![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
k2daisySpent the morning submitting mailing-list removal requests from the stack of junk mail my parents have received at my house this month. My dad donated to all the Democrats and political organizations; my mom liked theater, looking at retirement villages and cruises, and shopping. Their name got around!
My sister re-mailed the final check from the escrow company (refund for what was left after the sale), and I have a similar refund check from the flood insurance company. So it's off to my bank manager friend who will help me get them deposited. (The flood one is made out to both of my parents estates).
Today is the one-year anniversary of when they had to evacuate to Atlanta to escape Hurricane Milton. My dad was still suffering from a broken hand and other wounds from Molly dragging him on her leash, and the drive was so brutal for them. Honestly, he never really recovered from that. I ended up going down to Atlanta a few days later and driving them home. All the fear and helplessness that I went through is churning up again. My sister was at their house visiting them, and she did not drive them up there. I remember begging them to let her, or to let me fly down and drive with them. And all three of them were so nonchalant about it; they would not accept there were limits to what they could do, and certainly my sister was incapable of seeing them as they were. Mom kept saying, "we drove ourselves last time", and ignoring my counter-argument that that had been five years earlier, when she didn't have cancer and a walking cane, Dad didn't have to sleep with oxygen, and they didn't have a 75-pound energetic dog to manage.
God, it just churns me up all over again. That trip was the beginning of the end. I would have done anything to prevent it, then and now in hindsight.
I miss them both so much still. I miss their life, knowing they were happy and warm in Florida, puttering around their house. They built a lovely cocoon for themselves, and I feel so badly they got ripped out of it before they were ready to go.
Grief fucking sucks.
My sister re-mailed the final check from the escrow company (refund for what was left after the sale), and I have a similar refund check from the flood insurance company. So it's off to my bank manager friend who will help me get them deposited. (The flood one is made out to both of my parents estates).
Today is the one-year anniversary of when they had to evacuate to Atlanta to escape Hurricane Milton. My dad was still suffering from a broken hand and other wounds from Molly dragging him on her leash, and the drive was so brutal for them. Honestly, he never really recovered from that. I ended up going down to Atlanta a few days later and driving them home. All the fear and helplessness that I went through is churning up again. My sister was at their house visiting them, and she did not drive them up there. I remember begging them to let her, or to let me fly down and drive with them. And all three of them were so nonchalant about it; they would not accept there were limits to what they could do, and certainly my sister was incapable of seeing them as they were. Mom kept saying, "we drove ourselves last time", and ignoring my counter-argument that that had been five years earlier, when she didn't have cancer and a walking cane, Dad didn't have to sleep with oxygen, and they didn't have a 75-pound energetic dog to manage.
God, it just churns me up all over again. That trip was the beginning of the end. I would have done anything to prevent it, then and now in hindsight.
I miss them both so much still. I miss their life, knowing they were happy and warm in Florida, puttering around their house. They built a lovely cocoon for themselves, and I feel so badly they got ripped out of it before they were ready to go.
Grief fucking sucks.
Tags: