Paperwork

 Herself speaks.

So, while I was traveling last week, I spent some time with my Mother, and helped her to sell Daddy's car. I am the Paperwork Person for such tasks: I went armed with the car title and the affidavit of spouse and my certificate as Personal Representative, and pulled up the Will and the registration and all the various Things we needed. Ta-daa! All the Papers. Mission accomplished. Mom was pleased and relieved, and I am pleased and relieved for her.

I have the tidy-up tasks now. I have communicated with the Registry of Motor Vehicles about cancelling the registration (special paperwork, as the Personal Representative of the estate), and I've put in a request to cancel the toll transponder. After the registration cancellation goes through, then I can work on speaking with the insurance, and then take care of the reimbursement of the excise tax for the town in which Mom lives. Piece by piece, all the papers. This is what I do. It is, essentially, who I am. 

I do not mind being the Paperwork Person. I feel accomplished, in a way, when all the bits are straightened out and everything is Done. I am Useful. I have Purpose. 

Every now and then, though, I am... Tired. 

I finish my Paperwork, and I have a tiny inner secret longing:

I wish I were paperwork, and that someone else would tend to me carefully, too.  

I am still not good at taking care of myself. 

I must continue to try, though.