Sons of Bitches

It's been a week.  A very long, very emotional, very exhausting week.

Well, today really sucked.  I went to the Social Security office to transfer benefits to Sophie.  She's getting about half of what you received.  It's fine I guess.  God has blessed us with the means to take care of the kids in other ways.  That was just a little disappointing.  This printout was also pretty awful to see.  I mean, I know that our marriage was dissolved when one of us died, but looking at this in black and white was overwhelming.  This is not how it was supposed to be.

The funeral home STILL hasn't filed the report of your death in the computer.  He told me he was doing that when we left on Friday.  Nope.  So I filed what I could and the SS office will follow up next week.  AND the funeral home printed the wrong obituary in the paper.  I am really unhappy with the way they have handled things.  Disrespectful, incompetent....I could go on.  They are making this even worse.

I drove to the cemetery this afternoon just to see how things were.  It was odd.  I went alone and everything was so quiet and peaceful there.  I could her the birds chirping and hear the grass blowing in the wind.  I looked at your grave for a few minutes before I realized that I wasn't feeling anything.

I just stared at it matter-of-factly thinking to myself "I'm glad he's not really here."  I didn't cry or scream like I thought I might.  I didn't throw myself down on your grave and make mud angels crying out to God in anguish.  I just stood there, looking down, not really reacting. 

The flowers were soggy and starting to wilt.  Your awesome ribbon had already started fading and a small metal sign had your name and 1972-2017 on it.  One of the letters was drawn on in permanent marker and the funeral home had all of its information on it.  Sons of bitches.  I'm finding something else to put there.  I don't know what, but not that.