Week 3 Post Dad's Death

 

                  And here we are, three weeks past his passing, to the day.

                Still no death certificate in our hands.

                Cremated remains were delivered to my house yesterday. So instead of going to the rally to fight against defunding my vocation, I stayed home and binged The Residence and slept and caught up on emails from work and waited.

                OPM still has not had a human answer the phone so we can tell them to stop depositing dad's postal retirement.  They're so overwhelmed, there is a simple message (I am taking liberties with subtext here)  that clicks when you call: "We're overwhelmed, nobody works here any more, God Help Us, you're on your own". They handle postal retirements and all civil servant jobs. Meaning as feds, they've been eviscerated and it's possible there's one guy left working there. I imagine an 80 year old Jimmy Stewart, stuttering through his poem about his dog as the one 1940's western electric rotary phone rings relentlessly.

                I was able to contact the VA, surprisingly, the first Monday after dad died. As the woman with the thick New Jersey accent walked me through the standard questions, saying she'd send a link for the death certificate I heard her keyboard clicking and she stopped "Oh, I see we've already received notification of his death. You need not upload the death certificate". Which is great news, as that was 3 March and it is now 21 March and we still don't have the death certificate. But weirdly the VA does.

              We assume the OPM will receive notification of his death at some point. 

              Circling back, without a death certificate we are at a full stop with the following:

                        * selling his trailer

                        * transferring the title of his car.

                        *finishing his life insurance claim to release funds

                        *finishing his investment claim to release funds

                        * change his mailing address

             We are assuming the one guy still working at social security--who may or not be Jimmy Stewart who is also at the OPM, maybe it's Katherine Hepburn----will find out about dad's death the same way the VA did. I've tried to call for days, and at SS I'm put on hold with music forever, instead of a recorded "Good Luck" message like OPM. 

              Digging out his trailer has been taken on by my sister, god love her. I can't spent too much time inside, it triggers my asthma, which has been exacerbated by three serious bouts of Covid. So.I have spent little time, I just dug out big stuff and called a Junk Guy. I'm usually the kid doing the heavy lifting, I hate making phone calls, but the tasks had to be split. So I did phone calls. 

              Also, I'm chronicling this because nobody tells you about this stuff. They tell you to have your documents sorted and filed and easy to find for your family. Cool. But What If your loved one was tied up with the government agencies that are now being shut down? What if they had a DNR but didn't know to put it on their fridge? What if they didn't have car insurance because they were a hooligan?

            We assumed once the coroner signed the death certificate and filed it, it'd be sent to us immediately, and EVERYBODY would know: the bank, the VA, Social Security, Insurance, the Post Office. There is so much spying and so many algorithms working overtime to determine our likes and political ideals and shopping habits and weakest spots undermining our autonomy, I assumed the government would have known dad died before we did. If you want to control pensions and social security, shouldn't you have a quickie system that picks up coroner reports daily so you can cut off funding?

            OH, RIGHT, Fusk is a private unelected citizen, wreaking havoc on our systems. Right. Yet, if he's so worried about 150 year olds receiving social security, shouldn't he have someone answering the phone to report a death so he can cease paying that individual social security? Wouldn't that be more effective than unilaterally stopping payments to every person receiving social security?

            But I digress.

            But do I?

            We are relying on the underfunded post office to deliver death certificates so we can change his address at the post office.

            Reminding everyone that my father was a retired mail carrier. So this is double the fun.

            All of this is business stuff. My other sister in Wyoming set up a celebration of life at his VFW post in Sheridan, Co. Those people are on top of it. They knew him, they liked him, they will provide food and space and drinks.  THAT has been easy. THEY answer the phone. THEY are a well functioning entity.

            The real estate agent who sells trailers in a trailer part that rents the lots was another rabbit hole I went down. It's a motor vehicle. You go to the DMV to change the title or sell the trailer. The new owner is responsible for renting the lot from the property management company---who, I forgot to mention, also does not answer their phone or staff their office on site. None of this requires a realtor unless you want to hire them to sell the trailer. Which we do not, as his neighbor wishes to buy it. But she wanted $3,000 to manage "the transaction". When I asked what that meant--specifically, if I'm going to the DMV and I'm talking to the neighbor, what is she doing for $3k?---she referred me to her Facebook page where she has successfully sold several hundred trailers.    

            Which did not answer my direct question, but answered my question. You get me. As much as I'd love to not have to deal with any of this and as much stress and number of conversations have had to happen to untangle how to sell the trailer to his neighbor, she was not going to do any of that for us for $3k.  I'm still not sure what it was she was going to do for $4k. She never answered beyond "the transaction".

            In addition, if she listed the trailer, she was going to ask the " market value" without walking through it. When she said "I sold a trailer with a hole in the floor for $35k" I stopped listening. This is not a person with a moral compass, as kind as her long winded "Take care of yourself, self care matters" voice message was. As much as her "Hopefully this will work out better than you imagine" text was intended to make me feel at ease, as much as her experience speaks for someone who has found a niche, as much as I wanted to like her...because she's the one who told me we had to go to the DMV. She gave me the maps to the hoops. That was nice. I liked her when I hung up the phone.

           Then I started thinking...and that's never a good day.

            So I called a friend who is a realtor to solidify that we do not need a realtor to sell dad's trailer. Because it is not real estate. He owns the trailer but rents the lot.

            Next week, after I return from a short vacay, I have to take the car registration to the DMV...IF I have a death certificate. Sigh. 

            I have no idea what happens if the loved one who you are digging out has property, a complicated will, a trust, or none of these. What we thought was simply digging out, sorting and making phone calls for a week has become three weeks of untangling the above because the traumatized children who are being asked "How much do you want for the trailer?" are unable to rationally math the math. 

            My sister just texted. The death certificates will be mailed out to us on Monday 24 March.

                                                SCENE

USPS

 

            My father was a retired USPS worker. He worked 30 years.  His route was Englewood, both residential and business.  He was bitten twice that I know of by dogs, not people. He was friendly, everyone liked him--even most dogs. A men's suit shop gave him a suit one holiday. He mentored new postal employees, showing them the ropes as well as how to get around the bureaucracy. When he retired, he was disgusted by how new mail carriers seemed lackadaisical, and how the system was clearly failing. Nobody was getting mail on time. I had to tell him to stop sending cash because nobody was honest any more, dad, you can't put cash in a card in the mail.   

            My father passed on 28 Feb, 2025. Since 1 March (it is now 19 March) I have called the OPM daily trying to tell them to stop his retirement payments. They are so overwhelmed they neither answer the phone or allow voicemail. There is a recording that essentially states "We're overwhelmed. Good Luck". I thought maybe, as a government agency, they would have been notified of his death. But they deposited his retirement on 5 March. Guess I was wrong. I understand they don't just work post office retirement, but also VA. God Speed, friends, I'll stop calling.

            His death certificate has been mailed "To the state and to you", meaning they mailed copies to my mom's address. That's the "You". I have no idea who "The State" is. Still waiting. USPS.

            His cremated remains are being mailed USPS Special delivery tonight, with a tracker stating they will arrive at my house either tomorrow or Friday. I'm going out of town Saturday, I hope they arrive before then.

            That's all. My dad worked for the USPS, retired from USPS and his final deliveries will be made by USPS.

                                                    SCENE

Demonstration 20 March

 

        Gathering, protest, assembly, rally...whatever.

        Polis has proposed a $14 billion cut for public schools.

        So teachers are going down to the capital on Thursday to speak up.

        They're going to have to fight for a spot, there has been an ongoing protest down there since 21 January, 2025.

        The kids were asking me about it. I told them why, and they said another teacher told them he isn't going to the rally because he's Jamaican, and he doesn't want to be deported.

        I know this teacher by sight only, and he's young, from Chicago and in his first few years of teaching. He's been very kind to me since my dad died. I did hear him asking about taking a personal day for the rally in the copy room, but that's it.

        I do now know his sense of humor. He has to be joking, right?

        What if he isn't? What if this young twenty something teacher, who is clearly in this country legally, honestly believes he'll be scooped up and deported if he attends a rally?

        And this explains why we must all be allies for our immigrant, trans, gay, black and female friends. With the bombastic bastard and buddies in the white house, ignoring the judiciary and all checks and balances, we are actually scared. It's a different kind of fear. We have never felt it.

        We were not run down by the HUAC as commies.

        We were not hanged because of our skin color.

        We were not forced to wear a pink triangle or yellow star and pulled from our homes, split from our family and left to be murdered.

        Yet.

        Which is why we're so scared. This hazardous dimwit is hell bent on punishing every single American, relentlessly going after those who investigated them first, making sure to destroy any evidence, then recklessly wrecking balling the forest service. Seriously? That was the Red Herring? Then the feds, the Kennedy Center debacle, the DOE---all seeming distractions from his real agenda. Defunding USAID---which had a case against Fusk's Starlink---which has already killed people in need of medical care. Defunding USAID killed people, not Starlink. Yet.

        The behavior isn't that shocking, I've worked with narcissists. What's shocking is that A) Nobody is doing anything to stop him and B) his followers truly are brainwashed. I am hated because I am female, a teacher, an advocate of LGBTQ and I am not compliant by people I have never even met. At least buy me dinner first.

        They cannot justify his behavior, seem shocked that it is effecting them and still worship him like a fat golden calf. They weren't invited to any of his fancy victory parties in January, I saw interviews with Frumpers who actually said they weren't good enough to go to the parties...yet they still support him. Tone Deaf doesn't begin to explain it. 

        When I asked my students if they understood why teachers are marching, or that there have been daily protests every day for two months, they were clueless.

        So I asked "Why do you think you're not seeing any of these assemblies on the news?"

        Vacant shrugs.

        "And do you think Mr. J was serious about being deported?"

        "I'd be deported back to Jamaica..."

        I silently shake my head at them as they laugh.

        They have no idea. They aren't scared.

         Yet.

        

        

Death is Exhausting

 

    Today is 13 March, 2025.

    Genoa's 29th birthday is Saturday, but that's not what's making me feel old.

    My dad died Friday, 28 Feb.

    And since then, in addition to just being sad, having to call family, arrange a separate memorial and family "funeral', contact insurance and investment jokers, talk to the coroner more times than any living person not in law enforcement should have to, cleaning out his trailer, trying to separate precious memories family members might wish to keep from garbage- I have to teach because there are no paid bereavement days, I have to use sick days and personal days and at least if I come in I'm distracted but not in a good way because while I'm teaching the coroner called and my sisters are texting plans and questions about phone numbers and whose making the document for the neighborhood and for the memorial so I come in but can't focus so I don't have to blow my sick days because I am gonna be hella sick when this is over but spring break is the week after next and we're going to Delta to see my cousin and when we get back we have my dad's VFW "life celebration" and I'm fine.

    I never leave my phone. I barely let it run out of a charge unless I'm at home and can plug it in. My dad, however, was World Famous for letting his phone die. He would also turn off the cellular data without understanding how he had managed to do so, and once completely forgot how to use it and contacted me on Facebook by commenting on an unrelated post---that he had lost his car keys.

    I have the screen shot. It's hilarious. It's two comments on a Trump post.

        "Krys, did I give you a key?"

        "I can't find my keys."

    So I called him, and he answered like he understood his phone. I asked if he was, in fact, locked out of his trailer. No, he just had no idea where his keys were. I promised to come over the next morning. The next morning, as I was getting a Torchy's Taco before adjourning to his trailer, he called me from his Facebook messenger. Again...what? He said he couldn't find the phone on the phone. But he found Facebook messenger.

    Upon arrival, I had to call my sister to activate his "FIND MY KEYS WITH MY PHONE" tracker, and the beep was so quiet it took an hour just to locate it. I found them-after tearing apart his spare room- in a pair of pants he hadn't worn in a while, in a clothes basket containing only the pants.

    Anyway, I don't fully understand my phone, either, but I also don't let it die. Or leave it. I do not believe I've ever left it behind in a building overnight. Maybe, possibly, at Littleton Back In The Day when I first got a phone. But not since then.

    The day my dad died, the alarm had sounded through my sister. We  take turns sounding it as dad habitually lets his phone die, and his tracker says it's in the trailer. We told him last time if he does this again we're just going to call the police. Karie couldn't access the tracker (turns out he'd turned off his data) and wanted to know if anyone had heard from him this week. I'd called twice, no answer, and sent several texts without a reply. I was supposed to pick him up Saturday morning to go get his hair cut at Genoa's salon. I figured I'd find out then what was up with the phone.

    We sent Harper to bang on the trailer. Our first clue was that the trailer was locked. Dad never, ever locked his trailer if he was home. It was so that his neighbors, or us, could walk in after pounding on the door and he couldn't hear (refused to get hearing aids) or was asleep. He did NOT want us calling the police if his phone died again. Harp texted the thread to say his lights were off, no answer and the door locked. 5 pm. I had our first Thespian Cabaret at 6, and while the school is only 15 minutes from his trailer, I had kids to be responsible for. Harp asked if she should call the police, and I screamed through the text NO. Why? Because I knew. And I did not want her to find her grandpa.

    My phone died shortly after, I did the show, and then left the building---without my phone. Because it was 8 pm, the building had been locked and I couldn't get back in. I was going to go by the trailer after the show, but without my phone...what good would that do? I couldn't call the police.

    So I went home.

    It's weird as hell not having ANY WAY to contact ANYONE. I just sat in the kitchen until Jim came home at which time I dove at his phone and called my sister.

        "He's not getting his hair cut tomorrow," she yelled at me. She yells a lot. It's OK. "He's gone."

        It took me a second. I thought he'd vacated and run away. "What?"

        "He's dead."

        "I'm on my way, stay there."

        I threw Jim's phone and ran down the hall to change out of my pajamas. He stared at me and I just kept chanting "My dad is dead, my dad is dead, my dad is dead---" I drove 80 MPH down Hampden to his trailer---why? He'd still be dead. I knew Ed was with Karie. But she shouldn't be without her sister. 

         I shouldn't be without my sister.

        I don't have much to say about the details. The trailer was able to contain four police officers, four paramedics (two who tried to resuscitate, who switched out with two to load), a Coroner, a Victim's Advocate two sisters a husband and a deceased father.

    Here is what I will say. If you have a DNR, display copies on your fridge,  your bedside table, your glove box. Because otherwise.. they will  attempt R. No matter how long you've been gone.

    When I got there, we had to scramble to find paperwork for Science Care. My dad---I believe in an effort to impress my mom, who divorced him forty years ago---chose to donate his boy and have it cremated. The police said we had to know what funeral home we were taking him to BEFORE the Coroner arrived in an hour and his paperwork was locked at mom's house---again, why?---who sleeps without her hearing aids. Karie couldn't get her on the phone, mom was asleep, but Karie said "Great, my dad is dead and my mom is probably dead she can't hear me."

    We decide to just call a mortuary and decide now to cremate him someplace. The VA would probably help with the cost. The only mortuary I know is Drinkwine, and Karie couldn't stop shouting and yelling about what a dumb name that was for us to follow through. I think it's a family name. Sorry, Drinkwine.

    It was decided they would ride like the wind, Bullseye, to Lakewood, terrify mom from her sleep, locate the  Science Care Donation and Cremation document and return before the Coroner arrived. But first,  they leave me her phone because mine is still locked in the building, and I didn't take Jim's with me because he can't be home without a phone and my dad is dead. When I tried to use it to call Jim, I realized Karie did not give me her passcode and had to run into the street to stop her car and get it from her. The neighbors who were already outside due to the ambulance and police cars-one with a beautiful German Shepard K-9 partner who barked at me to announce my arrival---were given more fodder to add to their story.

    They did, in fact, terrify mom out of her deep slumber and locate the paperwork. They called me with the phone number en route back, just in case the coroner arrived before them. I told the police, who said to call Science Care as instructed by dad's paperwork which begins '"When I Die Call This Number". And that conversation is another entire entry unto itself.

    Karie and Ed returned before the Coroner. Who was, in fact, a lovely small kind quiet human who told us we shouldn't be in any hurry to make any funeral arrangement decisions.

    I glared at the cop. He chose not to see me.

    We called my sister in Wyoming first. She was confused as it was Karie's number that came up and my voice. Then I called Genoa--- Harp was on a date and I insisted  that nobody call her or text her, I wanted her to be told face to face---Karie called Bob and we called Sharon after calling Lisa to get Sharon's number.

    Then Harp found out because my dumb ass nephew posted it on Facebook.

    All in all to sum up, I could see my dad's feet on the floor. Even though he died quietly in his own bed, snuggled up, he was removed so they could try to resuscitate him.

    I'm getting DNR tattooed on my chest.