Since I haven’t written anything remotely personal since February 3, it’s going to take several days, maybe weeks, of posts to fill you in on what’s been going on with me. The first half of 2020 has been a difficult year for everyone, I am sure. But to me, it seems like my whole world has fallen into a hole that I don’t know how to get out of.
First, on January 1st, my sister called to tell me that our Mother was in transition, that she was dying, and that I needed to come to the assisted living home where she was in hospice care. Mama died on January 2. I went home for the night, then went back to Douglasville, about 45 miles away, for the funeral.
When I got home from Mama’s funeral, I was telling Fabgrandpa about what a unique and interesting service the pastor had done for Mama, including that he wrote a song for her. It was called “Vera’s First Day in Heaven.” Fabgrandpa told me then that he felt like he was ready to go. I laughed it off, and told him not to talk like that. But then, on March 2, my Honey Bunny Sweetheart followed my Mama down that path.
The next week was when the governor of Georgia called for everyone to stay home. Businesses closed. Government offices closed. Restaurants closed except for take out. We were ordered to wear masks every time we left our homes. Since Fabgrandpa died without a will, I could not do anything with our finances until I went through probate. But, the Probate Judge’s office was closed. It stayed closed for about two months. I was finally able to file the paperwork to start the probate process in May. It takes thirty days for the process to flow through the system. Your “request for 12 months support for yourself as the surviving spouse” has to be advertised in the legal section of the newspaper for four consecutive weeks. If for some reason the newspaper doesn’t publish your legal ad one week, the process has to start all over again. Luckily for me that did not happen, and the probate process was completed in the thirty days. This whole process made it a legal thing that I was the sole owner of our house. Since I was the sole owner, I could sell it.
While I loved our little home in Georgia, it still had a mortgage on it. With Fabgrandpa gone, and his Social Security check gone too, I could no longer afford the house. During the time that I was in quarantine in that house for two months, I spent every day going through closets, drawers, and any other type of storage. I had piles of stuff for trash, moving sale, give to the kids, and keep. I packed boxes. Since I can’t lift anything over ten pounds, I packed a box or two a day, and left them sitting where I packed them. Timothy, the teenager who lived next door, came over every evening to play games on Fabgrandpa’s computer. Every day when he got there, he moved boxes for me, took out the trash, cleaned out the litter box, and whatever else I needed for him to do. He was very helpful. I would have never been able to finish that job without him.
A couple of weeks before the probate thing was completed, I had a moving sale. I still can’t believe how many people came, especially since the house was way out in the country. My niece, Stefani, and Timothy helped with the sale, as well as a friend of mine from high school. It was so busy that we did not have time to eat lunch! At the end of the sale, I had made over $2000. It was enough to pay for my move to the Denver, Colorado area. But, I still had a lot of stuff leftover. Timothy and I took several loads of stuff to a thrift store in Tallapoosa, Georgia that takes your stuff on consignment. She pays you fifty percent of what she sells it for. It was really hard to part with things, so much so that I brought too much with me to Colorado. I now have a storage unit to hold the excess until I can figure out what to do with it.
Once I received the phone call from the Probate Judge’s office that the process was finished, I was ready to move. I rented a Penske truck because they had the best deal. They were running a special on the rental fee, and also gave me a military discount because my son, Seth would be driving, and he is a retired Air Force veteran. They also don’t charge a mileage fee. That right there clinched the deal for me. So, Seth, my grandson Michael (who drove Seth’s car and followed us to Denver so they could drive that car home), and Timothy loaded up the truck and moved me to Colorado. We arrived at my daughter and son-in-law’s home on July 1st.