Memoirs of a biker widow (5)

Julia Day-Stewart - 21 Feb 18

Money money money

No not the ABBA song. I absolutely hate ABBA.

I’m talking about the stuff that everyone wants but no one has enough of, the stuff that we need to live in this planet.. and it appears the stuff we need when we die.
Because dying is bloody expensive.

‘He should’ve had life insurance’
Well actually I’m thankful he didn’t because it would have made things a million times more complicated.
You see, we weren’t married, Rob had no Will and therefore I had absolutely no legal right or say in anything.
The fact that we lived together and I was pregnant with his child was apparently irrelevant in the eyes of the law. Such a prehistoric law.
His legal next of kin therefore was the estranged mother that he hadn’t spoken to in several years, this person I had become to loathe thanks to the stories and memories that he had shared daily with me. I even had a copy of the last email he had ever send her outlining his disgust at her as a mother.

This woman was now sat opposite me at the police station, a couple of days after the accident, sobbing into a tissue. Her friend next to her irritating me with her stupid comments.. she even at one point mocked the name Rob had chosen for his daughter. Some comment about her being nicknamed Lunatic..
she’s lucky the jug of water stayed on the table in front of me.

I was shocked actually that the person I had drawn in my mind after all of Rob’s descriptions did not match the person sat opposite me. I tried desperately to find something familiar in her face and found nothing. They didn’t have the same eyes, hers were light like mine, no dimples, she was short and overweight. No mannerism was even close to my Rob.
I actually felt a pang of pity for this lady. After an emotionally charged discussion she gave Rob to me without a fight. She had no fight in her. I had gone in, guns ready with extra ammo and I didn’t need it.

She didn’t know him, she didn’t know where he lived, where he worked, who his friends were. I’m not sure she even knew we were expecting our baby or when she was due. She didn’t know the debts he had, the car he drove. Nothing.
I cried over her that night. I cried for her too. Wether she deserved it or not, she didn’t know the most amazing person her son had become. My heart ached for her losing a child and it ached for him not having a mother.

I had walked out of the station with the power of authority over Rob’s body. I felt triumphant that I did what I thought was right. But sad that this could happen and had to happen. I took the responsibility and honour but the financial burden too. Was that why she hadn’t fought for him? Or had she stopped fighting years ago.

A day later I was at my first appointment with the funeral people. What a bunch of incredible humans. Their compassion and empathy choked me. I sat perplexed at the fact I had to decide if Rob was getting embalmed or not.
What the actual heck is embalming, I googled it when I got home and wished I hadn’t.
The funeral was getting sorted in a blur. Paid extra for more family cars.. his family. Paid for him to be embalmed, paid for the service, paid for him to be transported, paid for the cremation, doctors fees, coffin, preparation, service recording, celebrandt, venue, catering, decor… the list was endless and the bill was massive.

But it’s only money.

Is there a stage of grief where you are flippant and don’t give a monkeys about money and it’s worth?
Must be. Well I was there.
There was a moment where had a panic at the florist and ended up buying every single blue rose in the shop.
I wanted the best for my boy.

You see, If we were married the government gives you a funeral grant.
If we were married there’s stuff like a window’s pension. If we were married I’d have been his legal next of kin and my own life insurance would have paid out.

But we weren’t so it all just went on credit cards I’d deal with later.

Money money money

His mother paid for the flowers though. That was kind.

Julia Day-Stewart

Mum of three. Widow at 35years of age. Mother, Nurse, Realist. Broken but surviving. Lost and drowning but floating in the light of the moon. Amazed by the power of love and the strength of human compassion. I am no writer, I barely scraped past my gcses. So excuse the appalling grammar. I lost my soul mate in 2017 whilst pregnant with his first child (now aged 7 Months). One moment, one poor decision and so many lives destroyed. I decided to start a blog. Firstly to empty my head and help with my own PTSD and secondly to try and help others. Grief can be very lonely and physically destructive.

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