When I was on leave for six weeks after John died, I took care of a lot of business-type things like changing the name on some bills, taking John's name off of our bank accounts, etc. I didn't get around to taking care of the phone situation partly because I just didn't get to everything and partly because we have a good friend who works for our cell provider who was going to help me out.
Well, our friend was busy and the months dragged on and finally I just decided to take matters into my own hands. Today.
I forgot how draining it is to deal with this. The first person I talked to didn't handle the kind of account I have. Here is a snippet of the next conversation I had:
"Well, ma'am, to remove that line you'll need to have John call us and . . . "
"He can't call you. You see, he's dead."
"Oh. Sorry. You know, my dad had a heart attack three weeks ago, and . . . "
[five minutes of her personal saga]
"Let me transfer you to the department that handles deaths."
Three transfers later, I got the right person, a very kind and sympathetic person who deleted the account. Of course, if I had not specifically asked, the bill would still be in John's name. Hello? He is dead. We covered this. Could you please send the bill to me, the only person now on the account? Sheesh. Good lord. I feel like someone beat me over the head with a large, blunt object.
On the upside, I finally contacted the social worker from the oncology practice where John was a patient. I met with her a few times just before John died and really liked her. As it would happen, she has offices right down the street from my work. I'm going to set up an appointment to go in and see her; my next call is to go through some kind of registration that will allow me to book the appointment. I'm not sure I'm up to that right now, but if not today, tomorrow.