wasn’t going to help anybody process grief. But I bet it relieved a lot of the unknown. I don’t know many people who possess a folder like that.

Now that I think about it, I can’t remember where my parents’ secret special folder is. Note to Mom: Don’t post the answer here as a comment.

In other news, I am in possession of a cashier’s check for our new house. We close on Wednesday. I’m trying to figure out how to make good on a year-long promise to take my dear friend on vacation (while moving house). The Swedelock made an amazing summer salad that should win an award (spoiler alert): It contained barley!

Do me a favor, y’all. Go figure out where your uncomfortable folders are. Tell the folks who need to know. Then go eat some good food with people you love.

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2 Responses to Folder

  1. Linda Zimmerman says:

    Remember my mother? Fourteen years before she passed away, she inherited a wonderful sum from her widowed, childless brother. Part of this she used to arrange and pay for both my father’s and her own funerals. Coffins chosen, plot and headstone in place (we won’t go there); all we children had to do was send the dozen red roses she wanted at the funeral home. It was the ultimate in OCD, but what a lovely gift for the six of us, who really did have nothing to do except send flowers and grieve. P.S. My folder is with my passport.

  2. alanajoyski says:

    It was the passport line that made me laugh so I could cry. I love that she wanted a dozen red roses. Not flowers from each of you. One dozen. Red. Roses. Cheers to her!

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