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.