Day two of After: Just call me personal assistant to the newly dead. Phone calls have to be made to Social Security, and the funeral director. Paperwork submitted to health insurance, and life insurance. Thank goodness for the help of a level headed friend or I wouldn’t have thought of all of this. I am an organizer by nature and have compiled a “Folder of Death” with various documents, lists and reminders I will be needing.
As I was packing up some of K.’s clothes to donate to Goodwill my good friend B. asked me what clothes I was going to bring to the funeral home. Without thinking I said “absolutely nothing, whatever he was wearing was what he chose to die in!” It actually bypassed my brain and came right out my mouth. Did I really just say that? I was both shocked and again angry. My ego and superego have clearly taken a vacation and I have become what? Loose lipped? A loose cannon? Incendiary, a recreant, a black sheep? Clearly I am not currently fit for polite company.
This reminds me of something K. and I used to do. When a concept would come up that had multiple descriptors we would try to name as many as possible. For example if we were talking about a lot of something one of us might start with: the whole kit and caboodle, then it might be the whole nine yards, then it would go from there….the whole shebang, the whole ball of wax, lock stock and barrel, the whole shooting match, the whole hog, the works, etc. As long as I am lacking in restraint I’ll start you out on phrases related to death and see how far you can get: kicked the bucket, bought the farm, pushing up daisies, passed over, passed on, six feet under. Contact me with any other good ones you come up with.