Sunday 23 November 2008
By Mike on Sunday 23 November 2008, 19:47 - Journal
Every day for several weeks now I have been posting letters to organisations,
first informing them of dad's death and asking what they would like me to do
about closing off his affairs with them, then responding to their requests,
then responding to their further requests. My earlier impressions, which were
that utilities companies, insurers, and government departments' interests
extend to delaying payouts and covering their own arses, has remained
unchallenged by any signs of helpful behaviour on their part. The one quick
result we got, without the need for any documentation, was the increase in
mum's UK state pension. Hardly suprising though, as the increase in her pension
was about 20% of what they had been paying dad. To them, therefore, it was an
instant saving to be realised, and the resultant efficiency is remarkable only
for its impersonal execution.
That's not what has prompted me to write though.
I just heard that mum had a fall on Tuesday, in the common room. Greg was
notified at 6:30 pm, just after it happened, and again when the ambulance
arrived to take mum to hospital. The hospital also called to say that mum had
arrived. After examination mum was determined to be all right and was
discharged, so that she was back at the home for the night.
Then, on Thursday, she apparently fell out of bed. This time there was no
treatment as she, presumably, didn't appear to be hurt.
Then, yesterday (Saturday), she fell off her chair while sitting at the table.
She was again taken to the hospital, and is there now, sedated and bruised
about the face. A urinary tract infection is suspected.
The communications to the hospital have been as difficult as ever. And the
confusion over what has been going on seems to have reared its ugly head once
more. A doctor at the hospital has prescribed antibiotics for the UTI, under
the impresssion that mum has been on these for two weeks. This is news to us.
The staff at the home think that it may be worth taking mum off the
Risperidone, as this may be making her drowsy and unsteady. This is defrinitely
worth a try, I think, and I hope that mum does not resume her aggressive
behaviour. If she does, it begins to look remarkably like the scenario we've
just been through with dad: behaviour that is considered unmanageable without
stronger drugs, a prescription that puts him out of action, reduced mobility,
reduced appetite, poor sleep and the inevitable host of ancillary problems that
come with that.
I need to speak to Greg and Rachel about finding an alternative hospital, too.
Nothing about the one mum is in has ever made us feel good.
Friday 31 October 2008
By Mike on Friday 31 October 2008, 14:43 - Journal
The NSW Registry of Births Deaths and Marriages has just convinced me that New
South Wales is a bad place to die. I think it was on 10th October that I
contacted them to say that dad's death certificate was full of errors, and I
was told that some form was being sent out to me. Well, that never arrived. So,
I called the Registry again today, waited the obligatory few minutes while
inane 'messages' were spoken at me, and then explained the whole story once
more.
This time I was told that a form could be sent out, no problem about that, but
that there was rather a backlog and we would not get a corrected death
certificate for about three months. I was instead advised to take the original
document, in person, to the Registry office in Sydney, and wait in line.
Apparently, if I get there early (they open at 8:30 am) I might be able to get
the corrected form later the same day.
How cheering and helpful this all is. Meanwhile, I have collected a few more
'deceased estate' forms. The bureaucracy is frankly overwhelming. Several
companies demand original documents. Nearly all want to see documents that have
been notarised. I can see days of form-shuffling going up in smoke.
The lesson appears to be this - get your elderly parents to simplify their
affairs as much as possible before they die, before they get too demented to do
anything, and before they start losing papers - if you can. And good
luck.
Thursday 30 October 2008
By Mike on Thursday 30 October 2008, 20:47 - Journal
Last weekend a woman in England contacted me to say that her recently deceased
father had been on the same ship as my father, when they were torpedoed during
the Second World War. After a couple of email exchanges, she sent me a
photograph of the survivors. My father is among them, standing at the back, but
nearly a head taller than everyone else, looking young, confident, fresh-faced
and excited by life. This is a photograph that none of us have ever seen
before, yet it was so clearly dad, so easily identifiable, that when I
forwarded it to Greg, Rachel and Derek there was no need to point dad
out.
It was nearly 67 years ago. It staggers me to think that that photograph has
been in existence, in the custody of strangers who had quite independent
reasons for preserving it, but that it has finally come to us, only a few weeks
after dad's death. And the contrast between how dad looked then and how he
looked the morning he died just serves to emphasise what a long long way we
travel in a lifetime.
Some weeks ago I had a rather unusual dream. Dad was standing to my left. I
recall vividly that he was wearing a check shirt and seemed considerably
shorter than I am, and than he was himself in his prime. In the dream I was
having to explain to him that he was dead. Bizarrely, I was using all sorts of
colloquilisms - or euphemisms, perhaps. 'You've kicked the bucket, dad. You're
pushing up daisies.' 'Am I? he said. He wasn't taking it very well. His
reaction was that of confused resignation, a feeling that things were just out
of his control and could not be improved, that what he had hoped for was now
unattainable. As the conversation wore on I was telling him he had to go, that
there was no two ways about it, so he might as well just accept it. It was
certainly not pleasant, but nor was it unpleasant. it just took place.
Thursday 23 October 2008
By Mike on Thursday 23 October 2008, 21:19 - Journal
Going through the paper work is a big job. After reading everything related to,
say, a life insurance policy, I make notes of the questions and most vital
pieces of information I have. Then I call the insurance company, whose name has
invariable changed since the policy was taken out. I explain the situation, and
the person I talk to always says, 'I am sorry for your loss.' I always reply,
'It's OK.' And it is. They don't need to say anything, and in fact that would
be preferable. The other thing that seems to be invariable is that every
company, whether a phone company or an insurance company, has the equivalent of
a 'deceased account process', which always begins with them sending me a 'pack'
or, at minimum, a form. Not one of these packs has arrived yet, and I still
haven't received the form the Registry of Births Deaths and Marriages promised
me so, really, nothing has been achieved.
I went over to the house today and collected the mail. I also had a look
around. The outside woodwork has been painted dark green to match the deck Greg
and I built a few years ago, and looks very good. Doors and gates and gutters
have been fixed. Inside, the floorboards have been sanded down and glazed, and
they look good too. Everything above floor level has been painted white. It has
made the house look bland, but has brought a lot more light into it, and it
probably what tenants will want. We expect to have it let within a month.
The next stop was to see mum. She was having dinner when I arrived, and was
fully occupied. She reminded me of a small animal, so intent on her food and so
few other concerns. I stayed out of sight, not wanting to spoil her meal.
Earlier in the day Rachel had attended a meeting at the home and had offered to
donate dad's clothes to them. The offer had been accepted, so I got some
assistance and brought them all in , stacked on a wheelchair. They've been in
my car boot for several weeks. These garments are going to go into the communal
mix now. It will be very odd to visit mum and see all the old blokes around her
wearing dad's old clothes. It is a good job she won't recognise anything. She
seemed pretty cheerful, was looking well, and has continued to put on weight.
If anything, she may be getting a little fat now. She mumbled away to me about
things. I kept nodding and agreeing, and eventually faded away after about 20
minutes, as her attention was drawn away by an imminent sing-along.
One of the things that really surprises me at the home is how well the staff
remember me, and always know who I am there to visit. They always seem to
remember who else has been there recently too, Rachel or Greg. I mentioned this
to Greg today and he suspects that it is no great feat of memory, that the
explanation is that very few of the residents get visitors, and we are an
anomaly. I had never thought of this, but it could be true. The fact that the
home was so keen to get dad's clothes seems to suggest that other families are
not providing enough for their own elderly relations.
Oh, yes. I forgot to ask what had been decided about dad's ashes. We haven't
finished with the morbid jokes. One suggestion for what to do with the ashes
was to scatter them in the garden that he was never very interested in - 'You
didn't make your bed. Now you can lie in it.' Another was that we sprinkle them
on mum's porridge. There's plenty of carbon and calcium in ashes, presumably,
and recycling is all the rage now.