I like words. I can use words to get a point across. One friend says that I can use fancy words to cuss people out, and they never know what's happened. I've always enjoyed using my vocabulary well as well as humorously. But now, I've had to use too many words to say "My husband died".
Scott had a small business. Very small. He was the only employee. The business allowed all those companies in Norway and Scotland and New Zealand, etc to hire him as a contractor. Most hiring was done through the UK and Norway. I went through his e-mail contacts and notified everyone in there with a beautifully written note about two weeks after he died. They wanted him to work, I had to! I got quite a few comforting and heart-warming responses, so I'm glad I did it, instead of letting those e-mails pile up in his inbox.
The agents that weren't in his address book have still tried to contact him, on the average about one a week since he's been gone. I respond with my correct, solemn, well-worded information: "I regret to inform you...." "I apologize for sending such sensitive information in an e-mail......" "Thank you for all you've done through the years". Oh, the proper-ness!!! I sometimes wish I could get away from it!
However, I'll wish that one day and get a response like this the next:
"So sorry to hear the bad news. In our brief interaction with Scott we found him to be polite and up front about his likes and dislikes and were well aware of his ability to cause a stir on hydrographic web forums. I hope this finds you as well as can be expected and I thank you for letting us know during what must be such a sad time. Please accept our deepest condolences from all of us here."
How can that not make your day? When I think about that response, I smile, rather than cry, because that summed up a big portion of his personality. The author of that e-mail, Ben Jones, from the Swathe Services Group in Cornwall, United Kingdom, has lifted my heart with his words.
There have been phone calls, too. Most will also talk to me, so no info needed to share. Some, though, ask for him, and when I say he's not available, may I help.......they hang up. One, in particular, has done this a few times now. Today......today I let loose. A little. She called again, and asked for Mr. McCarty. I replied "He's not available right now, may I help you?" She said "Thank you, good-bye." At that point, recognizing the same once-a-week voice, I yelled "WAIT A MINUTE!" "MR. MCCARTY WON'T EVER BE AVAILABLE BECAUSE HE PASSED AWAY TWO MONTHS AGO, CAN I HELP YOU???" ............nothing. Silence. She was gone.
So I decided to use my words. In a different way. Spoken, not written. Caller ID has its uses, you know. I called the woman back, words swirling angrily through my head while the phone rang. And then - very briefly- "Leave a message". Deep breath. "This is Diane McCarty. My husband is Scott McCarty. You have called here several times to speak to him. He passed away two months ago, so you either need to deal with me or stop calling here." No big drama, just facts. No cursing, just tell it like it is. No fun phrases that I concocted to humorously make a point. Once upon a time, I concocted a favorite: "testicular fortitude". Yeah, you can say that one in front of children! I don't know if I adopted it from someone along the line or just came up with it on my own, but it's a good one. No, I didn't use any of my fancy words on the phone caller today. But it took a lot of testicular fortitude for me to call her back and leave that message. One day, one thing, one take-a-deep-breath brave act at a time. That's all I can do.
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