Four days after Tom died, my sister and I went to our bank. We had a personal account and Tom’s corporation account there, and had been customers for a lot of years.
When we walked in I was reeling.
Well, I was reeling for months, but everything was so new, so fresh, and I knew that dealing with a bank would be hard. I had no head for living, much less banking or money. My sister was with me though and I was grateful. And I had to figure this stuff out because bills were due or would be.
When we walked in I sat at the closest desk I could find, my sister sat with me and she spoke. She told the woman at the desk why we were there, that a customer had died, I was the widow and we needed to figure out the two accounts. The woman asked what the name of the deceased was and the Corporation name. I spoke.
The woman at the desk burst into tears. A woman at another desk ran over to see what was going on, when she heard the news she burst into tears. One of the tellers started crying. Me? Well, i joined the sobfest, of course, but I was completely bewildered. the thing was, all of these bank employees knew Tom and really liked him. Everyone did. I can see him at the bank, teasing and joking and being himself…people responded to him. Hence, the crying.
I will just say that I was well taken care of that day and several years after.
We also had an account at a credit union. I spent a lot of time going between 2 banks, but it’s what I did.
Over the years things changed. Less money came through Tom’s corporation, the economy tanked, the people I knew at the bank all left, and banks changed, charging for every little transaction ….well, we all know the horror.I decided to switch all my accounts to the credit union which is far better, but it took a long time. I paid several hundred dollars in bank fees to avoid the inevitable moving the account. I moved my personal account over there months ago, but decided to wait until taxes were paid from the corporation before I would move that account, which delayed it further. I set up a new account at the credit union for the production company and waited until I could move from the original bank.
Today I did that. I went into the bank and closed the Rubber Chicken account. As I stood at the counter, with the teller I had never seen before, I remembered that day almost 7 years ago when I came in with my sister. As I received the cashier’s checks from the teller just doing his job, my eyes welled with tears and I felt another little piece of my heart break as another door was closed.
When I left the bank I got into my car and sobbed and sobbed. I’m crying now.
That’s the thing about grief. The thing you can’t explain. It cracks you open again and again. There is no time limit. There is no telling when it will happen, or why. The bank thing is logical, I guess, but it could be anything. That hole, that wound is there forever after, sometimes filled, mostly gaping.
Tomorrow I will deposit that money in the new account at the credit union. I have shiny new checks and deposit slips and it’s sort of a new start. But grief doesn’t want a new start. It wants a do-over.
Grief wants Tom back, and always, always will.