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Today was full of adult moments. Was awakened by Daddy calling and asking me to handle Sue’s health insurance issues. Checked the mail, which was chock-full of disgusting financial drama… again, addressed to Sue. So we sat together on the couch and had a moment of frustration and angst – Sue cried and I tried to think of the right thing to say to a part-little girl, part-adult whose mama left her too soon.

We worked through the list, one issue at a time. Made phone calls, got written medical statements for the insurance underwriters (who, by the way, will have a special place in hell), and even resolved one particularly nasty case of past due parking tickets at Clemson (perhaps the Clemson parking minions will be next to insurance underwriters in the fiery pit).

Then had a sister lunch and went shopping at my favorite little antique shop, where Sue bought a few more records for our record player that we have yet to buy. Got root beer floats and started home.

Here’s the conversation that began on Hwy 81, a few miles from home:

Sue: We need to remember to return Grandma’s pictures the next time we go to Virginia.
Jen: Yeah, I found the pictures in the corner of Mama’s room.
(Pause. Look at Sullivan-King Mortuary in silence as we drive by.)
Jen: Did ya’ll know that I went through all the stuff in the corner of Mama’s room?
Sue: What was there?
Jen: Bunch of breast cancer crap.
Sue: Did you throw it away?
Jen: Yeah.
Sarah: Today’s the 17th.
Jen: Nine months.
(Come to a stop at a traffic light, and suddenly notice that there in front of us is a black Hospice truck. The kind that dropped off and picked up the oxygen, walker, etc from our house… all the things that go with dying.
Sue, Sarah, Jen burst into peals of laughter – hard, brittle laughter. There’s a distinct twinge of hysteria.)
Jen: This is just twisted.
Sarah: This is shit.
Sue: That’s why I’m laughing.

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