Friday, November 30, 2012
Back home. Upon awakening, planning to commit this entire day to working on my book. Optimistically anticipating finishing the edits of the final entries, then sending them off for proofing. Moments after rereading my original post of the one year anniversary, the phone rings. It is a collection agency asking for Michael Gibson. I explain that my son died over a year and a half ago. The woman expresses her condolences and requests the obituary or death certificate for confirmation. I agree, hang up, and take care of it immediately. Tears falling. Will these undoing moments ever end? Minutes later, it occurs to me that this is an agency I have never heard of, and has likely been given an old file from one of the initial organizations I dealt with last year. I want to minimize these out-of-the-blue, heart wrenching incidents. I call the agency back, and get a different representative. I tell her that a few weeks after Michael died, I received invoices addressed to him, regarding money he owed. At the time, I called the companies involved, then sent copies of his death certificate. I ask this agent where this particular file has come from. I want to understand why they do not have the information that he is dead. In a very aggressive tone, she informs me that she is not able to discuss those details. She goes on to say that it is all protected by third-party federal regulations, blah, blah, blah. These last three words, not hers, but rather, what I hear. I try rephrasing my question. In an unkind manner, she interrupts to inform me she cannot help. Then, hangs up on me. Hopefully, she never has to deal with the death of her child. Perhaps she will find an alternate path to gaining some compassion.