Life and Certificates


This afternoon I picked up the mail, opening the envelope containing my mother’s death certificate.  She died on January 2.  I’m not as upset about it as I am angry with her for dying.  I’m so angry with her for giving up on life and allowing her physical ailments, which could have been conquered, to destroy her.  The last thing I ever told her was how angry I was.  I haven’t forgiven her for dying.  I’m so angry, I told her, if she died, I was going to paint her prized lawn furniture pink and pastel colors.

I have the paint.

In the state of New Mexico, one of the steps in transferring property from someone who has died is to submit a notarized affidavit of death.  Several months ago, when I did the one for my father, it was rough.  This wasn’t as bad, with the exception of using an old envelope with the sticky peel not working.  I had to go through several envelopes.

My friend, Glenn, is also my insurance agent.  His assistant does the notary thing.  Glenn does it in his office for free.  Considering the mess my sister and I have with probate, it helps.  Cathy and I have also been required to set up a separate checking account to handle probate and our spending.  When she was here, several weeks ago, we set the account up, together.  That was weird.  Cathy had a more difficult job today.  She picked up the matching urns for the parents.  We’re strange in that we still don’t know what to do with the ashes.  In a way, I don’t even care.  I know, that’s horrible, but I just don’t.

I go to Glenn’s office to have these papers notarized because he’s my friend.  He and his parents have been there – for my family, since my father’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, a lifetime ago.   Seeing a kind face helps, lots.

At least the affidavit is in the mail…