Kindness/Media/"Died"

I've been getting messages through e-mail, messages through Facebook, comments on this blog, postings on my Facebook page, tweets on Twitter, and now cards in the mail, from people I know and even from people I don't, people who read my howl in the form of a comment on a posting about Jane Brody's articles on widowhood the other day on a New York Times website blog and have so kindly responded. Thank you to all of you.  Your kindness is a gift.

I'm glad there are all these forms of media that don't require me actually to talk.  I'm not a fan of the telephone at the best of times; and since Jerry was diagnosed with cancer back in January, I've become even less capable of talking on the phone.  There's just so much I don't want to say, so much I don't have the energy to say.  With written media, with the Internet, I can say what I'm capable of saying, what I want to say, and leave it at that.

I called insurance agents today, the one who deals with our medical insurance through work, and the one who deals with our homeowner's and car insurance.  The former I think I was too abrupt with - I should have stopped to remember he's known Jerry longer than I have and that he would consider Jerry more than just a client, and the shock in his voice after I told him Jerry had died on Sunday was painful to hear - I should have thought of a way to break the news more gently.  He sounded very upset as we rang off.  The latter I didn't reach, just got a receptionist, who said I need to change the car title to my name before I can change the name on the insurance policy.  So the name on the policy is now Jerry's "estate," and I guess I have to wait for death certificates before I can change the title.  Another thing to mention to the lawyer when I meet with her on Wednesday.  I'll be spending part of the weekend gathering as much information as I can about bank accounts, IRAs, etc.  Have I mentioned Jerry didn't have a will?  He had ordered a program for us to do wills, before all the cancer stuff, but we never got it done, and then after the diagnosis I just could not bring myself to mention things like "wills" or "powers of attorney," no matter how much I knew that sort of thing was important.  I even bought those documents from LegacyWriter.com while Jerry was in the hospital, but again, even if he'd been in any sort of shape to sign legal documents, which he wasn't, I couldn't bring it up.  But it will be fine.  It's not like there's a huge estate at stake, or fractious heirs who will battle over a 1999 Toyota Sienna with over 150,000 miles on it.

I've been looking up books on bereavement online.  The Didion book is my starting point; I'm thinking I might stop at a bookstore tomorrow and see what else is there.  It feels a bit like when Jerry was undergoing treatments and had no appetite and I'd keep stopping at grocery stores and buying anything I could think of that I hoped would tempt him (and nothing did); now I feel like I'm trying to shop my way into safety again, this time with books.  Because surely one of them will have the magic words in it that will make all this go away and make me feel okay again.  Haven't gotten that far into the Didion yet, but I suspect this qualifies as "magical thinking."

Last note for now: I think I'm shocking people when I use the word "died."  I call the lawyer, I call the insurance agent, I call Social Security, and I say "My husband died," and I get the feeling I've violated some sort of unwritten but understood law of etiquette.  In my experience, most people use euphemisms - they say a person "passed," "passed on," "passed away," "is gone."  I completely understand the instinct to do that: it feels harsh to say "Jerry died," and half the time I'm making these phone calls, I'm composed until I say the words and then I break down and have to apologize to the person I'm talking to, with whom I'm supposed to be having a business-like conversation.  But at the same time, saying Jerry has "passed" is not going to bring him back, is not going to make the pain I feel go away, is not going to make this horrible, unbearable reality any less real.  It will not change the fact that he has died.  I understand, I totally understand, why people use other words, and I don't begrudge them that at all.  But for me, saying them feels like trying to soften something that can't be softened, make something less shocking that is the most shocking thing I've ever experienced.  Because no matter what words I use, the fact remains: Jerry died.

And I write it and say it but somehow I don't think I really believe it yet.