Idiots

There are some things that can be postponed, like moving the Day of the Dead arrangements that adorn our home. There are other things that have to be dealt with on someone else’s timeline. Predominantly, these are financial and government forms. I hate dealing with these things. Removing her name from bank accounts, transferring retirement funds, and re-titling our cars all seem like efforts to wipe her away.

Today I went to re-title our cars. I took the day off work, which seems like a bit much for what ultimately takes only a couple of hours, but I needed to make this an otherwise happy day for mental health reasons. I made the kids get all the forms together. I figured it would be good exercise since both of them are going to be moving out before long. I took the piles down to the DOT station and got my spot on an “X” outside the building to wait to go in.

After a few minutes, the woman in the mask minding the line came over and asked me why I was there. I told her my wife had died and I needed to deal with the titles on my cars. She said, “I’m sorry for your loss, but you can’t do that here. You’re going to have to go to a different office.” This pissed me off. Not because I had to go some place else, but because when she said, “I’m sorry for your loss,” she didn’t mean it.

As you would expect, I get a lot of sympathetic comments lately. No one knows what to say. I don’t either. Sometimes I want to talk about it, sometimes I don’t. I’m getting use to it. One piece of advice I can give, and I wouldn’t have known to give this before, is that it’s okay to just ignore it. That said, I’m not irritated by genuine sympathy from people I know, but this perfunctory version set me off.

I realize this is my fault. If I just didn’t say anything about my wife dying, the line lady wouldn’t have felt compelled to acknowledge it. I tried to figure out how to avoid bringing it up, but it happens that there are very particular forms associated with re-titling a car after one of the owners dies, and I knew that the DOT license center didn’t generally do new titles for vehicles, but I thought they might do these based on the way the forms read.

Concealing my cold fury behind my Star Wars hospital mask, I got on my motorcycle and headed off to AAA where they do handle titles. As I rode, I reflected on my emotional reaction. I have a similar reaction when I get a perfunctory “Thank you for your service.” That irritates me too. Not only because it has the same cadence as “I’m sorry for your loss,” but because I sailed a desk for the Navy. I know people who you should thank for their service–like my dad who flew in Vietnam or my cousin who sprouted a big marble forehead in Arlington–I’m just not one of them.

I hadn’t fully grappled with all this, when I walked into AAA, and got to explain it all over again. The guy who was guarding the front door had a pretty good Parkinson’s tremor. I don’t remember him saying he was sorry for my loss, but after some back and forth, he concluded that they could only do one of my forms since the state was still partially closed and he took me over to the clerk. The door guy explained to the desk guy what was up, and then I stepped up to the window.

As soon as I did, he said “I’m sorry for your loss,” just exactly like the woman at the DOT license center. Fortunately for him, there was a Plexiglas shield up to prevent me from breathing on him. This also inhibited my ability to lunge over the counter and grab him by the throat. The next thing he said was, “Haley and I were in the same theater troupe, please tell her as well.”