Grief Bomb

I called the hospital's billing department this morning, thinking there was a simple clerical mistake. I had paid a bill - a bill that I hated. The bill for 9/28/20, the day that G went to the ER. The beginning of the end in so many ways. That day that was full of trauma for me, G and P. The day P asks about sometimes - he just mentioned it last night. It was a terrible day. And things started to really go down hill after it.

So when the bill initially came, it felt like a punch in the gut. Why did this bill come nearly 1 year later? Like a cruel reminder of a terrible day. But I paid it. I paid it on 9/28/21 actually. Exactly 1 year later. And I thought I was done with it. Put it behind me.

A few weeks later another bill came - the same bill. I couldn't believe it. I thought maybe I'd ignore it. Surely the new bill and my check crossed in the mail - it would get sorted out without me doing anything. But it kind of was bothering me and I felt like I needed resolution. I stuck it on the fridge for a day that I would feel brave enough to face it and make the call and figure out if my check got lost in the mail.

This morning felt right. I felt like I could do it. Honestly, because I've been feeling less lonely after being invited to spend time with a widower and his family - which is this whole other can of worms emotionally. But feeling seen and less alone made me feel like I could do it.

I pulled into the parking lot before my meeting and decided to make the quick call. Waited on hold and finally spoke with a nice woman who very kindly explained that the situation is much more complicated than I thought. My check arrived - and was posted to another bill that is over due. Which I can't get any info on until I send in G's death certificate. A bill that would go to collections in the middle of next month had I not called. Which would affect my credit score... which I'm trying to fix after having some overdue bills when life got so crazy (not that I didn't have the money but they slipped through the cracks)... which could continue to impact things including my recent likely need to replace my vehicle with something more dependable. And yes, this bill is for a date in July of 2020 - another time when G went into the hospital and was sent home without them fixing anything or being able to explain why they couldn't.

And I ended up crying with her on the phone and then skipped my meeting and cried all the way home. Because I hate all of this.

I hate that G died. I hate that he went into the hospital and it always felt so pointless. That they didn't take his symptoms seriously. That the only solution they offered was to lose weight. That they didn't let us know he was dying - his heart was failing and he wasn't going to get another chance. There wouldn't be another transplant. It was all too late. Why didn't they tell us? Why didn't we start talking about it years ago? These things take time!!

I hate the memories of the ER and P throwing up with a baby-sitter out of fear. I hate that they were going to use paddles on G. That he was sent home on yet another medication that sapped his energy and made him feel awful. I hate that he died. That P misses him. That I miss him and sometimes feel relieved. I hate that I don't know what to do with my emotions and my loneliness. I hate it when I miss him and I hate it when I don't.

A grief bomb. I felt like I was doing okay until it hit. All those things were real. The pain, the confusion, the suffering, the loss. Hospital bills and death certificates are just a terrible reminder of them.