I don't know when, if ever, I will come to a point of acceptance around the fact that John's death was not enough pain, anger, frustration, and heartache for one life. Just because I suffered that loss, a loss of proportions that my mind could not imagine, a loss that will be a part of the the remaining highs and lows of my life, I'm not exempt from other pain.
I'm not, as I have just found, exempt from burst pipes, flooded rooms, and the inconvenience of being displaced for a few weeks around the holidays.
I'm not exempt from cracked sewer pipes in the home that's under contract in another state, a home that in less than 24 hours I will no longer own, but a repair for which I am out $2,000.
And I'm likewise not exempt from real estate deals that entail huge financial losses and last-minute paperwork snafus.
I'm feeling particularly pained by the real estate situation today, which intersected with my water problem early this morning. My closing is tomorrow morning, and today, while I was at my house here in Portland assessing water damage and negotiating with insurance adjusters, I got a call from my Boston lawyer's office. My lawyer informed me that, given taxes and closing costs and payment to my broker and other such dribs and drabs, I would need to FedEx a check for just under $5,000 to the buyer's attorney for the sale.
So much for not bringing money to the table to get this place off my hands. Not to mention the fact that I don't keep $5,000 in a place where it's available for me to issue as a bank check. Gulp. So I had to get my dad involved. Luckily, he's in a position to help me with this.
In addition, I need to get one more piece of paper notarized, testifying that I was John's spouse when he died (as is clearly stated on the death certificate that the lawyers already have) and that John's "estate" was not grand enough to require probate.
It will all fall into place. It's just money that I'm losing. It's just money. I have my health. I don't live in a war zone. The real estate part will all be over tomorrow. But all of this last-minute hustle and bustle and the injustice of it all and the less-than-pleasant parts of life are suddenly making the deal very real, and that realness has an emotional side to it that's also weighing on me.
I'm selling the house where John died. I'm selling the house that was the only place John, Maddie, Riley, and I lived as a family. Talk about the very definition of bittersweet.
The stress of all of this is getting to me, and I'm not sure how to manage it. I feel the pull to eat a massive amount of junk food, but I know that ultimately, that will just make me feel worse. I have already cried quite a bit today, but for the moment, I'm at work, so I'm trying not to go there. Maybe I'll take a walk at lunch. Or go sit in the sauna at the sports center. Or take a walk then sit in the sauna.
Tomorrow morning, 11:00 a.m. Eastern time. Exactly two years and eight months after John died. If you can, think of me, think of him, and say another goodbye.