The Anger Phase of Grief. Alternate Title: My apologies to Mike M.

Mike: Hi this is Mike. Can I help you?
Me: Hi Mike, I'm responding to a text that you sent me in regards to my probate filing.  I see that you're interested in some property.
Mike: Yes, I am, thanks for getting back to me.  What can you tell me about the property that you are selling?
Me: How's your mom doing, Mike?
Mike: Um, my mom's doing fine....
Me: That's great Mike.  My mom's dead.  She suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage, and a subdural hematoma.  Are you familiar with those?
Mike: Is that an aneurysm?
Me: Yes, Mike. You're right! Kind of.  It's actually when the aneurysm ruptures.  Do you know this happened when we were preparing for my kids 13th birthday party?
Mike: That's terrible, I'm sorry to hear that.
Me: Thanks, Mike.  I really appreciate your condolences.  I sincerely hope that you don't ever have to deal with something like that.  You know, I spent the next 13 days with her, at the hospital, holding her hand, begging her to wake up?  She never woke up.  In fact, I had to watch her die.
Mike: I'm sorry....
Me: I'm sorry too. It's been really hard for me.  I miss her a lot.  She was my best friend you know.  My kids miss her a lot too.  Her friends miss her.  There is a huge, gaping hole in all of our lives right now and it's been pretty tough to continue to take care of all the things that need taken care of, you know.  Are you familiar with all the things that need taken care of when someone you love dies.
Mike: I know it's a hard process....
Me: (again, cutting Mike off) You know, Mike, the hardest part is when I wake up in the morning and look out my door, up to her house....I live right next to her, you know.  In my grandmothers house, the house she grew up in, and my kids are actually the seventh generation to live here.
Mike: silence
Me: My mom kept a lot of stuff.  I'm sure there are things that I could find that you might be interested in....
Mike:  I would love to help.  What can you tell me about the property?
Me: You know, my house still has a dirt basement, and a root cellar!  When I was little, I remember my grandmother sending me down to bring potatoes up for the dinner she would prepare for us.  We were all very close.  We had dinner here a lot.  And there used to be a trail between the houses from all the walking we did between them.  My walking down the hill to get on the school bus every day.  And my dog, Buster was his name, he would come down every day to sit on my grandparents porch and wait for me to get off the bus.  He was an awesome, faithful dog.  And my senior year of high school, my bus driver ran over him.  You know, I was on the bus when she ran over him.  I could feel the wheels going over him.
Mike: wow, I'm sorry.
Me: Yeah, it was pretty tragic.  You know what else is tragic?  My grandmother was actually murdered in this house, the one I live in.  Beaten to death in her own bed one night.  That was pretty tragic too.  And three months later, my father died from sepsis.  He had cancer, and it was almost cleared up, actually. But the chemo fucking killed him.  Although I think it was more a broken heart that he succuumed to, because he was the one that found my grandmother.  He saw her face. It hurt him pretty bad.
Mike: :clearly regretting sending me that text by now:
Me: So, Mike. You said your mom is doing well?  That's great.  So, when she dies, can I send you a text harassing you about what you want to do with the property?  I mean, I'll at least wait til you bury her.  Maybe I'll wait a month.  Does that seem like a good amount of time to give you?  I might be interested in relocating by that time.  I mean, I have so many people that I don't even know reaching out to me trying to take all of this HUMUNGOUS LOAD off my hands.  I mean, the physical load, the things that can make YOU money.  Oh, and thank you so much for offering your condolences in the beginning of that text, before you jumped right in to ask me what I want to do with all the property that I now own, and how you are a real estate investor.  That must be a great job!  You must be really proud of yourself, spending your day randomly searching the newspaper for grieving family members who have inherited property and must be so preoccupied with their grief that you will happily jump in and take the stress off their hands.  How nice of you to reach out to people in their time of grief to fucking take advantage of their loss.  When your mother dies, I can also put you in touch with a tombstone company who barely waited til she was in the ground for a week to send me a letter telling me how much they would like to profit from my loss.

Fuck you.

By the way, if you're still interested in property, I found a chewed up popsicle eraser in the desk drawer in the spare room that I'll sell you for the amazing price of.....

Fuck you again.

Sincerely,

No, I'm not selling, and if I do, it certainly would not be to you.  And also, I would love to know how you got my unlisted, private, phone number.

DISCLAIMER: I sincerely apologize for the use of the word fuck.

ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER:  I did not actually call him, and this conversation didn't actually happen. Wait, I did actually call him, but he didn't answer.  Just got a voice mail.  Probably a good thing.

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