Mail call

Three of the four items in the mailbox today were addressed to Sandy. It's unusual that there were so many, but most days, there's something meant for her or for both of us. In some cases, it's my doing; I've continued to make some donations in both of our names and I've intentionally not told some organizations that she died. But most of the mail that comes for her is just a reminder that we cast our nets widely in the world, and unless you're a celebrity, news of your death probably doesn't travel quickly. It's kind of like corrections in the media: far more people see the original story than ever see the revision.

An envelope from Citibank concerned me a little at first. I worried that there was some financial account I didn't know about, that I'd let something fall through the cracks. It looked very official. And it was, as it turned out, but it was just notification that a student loan she cosigned for our nephew, Kyle, was changing hands. No action required.

Sandy lifting Kyle back in April 2003, after hours of
working on clearing out bindweed, blackberries, and ivy.

I thought about calling them to tell them that she died, but decided against it. I don't expect our nephew to default, but if he does run into trouble with the loan, it's our obligation to pitch in. I'd originally intended to cosign with Sandy, but the bank preferred to have just one name. So I've always considered it our obligation, not hers, and any financial responsibilities she had when she died became mine automatically, whether legally required or not. So I'll just let it stay as-is, and that way I'll continue to get any information about the loan and be able to act accordingly if necessary someday.

She received a notice about a class-action suit that had been settled last week. Turns out we weren't the only people who suffered considerable damage from the faulty sunroof drain in a Volkswagen Golf. The notice came to Sandy because at the time we bought the car, I was pouty about owning one at all, so we put only her name on the product registration that we sent to VW. But I'd have claimed the settlement if it applied, anyway. As it turns out, there was nothing for me to claim. The settlement reimbursed owners for repairs done to the vehicle. I didn't repair it; I gave it away. So I had no expenses and have no receipt. Still, it was validating to know that we hadn't just been idiots, that the problem was with the car and not us, for once.

When she received yet another request for donations to the Puget Sound Blood Center last week, I sent a check in her honor and let them know she'd died. I'd long since informed them of her death when they called to ask her to give blood. I didn't understand why they continued to call, anyway, since we'd asked that they stop when she had metastatic cancer. She could no longer give and it was a punch in the gut to her every time they asked her to.

Perhaps the most entertaining bits of mail that come for her are from the Obama campaign. Somehow they've mangled our names. I'm Mr. Brie Gyncild, and she's Ms. Sandy Gyncild. I laugh every time those envelopes arrive. The Romney campaign, on the other hand, sends mail only to me; given my rather vocal political leanings, I find those just as amusing.