Wish it turned out differently.
Wrote this exactly one month after she passed. Still can’t believe she’s gone.
The kid was away for a week so I could continue doing all the admin stuff I needed to do. Like close out her bank accounts. Most were fine.
Bank of America was not. BoA was the worst. Call up their estate number (888.689.4466) and you’ll see what I mean; was on hold for a total of four hours over three phone calls.
Gotta figure that anyone calling their estate number is probably in the same mental situation as me so that shows how much priority they place on their customers.
The kid away meant that I could see friends.
Again, my life stopped some time in September 2015 because Alison and I just wanted to enjoy being expectant parents.
With the exception of my gym buddies, stopped seeing all my friends then.
Saw one group of friends early in the week that took me out for some Cuban-Chinese around the way. Ended up drinking until about 1:30AM.
Me: Get out.
Her: I gotta crash here.
Him: I gotta crash here too.
Me: OK, fine. Nobody throw up.
Before my liver had a chance to recover, saw my college friends. My old safe harbor.
They all came out at a moment’s notice.
Me: Last minute but the kid’s away if anyone is free for dinner and a drink.
Them: Wherever you want, Logan.
They brought me out to eat at KTown and drinks afterward; didn’t get home until after midnight.
They all donated to Alison and gave me a pretty massive check made out to the kid to boot.
Me: It’s too much, fellas.
Him: You’d do the same for us.
Me: That’s what you think.
They’ve known me 25 years. That’s how old we are.
Me: It’s hard for me to explain what’s going on in my head. I feel like I was just at your wedding. And we were all just at Bobby’s funeral. There are so many things I don’t remember. I can’t believe what I’ve been doing the past two years.
Him: It’s probably a survival mechanism. You don’t want to remember everything that happened.
Me: You’re right. I really don’t. (sorrowfully) Just wish it all turned out differently.
Him: (patting me on back and clearing throat) We all wish that for you, man.