The power of words

Lesson learned today: I can sit and do crossword puzzles for hours.

Other than the crossword puzzles in TV Guide growing up, I was so not a crossword puzzle solver. My mom was always surprised by this. I loved books, I loved to read, I loved play on words, I loved words. Why would I not share her passion for the New York Times crossword puzzles? I did not.

During the few weeks I was in Brooklyn while my mother was in the hospital, I'd kill time by staring at the crossword puzzle, on the verge of tears because this was Mom's puzzle that was not being completed.

The day before my mom died, with a little bit of help from my brother, I finished the Monday puzzle in the Times. Even though my mom wasn't conscious, I walked in to her hospital room, excited to share the news with her that I'd completed a puzzle. I don't know how I know it, but I know that the message was received. I could feel her say, "I told you so!" Granted, in all the many months since, I'm mostly able to finish just the Monday, maybe Tuesday puzzle on my own. Only twice have I finished a puzzle later in the week. (They get more difficult as the week progresses.) I believe my mother left me the power of words.

Maybe once I finish my Monday and Tuesday books, I'll be ready for the Wednesday book.

Tick one thing off the list

Finally, something has happened. I'm still stressing over being unable to return the money that was overpaid to my dad's account by his annuity because the checking account is blocked and without knowing the tax ID number that "nefarious" trust/estate guy may or may not know, I can't write a check - the only form of payment they will take. (When I first questioned the trust/estate guy, he told me about all the different termination dates an annuity might have. But months after months after death... into a new year... for a fellow who died approaching 87... just did not jive with me.)

My positive news is that I did claim my share both of my dad's inherited IRAs.

IRAs are cool. They don't go through probate, even though they can't be part of a trust. They seemly get inherited by the listed beneficiaries. (Of course in the case of my mom's IRA, things weren't that simple. I think I've mentioned this at least once before. Dad was her primary beneficiary. He never went through the process of inheriting her IRA so when she died, it was unclaimed and became part of her previously non-existent "estate." She should have died with no assets requiring probate, but this IRA somehow slipped through. My dad kept telling us that we had plenty of time. We're still trying to work that one out.

IRAs are also interesting. Money goes into your IRA (Individual Retirement Account) before you've paid tax on it. And it can sit there and grow and grow. If you want to take out funds prior to being 59 1/2 years old, you pay a penalty - and tax on the money withdrawn. At 59 1/2, you can take out whatever you'd like but that's the time you pay the IRS the taxes on the amount you withdraw. You can take a little, you can take all, you can take nothing. At age 70 1/2, you are forced to start making withdrawals. The IRS uses actuarial numbers to determine the number of years they think you might live... and then they require your withdrawals to equal what they believe the end of your life will be in years. The amount you are required to take out annually is called your Minimum Required Distribution. You can always take your funds more rapidly at this point, but this is the absolute minimum you can take.

Then, when you die, your beneficiary or beneficiaries get your IRA as an inherited IRA. I'm not sure if minors are required to take MRDs but people the ages of my brother and I are forced to take out MRDs... based on our ages... and if taken in these minimally small amounts, the IRA should be expected to give us something (with taxes owed) each year for the rest of our lives. Interesting concept.

My dad had two IRAs. Somehow he missed the taking the distribution on one of the accounts. I know there's a penalty involved - unless we can persuade the IRS to waive it. Seriously, Dad had a lot going on in his life those last few months... but he took it on one of the accounts. One of the investment firms led me to believe that I needed to take out Dad's final MRD as I started up my inherited IRA account. Without any real guidance from anyone but the investment firm, that's what I did. And the check came yesterday. Will I have messed things up? I have no idea. But... going forward, that IRA is clearly now my inherited IRA and going forward, things should be much more straightforward.

Some might view this as a sideways step and not a step forward at all. But with the path the administration of this estate has taken, I'm viewing this as a positive thing.

Grief continues to hit me in waves. After a grief counseling session where I was reassured that what I'm feeling is normal and after a bereavement support group meeting, I know I'm not alone and that my grief has to run its course. Everyone's journey is different. And everyone has a story.

Where I've been

Lesson learned over the past few weeks: grief can hit - and hit hard - at any moment.

I haven't really been feeling myself the past few weeks. Nearly 11 months after my mom first had her stroke, it finally hit me that she's dead. She's gone. She's not coming back. And that's been hard to deal with.

Several have asked me if I think I was in denial all those months. My answer to them has been, "No." I held it together during my mother's hospitalization and her death because that's what I needed to do to get through it. The five weeks I was in New York at that time, I did what I needed to do, I did what was needed by my (then seemingly healthy) father. I knew that once I got home, the grief over my mom's death would hit hard.

But then I never really got home. I was in the house for only a few hours before I was rushing back to New York to be with father who over the few days I hadn't been with him lost the ability to walk. The next few months were all about my dad and seeing that he got the care that he needed.

Then he was hospitalized, I injured my knee, he died and I grieved. For the loss of my dad whom I'd spent so many quality moments with over the previous five and a half months. Again, I did what needed to be done. For my dad, for the family, for 1137. I thought I did what needed to be done for me, too. In retrospect, who knows.

I arrived home not quite six months after I'd left and I wasn't the same person. Not even close. I was relieved to be home. I was emotionally glad to be home. Physically, I was in great pain. And there was a big hole in my heart. I missed my parents. I was sad.

Weeks went by. My husband wanted to know when I'd go "back to normal." How does one even begin to do that? I had and still have no idea. I was floating along. I was sad not to be able to dive into my normal routines but my knee injury really kept me grounded and close to home. I felt disconnected from the friends I'd left behind just several months before. I felt like I didn't quite belong anywhere. My evening ritual of calling my mom left a gaping hole in my routine. That's when I most missed my mom. But she could have been on a cruise. She could have been anywhere. I missed her in the moment but it hadn't yet hit me that she was never coming back.

We went back to Brooklyn in October. I realized that I missed my parents a whole lot less while staying in their house, even if they weren't there. I made plans to be away for the few days before Thanksgiving, the few days that my parents would have normally been spending with us in Florida. I was sad. The holiday tradition wasn't there and I felt that loss.

I was home for a few weeks more and then it was time to go back up to Brooklyn. It felt odd celebrating latkes in my parents' house without them. Frying latkes in their frying pan on their stove. Lighting their menorah. Similar to how it was in October, I realized that I missed them a whole lot less while staying in their house.

When did I first realize that my mom wasn't coming back? It hit me like a ton of bricks when a question came up about my high school reunion. (The backstory to this is that my mom and I went to the same high school. She was president of the alumni association for the school for nearly 40 years. She had some helpers but she ran it almost singlehandedly with the help of my dad - who went to another high school.) A few questions had come up about the organizational aspects of planning a reunion. My first thought was that I wished I'd paid closer attention to my mom telling me tales about other classes planning their reunions. At that moment I really wished I could pick up the phone and talk to my mom. She had the answers to every single question my committee and I had. Off the top of her head. Requiring no thinking. Wait. Mom isn't a phone call away. Mom isn't here. Mom is dead.

And that's when it started. The littlest things made me cry. The process of settling the estate which was godawful to begin with became a mountain I couldn't climb. A cutting remark made by my daughter made me fall apart rather than simply angering me. I wasn't able to deal with any of life's setbacks. I don't know about your life, but my life has many setbacks. On a daily basis. My husband, who was still waiting for me to "return to normal" had no idea what to do with me. He didn't understand my kind of grief and why it appeared (to him) out of nowhere.

I learned that I need help. Today I am off to my first session with a grief counselor.