The finalising Pete’s Estate has been a weird bag of emotions.
Mostly it’s sad and empty feeling, with a whole lot of weight attached.
It’s been surprisingly final receiving the letter from the solicitor which said: ...this now completes everything.
I can only liken it to the feeling of when I got the death certificate.
A weird, empty, sad feeling of it being really real. That what I’m holding in my hand and banking, doesn’t go close to filling the void of emptiness of what it represents.
I am in the position of not being left either destitute nor rich after Pete died.
Superannuation does give a level of support to those of us left behind. And I’ve had some funny comments about receiving it.
One was “well its better than nothing …” and I had to reply back: “True ... but not as good as a husband.”
And that’s really the crux of the feeling of emptiness, I think.
The cheque could have $10,000,000 written on it and it wouldn’t be any better.
And as I’ve said to many people, I’d rather be begging in the street, penniless, and have him back.
So, as I handed over the last piece of his estate, and made polite conversation with the bank teller, it turned into me trying to make light of what was feeling a reasonably oppressive situation for me (not outwardly, but definitely inwardly).
And afterwards, I sat in the car with the deposit slip, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and emptiness – because the money in the bank, like the death certificate when it arrived – was a black and white representation of Pete’s death.
It is also a worthless representation of the value of the person that he was.
All the money in the world might make our lives easier, but we are not richer without him in it.
The completion of the estate also brings such weird feelings.
What does that mean?
I know it means his death is now fully completed in terms of a paperwork sense … but in reality?... I’ve no idea.
Does that signal that we can and should move on?
Does it mean I’ll now finally not receive letters addressed to the Estate of the Late Peter Mecham anymore?
I think it kind of feels like it’s the end of Pete influencing the decisions we now make.
That now it’s all done and dusted, we are left to fend for ourselves.
That he has provided his last financial support of us and we are left to do with it as we see fit, on our own.
The challenge with that, of course, is that previously any big financial decisions were made together: Big family decisions were a mutual discussion points; laying out what we thought our future looked like was done together.
But that’s all changed.
I have the wisdom and knowledge of what we had discussed before he died, but I no longer have him here to achieve it with.
It’s a hollow feeling, looking at the digits in a bank account and thinking “oh, we can do that thing …” but not having him here to do the thing with.
It’s surprisingly sad all over again.
It’s another left of field sideswipe I wasn’t expecting. I mean, its just a letter, and some figures on a piece of paper, but I think its what it all represents that has made it hard to grapple with.
Speaking to people about it makes me cry.
Writing about it now makes me cry.
Because honestly, I don’t want to make decisions about it and with it, without him.
I don’t want to pursue the dreams we had as a family by using it, without him.
I don’t want the burden of making sure it’s spent wisely, and properly, and how he would have wanted it to be, without him.
I don’t want the weight of the expectation from people who I know are watching to see what happens with it, all on me.
Money is a funny thing. Everyone’s got an opinion on it.
And plenty of people have joked that surely I’ve whittled away more than my fair share of it over the last 15 months on shoes …
The joke really is, I’ve spent more on doctors and psychologists and massages and prescribed drugs and sporting registrations and take away food to keep myself and the kids operating in a functional manner than I have on shoes, many times over.
It’s just not as fun to posts photos on Instagram and Facebook of “oh look, back at the Drs getting a script for Lexam so I can ward off the panic attacks that come with doing really hard things like banking cheques which represent the value of your husband’s life to a superannuation company or fronting up every day to life without my husband and four grieving children … ” or “check out the face of someone who’s just been sobbing uncontrollably for an hour at a psychologist…”
It’s way more fun to say: “Look, new shoes!” or “this wine/gin is the medicine I need today” on those platforms.
Plus, sometimes what was necessary at that point in time for us, isn’t what it would have been when he was alive, or even necessary next year, but it was necessary then and/or now.
Because I’ve also learned that people who make passing comments on how or what I’m spending money on, also haven’t lost their husband/wife.
They can’t see past the shiny things to see the reality that the weight of any money from Pete’s death is so fucking emotionally heavy.
And if challenged, they don’t actually want to know. They were ‘just saying …’
So, I think it seems only fitting really, that I am probably going to spend some more of it on some expensive alcohol to toast him.
An acknowledgement of the fact the paperwork is all done.
And now it’s really real that from a paperwork, legal and financial perspective, the loose ends have all been tied up and we are really on our own without him in our lives.
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