nanowritmo 23 / A minor

Songs in A minor / Alicia Keys













When we got home that night, I called G. and after months of telling her not to worry, that night I told her I thought she should visit Mother. I didn’t think Mother would live through the week. G. had seen her the day before and made the decision to try to go the next day. After her granddaughter’s birthday, however, G’s franticness was less severe.


M. and I also talked that night, not only about mother and the visit, but also E. and his wife, funeral arrangements, and the will. We both wished we had an actual copy of Mother’s will. I think we both feared some new surprises; every visit there was always something. In the conversation the day before, she had mentioned that weeks before she had instructed JP to move and rearrange office files. She indicated that among other things she had requested JP take her current office files to JP’s family barn. I had hoped she was confused as I was certain that was not legal. Still, the thought that Mother had spoken the truth had pushed the scales on my own nervousness about taking charge of her estate.


We decided that the next morning, we’d take a ride to Mother’s office and check on things. We could verify if the files had been moved. Mother had also suggested a few more places her will could be, and one never knew, it was worth the look.


Sunday morning we up at 6 am, our normal get up hour. Usually, we’d lay in bed refusing to move at least out of stubbornness, but that morning we arose. We were up, we had grocery shopping and laundry to do. The trip to Mother’s office, while only taking 10 minutes once there would take almost four hours round trip travel.


There was good news and bad in mother’s office. She was telling the truth, the two lateral files that contained her patient files and office accounts were missing. I would have been hysterical if I hadn’t believed that I at least knew where they were. However, there was also a file, not there last time I looked, clearly labeled "Will and Important Papers."


The date indicated it should be the most recent copy and as anticipated it named me as Executrix. If I was unable or unwilling to serve in this role, the task would fall to cousin E. I heaved a deep sigh.


Things would be okay. I’d handle Mother’s funeral. I’d talk with E. He held not one, but two doctorate degrees. He had connections. He’d know what to do with Mother’s office, and I could tell him what I knew and I knew he would do the right thing and be able to do so with less complication than I could. What did I know?


For the first time in months, I felt peaceful during the long ride home. We had a plan and I thought it was a good plan. And I could handle my role.


From Mother’s we had done the errands, rushing through the grocery store to get it over with and home in hopes of completing our long ‘do list.’ As M. brought the bags in from the car, I checked the voice mail. This was standard operating procedures.


The automated voice told me I had three messages. I frowned. This was a lot for a Sunday. I had a feeling I knew what they were about. The first had arrived around 10 am, I looked at the clock it read 11. The message was curt.


“Hello, this is Ms. Jones at The ---- Assisted Living Facility. If you want the message contact Atty B.” Mother’s attorney.


“My mother died this morning.” I told M matter of factly as he entered carrying the last of the bags.