Bad News

On August 18 at a little after 5:30 pm, my dad called. I hadn’t started getting ready to go to a party scheduled to start at 7 pm, and a part of me hoped he wouldn’t talk too long and another part of me wondered what happened.

I picked up the phone and found out: Aunt Barbara was found lying in her condo five or six days after she died. I felt shocked and dismayed at hearing this, even though I never got to know her well—tears welled up in a matter of minutes and I struggled to suppress them. My dad invited me to go to Cambridge, Massachusetts with me in order to do such things as find my aunt’s will if she had one and figure out what to do with her possessions if she didn’t. He said she had spoken of making a will, but he wasn’t sure she had ever gotten around to doing it.

My dad had been on the phone a lot because he was in touch with a bunch of people in Massachusetts: Aunt Barbara’s last boyfriend, Al; the director of a funeral home; the building manager for the condo; and at least one or two friends/colleagues of Aunt Barbara’s. He said he’d call me back for updates and reimburse me for the flight to either Chicago or to South Bend, Indiana (because he lives in northwest Indiana and would meet up with me there).

He called twice the following day, and I went to a local travel agent. I had already gotten my suitcase out of my storage space and started packing.

For Wednesday August 24, I have an 8:45 am flight. I think I'll take Trimet rather than ask someone to drive me to the airport really early in the morning--I'd like to be there probably by 6:45. And I want to leave my car at my apartment.