My phone rings. It's B, my father's widow. I answer:
Me: Hey B. How are you?
B: Oh Lori, it's so good to hear your voice. I know your father has passed, but did you speak him today?
Me: No honey, He passed away in March. He isn't here anymore to talk to.
B: I know that but he hasn't come home. Should I go to the warehouse and see if he's there?
Me: No honey. He isn't there. He was cremated months ago. You have the ashes.
B: I know that. Okay, I won't go tonight. But maybe I should check for him tomorrow.
Ad nauseum. Every day.
Every fucking day.
(Yes, she has dementia. No, her medical POA is held by her attorney who refuses to see anything wrong with her. And no, my father was a motherfucking monster and I'm not going to tear myself up trying to straighten up the mess he left. Yes she has family who aren't doing a damned thing for her.)
That lawyer is an asshole.
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