Thursday—Life Is Complicated Day #14: Countdown

My daily journal as trustee of my dad's estate


A clean carpet
8 Hours
Another day at the house, and for the first time since my dad died, I got a full night's sleep.  What a difference!  The untethered anxiety that had been waking me up at 3 a.m. every morning had been sorted and compartmentalized.

•  My mom's ingratitude
•  The self-absorbed stepdaughter
•  The burden of legal responsibilities
•  A timeline that was still undetermined
•  The selling of big-ticket items
•  The overwhelming sense that I was guessing my way through every day
•  Forgetting dance steps
•  My distant reality in California


Critical Path
I had been following a critical path of decisions and actions since Day One.  Certain things had to be done before other equally-as-important things could follow.  The trick was to figure out what those things actually were.  It wasn't so much fear as it was a tidal wave of caution that was keeping me up at night.

My first obligation was to my dad and what he wanted.  I tried not to get bogged down by the small stuff.  My dad made it abundantly clear that when he died, his life story was over.  No memorial, no obit, no anything.  Just a peaceful exit.  I wrote an obit because other people seemed to need it, and he wouldn't have cared, as long as it wasn't over the top.  What he did not want, and he was adamant, was a production after he died.  Above all, my dad was pragmatic and not overly sentimental.


The Doggie Who Wouldn't Go Outside
Today was about digging in.  I started downstairs and found a bag of pictures and a heart-shaped necklace stashed in the piano bench.  They would go to my dad's deceased wife's daughter who lives in Alaska.  She texted me and wanted the piano, too...along with her mom's china cabinet.  No problemo, I'll hire a mover to deliver them to her mother-in-law who lives a few blocks away.  That will be the end of that.

I spent the rest of the morning attacking the carpets.  Apparently, the blind, diabetic dog had never mastered the art of house training, and the carpets were proof.  I want to thank my dad's housekeeper, whoever she was, for buying a half dozen bottles of enzyme carpet spray and stain remover.  Bless the woman for she gaveth me a way to destinkify the carpets.  I'm quoting from the Housecleaning Bible, Heloise 4:09.

I finished cleaning out the fridge and restocked it with cans of Ginger Ale and Bud Light from the garage.

Thanks, Dad.  Those will be good when the weather warms up, and I'm in the back yard trimming the roses.

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