Today, April 25, 2018, would have been my father’s 85th birthday. (He was 52 days younger than my mother, so her 85th birthday passed several weeks ago.) He died on January 5, 2015, and we held his memorial service on April 25, 2015—three years ago today, on what would have been his 82nd birthday.
I was his executor and succeeded him as executor of my mother’s estate. I spent about a year and a half after his death dealing with my parents’ affairs—selling their house, distributing their assets, agreeing with my siblings on who would keep what, and all the other minutiae necessary to wind down a life after death.
A couple of years before he died, my father gave me his online passwords, so I had access to his accounts even while he was still alive. This was a real gift, as it made being his executor when the time came much easier. I didn’t access his accounts very often prior to his death, but after he died, I immediately got into all the accounts I knew about—bank accounts, email, Facebook, and the like.
I closed down his Facebook account within days after his death because he rarely used it. It wouldn’t provide me with any helpful information. But I kept his email account active. I sent out a notice of his death to all of his email contacts. He paid many bills online, and it was easier for me to continue paying most of those through his email account rather than mine. I also found online periodicals to cancel, organizations to contact, and other information that was helpful to managing his estate.
Most of us these days—and my father was no exception—conduct much of our communications via email. My last contact with my father was an email he sent me on the morning of his death. He described his concerns about a financial matter related to my mother’s estate, then wrote, “Things like this bother me but sure reinforces the old basic principles of management—-PLAN, IMPLEMENT and FOLLOW UP.” He gave me no indication he was feeling poorly or having any medical difficulties, and ended with “Take care. Really raining here with like 6 inches and floods south of here. Daddy”.
It was an email like so many others I had received from him. And it was my last communication with him.
Periodically in the last three years, I have gone back to his email account, just to “hear his voice” in the messages he sent me and in the messages he sent to others. He wrote just like he talked, though his typing and spelling weren’t the best. Always in the last three years, I could sense his presence as I read his words.
But now the email account is more trouble than it’s worth to monitor. All he has received in over a year is spam . . . and one monthly online periodical that can’t seem to get him off their distribution list.
I decided it was time to close his email account, and I am in the process of doing so. (AOL doesn’t make it easy.) His last tether to this world will be gone.
Except, of course, his real legacy will remain behind—his children and grandchildren, and the many friends and colleagues with whom he communicated throughout his life. We will all continue to hear his voice whenever we think of him.
What was hard for you to let go of when one of your loved ones died?
When Mother died, I saved letters. She never used email. I saved Dad’s farm ledger, too. And I haven’t gotten rid of either of them. But then, I’m a memorist and I still manage Dad’s family farm. I also have two letters my biological father wrote to Mother when he was away at sea with the Merchant Marines. They aren’t mine to toss. They are, instead, family history. The other thing that happens is when I reread Mother’s letters, not only do I hear her voice, but I hear mine. Mom was also a writer, and I have a file of newspaper columns somewhere and another file with the stories she wrote. My grandmother and grandfather were poets, so I have their book of poetry. I guess I see these as family history rather than my own belongings. And part of it, also, is that I teach Saving Grandpa and Grandma’s Stories. But maybe that’s my way of justifying all theses saved piece. Another sister, who was a printer and understood acid-free paper, has saved all the several family photo albums.
I totally understand how difficult letting go of those tethers can be.
Maybe before it’s all deleted, you can also find some stories worth saving.
Janet,
All wonderful reasons to save your letters!
Like you, I’ve saved many of the letters I’ve found. My grandmother had kept all the letters I sent her during college — I was pretty boring then, but it’s amusing to read them and see how little I said.
I’ve found a few letters and cards my parents saved, which I in turn have saved. But my husband and kids are not people who keep things, so someone will throw them out when I am gone.
Keep working on your memoirs — you’ve had an interesting life. (And more to come.)
Theresa
Things important to them, but not to me.