My father’s lawyer called me on a Wednesday morning while I stood in the hospital parking lot, absentmindedly pressing the lock button on my car key and wondering if I had actually locked the doors.
The call caught me off guard. Dad had been growing weaker for two years, so I knew this day would eventually come. Still, when the call announcing someone’s death finally arrives, it always feels as though you should have been doing something far more meaningful than standing in a parking lot checking your car.
I pressed the button one last time as the lawyer finished speaking.
His name was Gerald Marsh. Calm, compassionate, and experienced, he had the gentle voice of someone who had delivered difficult news many times before. He told me my father had died at 6:14 that morning. He explained that I had been named executor of the estate and that we needed to meet to discuss several important matters.
“What kind of matters?” I asked.
He paused briefly before answering. “Matters that will require your full attention, Ms. Calloway. When you are ready.”
We arranged to meet on Friday.
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