Closing

Just another way to say "Good-bye"

The bank official has stepped out for a moment to retrieve the documents for closing out Dad’s bank account. My brother sits in a chair next to me.

“You know,” he says, looking at me with blue eyes so like our father’s and so like mine, “I didn’t think it would be this hard. It’s like, well, Dad is really gone. I mean, we had the funeral and everything but while I was back home it was easy to think he was still here in Virginia.” He reaches out a hand to me and sighs. “This is tough.”

Dad and Harvey, 1953

I nod. “It’s been six weeks since Dad died. We’re still grieving but there’s all this other stuff we still have to do.” I fight back a few tears, then decide that it’s okay to cry. This is my brother, after all. Now that our parents are both gone, he’s the person in the world who has known me the best.

“It took me two years to close Ron’s account,” I tell him. “In a funny way, I couldn’t make myself do it. It was almost like I thought he might need the money or something.”

I shake my head at the memory. I’d gone into the bank on that day, determined to take care of this one last thing for my late husband. I’d already handled notices to insurance companies and utilities, applied for widow’s benefits, and sent Ron’s death certificate to multiple places. Each phone call or mailing was a small pinprick of grief. I told myself this was the last thing; it should be easy.

Harvey and Linda, Christmas 1962

It wasn’t. Since the finances of the family had fallen to me years ago when Ron could no longer work or handle much of anything, I used my own bank account for bills, groceries, and other necessities. Ron’s account was for medication co-pays and the odd dinner or movie out when he was well enough to leave the house.

I’d cried. The bank official had offered me a tissue and sympathy.

“You don’t have to do it now,” she’d said.

“But I have to do it SOMETIME,” I said as I dabbed at my leaking eyes. “It might as well be now.”

In the end, there was enough left in Ron’s account to cover the cost of his grave marker.

Ron’s tombstone

Administering an estate is, according to empathy.com, a “difficult and time-consuming process” requiring countless tasks both big and small. We were joint executors, but Harvey had taken on the burden of most of the phone calls and paperwork. We talked three or four times a week as more documents pertaining to Dad’s carefully ordered life were reviewed. We said to each other on many occasions how good it was that we had each other to share the burden.

Harvey and Linda, 1955

Blackford and Flohr, LLC, says that “40% of survivors have a decline in their mental health during the probate process.” It is easy to be consumed by the details involved in a death. Executors of an estate are meant to be an emotional support to the family. In Dad’s case, Harvey and I play many roles: executors, joint heirs, beneficiaries, and survivors. We support each other.

“Remember the time Dad drove us all to Virginia Beach?” I remind Harvey. “What was that place where we had pancakes each morning?”

“Sambo’s,” he answers. “We stayed at the Princess Anne motel.” He laughs. “It was one of Dad’s spur-of-the-moment trips. Like the time he took us to New York.:

“We went through a tunnel, I remember.”

“Two tunnels, “ said Harvey. “Dad wanted to stop at the scenic overlook. Mom was afraid we’d fall into the Chesapeake Bay!”

Sunset over Rehoboth Beach

We laugh.

We support one another.

The bank manager steps back into her office, a folder with Dad’s accounts in her hand. Harvey and I have our ID’s ready; this is the second bank we’ve been to today and we know the drill. Sonia settles behind her desk. She looks at us both and hesitates for just a moment.

“I remember your father,” she says. “When he opened these accounts. He was such a pleasant man.” She taps the folder in front of her. “And I see the two of you, looking so much like him. Sharing memories of him.” She smiles. “I want you to know that often it is not like this. Siblings can’t agree if there is money involved. Most people sit in this office and argue.” She smiled. “They don’t talk about eating pancakes.”

According to Jennifer Yoingro of HAR.com, “Probate is not just a legal process; it’s a journey that involves navigating complex emotions while fulfilling legal obligations.”

Harvey and I will talk about pancakes, Bay Bridge tunnels, and Dad’s penchant for spontaneous trips —and a hundred other memories from his well-lived life—as we continue the tedious process of closing out Dad’s earthly life.

We are executors, joint heirs, beneficiaries, and survivors.

And the holders of the memories of our father.

Mom and Dad’s grave in Rehoboth Beach

Have you ever been the executor of a will? Or were you an heir or beneficiary? How do you continue to remember that person in your life?