It’s great having Vernon’s parents at the hospital because I know he is in loving company much of the day. I was able to take the last couple of days off and focus on my paperwork, which keeps growing. I don’t talk about these thing much on this blog because it would be a total turn-off, I’m sure. Just thinking about the legalities makes me want to be distracted by ANYTHING anywhere else. Please! Unfortunately no distractions make the paperwork and bills go away…for any of us. But for the sake of documentation, I’ll share a little about it today.
For all of us in America, anyway, it is TAX SEASON…nothing is certain but death and taxes, right? Since its only the taxes part I have to deal with…I suppose I should be counting my blessings. Being a mostly self-employed artist-type, filling out tax forms has always been especially stressful for me…as my mind blurs with the various schedules and lines of numbers. This year brings the added challenge of looking for Vernon’s free-lance projects and receipts. The fact he only worked the first half of the year should make it easier, but I sometimes wish I could just wake him up momentarily for little questions that would help me gather information.
I was in that frazzled state of mind today when the brilliant idea struck that I should finally look at the Police Report that my attorney sent me two weeks ago. Yes, it DID take 9 months for the police to release the information. I remember being so upset in the early days that they wouldn’t release it to me but now I was dragging my feet—or maybe it just didn’t seem like it mattered that much anymore. The truth is, little of the report was different from what I had in my mind. I had been told the basics of the accident, but I was finally able to see a diagram of the point of impact, where blood was found on the street, etc. The fact that he was found facedown—that was not the way I’d pictured it. There were not really any gory details, but just looking at the official information helped something else click in my imagination, as if a missing model part of the new Vernon was brought to the workbench at last. Its just information, but it matters, apparently.
After shedding some unexpected tears, and shouting out how much I missed my husband (and hurt for the injured hologram in my head,) I patted myself on the back for getting the tax info mostly organized and passing this police-report rite of passage. Then it was time to pick up the kids.
This is where this post hopefully brightens. This is where the day brightened for me anyway. (Of course, after tax-work, its ALL up from there!)
Vernon’s parents brought a handful of carefully-wrapped records from his collection that had been stored in their loft (attic) hoping these would offer some occupational/music/memory therapy for him. So I ordered a portable record player to bring to the nursing home where he could play them. This was the first time we set up a record player (temporarily) in the home, and the kids were totally fascinated by it…especially Maki. He wanted to listen to all the records. He ran into his room and brought out a better speaker to plug into the back of the cheap player. I thought that asking for some of Vernon’s old music was going to be good for Vernon, but already, music has been a real point of connection for Maki to his dad, and listening to his actual records seems to be quite meaningful to Maki at the moment.
Here he is with one of his dad’s records, The Teardrop Explodes (and an egg sandwich.) I just found at that this album came out in 1980, when Vernon himself was Maki’s age, thirteen.
This is music that the kids had heard a lot from their dad’s computer when he was working from home so it was no wonder they responded so well when they heard it on the record player.
Justine comes by her ability to dance to post-punk naturally.
Instant day-changer. You see how that works? Amazing.