The plastic surgeon in Boston who closed the hellish wound on my head from melanoma removal gave me the okay to travel. So I’ve been in Phoenix for the past week, once again tackling the aftermath of my father’s death.
The other certainty in life besides death is, of course, taxes, and that’s one of the things I’ve been doing here. I met with a CPA, who will take care of my father’s final personal income tax return, and then he will get started on the Trust taxes. I have to drop off some more papers at his office tomorrow morning, after meeting with my lawyer, and then I’ll be at a couple of banks to see about closing out accounts to be consolidated in an account Dad had back home that is now my responsibility.
Besides money-related matters, two of my sisters and I have been going through Dad’s house, deciding what can be tossed and what should be kept for an estate sale. We came up with 63 lbs. of paper to be shredded, and I hauled that over to a Staples store, which offers Iron Mountain’s shredding service at a cost of $0.99/lb.
Through all of this I keep going back and forth in my mind, thinking I might want to take over my parents’ retirement house — despite the fact that, thanks to skin cancer, the Sun is now my burning enemy. The pro|con list for buying the place from my siblings, who each own an equal share of the property, is about evenly split.
And so it goes… !
