This is so damn difficult.
I don't even know if I can digest it all to regurgitate here. Paperwork. So much paperwork. Anything with his name attached must be changed over to just mine. The house, the insurances, the phone, banking, our timeshare points. At least the utilities are in my name. Life insurance, 401K, VA, DFAS, DEERS, SS. I know there's more, but the brain goes numb. His clothes, his shoes. Throw out the underwear and the toothbrush. Cancel future doctor's appointments. Look at his leatherworking stuff, his candlemaking, his soldering station in my living room, his jam and crispy treat making stuff. His booze. His jackets and hats by the back door. The fucking garage. The Harley, the broken scooter, the two four wheeled bikes which are too heavy for me alone. His firewood, his metal recycling. His tools.
Ah, his hammocks.
And his chores, finding friends or paid professionals for the outdoor stuff beyond my physical abilities. The house repairs and upgrades we neglected. Who will want to put up Christmas lights on the roof? Who can run the big ass snowblower, or shovel?
Figuring out the budget. Figuring out how much I eat by myself. That's not much. Bed picnics and eating standing up in the kitchen. Laundry is different now. Cancelled all his TV shows set to record. Put away his lunch cooler and his water bottles.
Trying to have ready answers when people ask what I need. I know, but I don't always know when asked. I need Larry.
I don't even know if I can digest it all to regurgitate here. Paperwork. So much paperwork. Anything with his name attached must be changed over to just mine. The house, the insurances, the phone, banking, our timeshare points. At least the utilities are in my name. Life insurance, 401K, VA, DFAS, DEERS, SS. I know there's more, but the brain goes numb. His clothes, his shoes. Throw out the underwear and the toothbrush. Cancel future doctor's appointments. Look at his leatherworking stuff, his candlemaking, his soldering station in my living room, his jam and crispy treat making stuff. His booze. His jackets and hats by the back door. The fucking garage. The Harley, the broken scooter, the two four wheeled bikes which are too heavy for me alone. His firewood, his metal recycling. His tools.
Ah, his hammocks.
And his chores, finding friends or paid professionals for the outdoor stuff beyond my physical abilities. The house repairs and upgrades we neglected. Who will want to put up Christmas lights on the roof? Who can run the big ass snowblower, or shovel?
Figuring out the budget. Figuring out how much I eat by myself. That's not much. Bed picnics and eating standing up in the kitchen. Laundry is different now. Cancelled all his TV shows set to record. Put away his lunch cooler and his water bottles.
Trying to have ready answers when people ask what I need. I know, but I don't always know when asked. I need Larry.
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