A few days after Dave died I woke up in his bedroom and noticed the window.
"Well that's cute," I thought. "There's a little window seat there. I've always wanted a house with a window seat,"
I sighed. Then I realized: I'm Dave's only relative, so technically, I do have a house with a window seat.
Only I don't, because of probate. I spoke to a realtor about repairing and selling the house, and that process can't start until probate is over. I can't even get the locks changed. Because it's not my house. And fair enough, I can see the sense in that. A probate lawyer is working on it.
The lawyer is also working on this:
As I was driving Dave's cute little convertible, it occurred to me that I am not insured to drive that car, and more important, I was driving a car I don't even own. New Mexico makes you wait a month before you change the title after a death. And even though I won't end up with it, and I know who gets it next, I have to get it first so I can sign it over.
And I know it's tacky to talk about such things with Dave only three weeks gone, but those three weeks felt like three months.