I shared yesterday that someone- either someone our contractor hired or someone else has ripped us off almost a year ago for $15,000. There is this feeling of impotence and despair and this feeling of violation and this unwillingness to get angry and moving and deal with it. I want this fixed. I don’t want to have to fix it.
Fuck. I don’t need this. I don’t deserve this. And I should not have to deal with it. I have enough to deal with and now really, I am as depressed as I have been since Ethan died. I don’t want to make copies, make calls, make a police report, be persuasive or informative, and track down a million things all in the fragile hope that I can somehow cut my losses.
Tomorrow is a day off. I want to paint and I have a painting I am going to work on. But I have to figure out where to make a police report and drive to LA. I have to call an insurance company. I have to bargain with the contractor and see if he will accept responsibility and use his insurance to cover this loss (since the check was in their custody and technically the contract had been paid.)
And that is the cruel truth of grief. Life does go on. And screwed up things still happen. People still will steal your stuff. People will still rip you off or look after their own interests at your expense. Bad things happen. And life doesn’t care that you are grieving and don’t want to deal with it. You just have to go on. It isn’t like you get a special pass. The thief didn’t care. The bank doesn’t care. The police won’t care. The contractor doesn’t care. The insurance companies won’t care. They want proof and papers and information that I probably don’t have. And through this I have to act like I am thinking straight and behave like I am normal. But doing so will take all I have. And I would rather not.